A Chicken In Every Pot: How To Roast A Chicken

One of the first things my parents taught me to do in the kitchen was roast a chicken. One of the first things I learned that everyone did a little differently from her neighbor is roast a chicken. It was a revelation, figuring out that not everyone took a little metal-handled brush and brushed vegetable oil over the skin, sprinkled it all over with seasoned salt, and roasted the bird in a 9x13 pan in a 350° oven. And now I find my sister doesn't even do it that way (she uses Pam instead of veggie oil). It seems entirely appropriate, then, that Depression Era Recipes has two roast chicken recipes back to back.

How to Roast a Chicken

Remove any bits from inside dressed bird. Singe and remove pinfeathers. Wash under faucet. Dry inside and out. Stuff with a light hand with dressing of your choice. Turn wings across back, sew through wings and body with poultry needle and fine twine. Tie firmly, leaving long ends. Press thighs close to body and sew through; wrap twine around lower part of body and tie. Sew through ends of legs and tie close together. Sew once or twice through body opening if ragged. Rub with soft butter. season well with salt and pepper. Mix about 1/2 c. butter and 1/2 c. water in a pan and keep hot for basting. Put bird on a rack in a roasting pan. Sear in a hot oven till browned, then reduce heat to moderate and bake until done, basting often. Make gravy from pan drippings.

Golly, that sounds far too involved for a simple roast chicken. It's like a sewing lesson before dinner. I think this is a good time to say that I'm glad that I live in a time when I don't need to singe and remove pinfeathers off my chicken before I can prepare it. Let's see if the next one is any less... fussy.

How to Roast a Chicken Easier

Wash bird and cut into quarters, or leave whole. Put it in a roasting pan or skillet. Add 1/2 c. water. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 1/2 hours. Plain and simple and it turns out pretty good, too.

Well, that's certainly easier. It says so right in the title! But there's no seasoning going on, I think the addition of butter or oil, salt, and pepper at a minimum will make this less ... like a college student trying to impress someone by cooking a chicken without bothering to take out the giblets or the like.

My standard roast chicken these days goes along these lines: Smash several cloves of garlic and zest a lemon. Smear together with half a stick of butter, and then massage the garlic lemon butter under the skin of your bird. Cut the zested lemons in half and shove them in the de-giblet-ed cavity, along with the rest of the head of garlic. Put in a 9x13 pan (untrussed!), in a 375°F oven, and cook until internal temperature is 160°F.

Less Scary Than Yesterday: Apple Cottage Pudding

Seems no one is interested in a good liver bologna recipe; Feedburner tells me the item was only used 4 times (as opposed to 40 or more for most posts on the first day). So, let's go for something a little less scary than yesterday, shall we? From
Depression Era Recipes:

Apple Cottage Pudding

6 to 10 apples
1/2 c. milk
1 T. butter, melted
1 c. flour
1/2 c. sugar
1 t. Royal baking powder
1 t. vanilla

Peel, core and slice apples thin. Put apples in a buttered tin. Mix together milk, butter, flour, sugar, baking powder and vanilla. Pour batter over apples and bake in a moderate oven till done, about 45 minutes. Serve with cream or lemon sauce. This is good with other fruits, too.

So, what is a "moderate oven"? Let's turn to the Web to find out! Best Recipes tells us "a 'moderate' oven has a temperature of around 180 degrees Celsius, or approximately 350 degrees Fahrenheit." So, 350°F -- the universal, if-you-don't-know-what-temp-use-this-temp temperature! Easy enough.

This sort of sounds like an eggless clafouti to me. Other than apples, it doesn't take much of any one ingredient, and the leavening is shelf-stable. So, not quite pantry baking, but close.

Though normally I like to substitute like-texture for like-texture (and I'm sure this would be lovely with pears), I would like to see this done with plums or Italian prunes. The color would be amazing.

The lack of specificity in tin size could make me cranky on a bad day, but on other days I say, "just use a tin big enough to hold 6 to 10 peeled, cored, sliced apples."

It should work fine.

Better Than Jerky?: Gillan's Liver Bologna

This bologna, from Depression Era Recipes, actually has a first name.

Gillan's Liver Bologna

3 lbs. liver
8 lbs. potatoes, sliced
1/4 slab bacon
1/4 c. salt
2 1/2 c. graham flour
1/2 c. buttermilk
2 1/4 c. white flour

Make bags out of flour sacks. This recipe will fit into four 6 x 12" bags. Grind liver and potatoes, using a medium blade. Cut bacon into little pieces. Mix meats, potatoes and other ingredients in a very large bowl. When evenly combined, pack mixture into damp bags. Tie shut. Boil bags in water to cover, for two hours. Remove from water and cool. Store in refrigerator. To use, cut bag off meat, slice meat and serve.

This may have been one of the first take-along "mountain foods." Some deer hunters would take this out in the woods with them for food, as it was a complete meal - better than beef jerky!

Okay, it's true: Gillan might be a last name. And I am skeptical of anything that claims to be better than jerky of any sort.

At the same time, I appreciate the idea of homemakers also being sausage makers. I've never done more than a loose patty sausage on my own, but my dad's deer and elk hunting always yielded lots of summer sausage.

...God, I miss that summer sausage. Sliced, or cut into chunks, served with Tillamook medium cheddar and saltines. Maybe, just maybe, some Beaver brand mustard. We'd go through a whole sleeve of crackers in a blink. I ate the casing about 50% of the time.

The bologna of my childhood had both a first and last name. It was commercial, it was mass produced, it was... bologna. After my college graduation, my mom, aunt, and I hit the roads of the mid-Atlantic, and found ourselves at Seltzer's Lebanon Bologna. Such delicious yumminess! So much more interesting than that mass-produced blandness! We sampled with joy, and bought a bunch for later. 20 minutes down the road, we all discovered that, sadly, Lebanon bologna triggers migraines in our family. (It really is sad -- that stuff is damned tasty.)

A Frugal Tipple: Blackberry Wine

When Depression looms, the prudent householder cuts back on frivolities. This does not, however, mean going without life's little necessities. You know, like booze. Depression Era Recipes gives several recipes for frugal tipples, including this one that seems a bit oddly placed, coming the day after Michaelmas.

Blackberry Wine

1 gal. black berries
1 qt. boiling water
2 lbs. sugar

Bruise berries, add boiling water. Let stand 24 hours, stirring occasionally. Strain off the liquor and put into a cask. Add sugar; cork tight and let stand till next October, when it will be ready for use. It may be bottled.

So, assuming you picked your berries before the Devil spit on them yesterday, this is a great way to use 'em up!

In my family, berries tend to end up more than a little boozy on a regular basis. We don't have the patience to wait a full year for the results, though. Instead, we put clean berries in sterile jars, and cover them with vodka or some other strong spirit, and let 'em marinate for several weeks. Strain and add simple syrup to taste. Mmmmm.

Favorite uses for blackberry wine: mixing with less than stellar merlot. Yes, really. Also great mixed with mead.

Folksy Wisdom; Pie Crust

Depression Era Recipes doesn't limit itself to recipes. No, it also faithfully reprints advertisements and folksy wisdom pieces of the day, including this one that frankly reminds me of my kooky grandma.

Her Ten Commandments

These are the new commandments ten
Which wives now make for married men

I. Remember that I am thy wife,
Whom thou must cherish all thy life.
II. Thou shalt not stay out late at night
When lodges, friends or clubs invite.
III. Thou shalt not smoke indoor or out,
Or chew tobacco round about.
IV. Thou shalt with praise receive my pies,
Nor pastry made by me despise.
V. My mother thou shalt strive to please,
And let her live with us in ease.
VI. Remember 'tis thy duty clear
To dress me well throughout the year.
VII. Thou shalt not be a drinking man,
But live on prohibition plan.
VIII. Thou shalt in manner mild and meek
Give me thy wages every week.
IX. Thou shalt not flirt, but must allow
Thy wife such freedom anyhow.
X. Thou shalt get up when baby cries,
And try the child to tranquilize.

These my commands from day to day
Implicitly thou shalt obey.

These Commandments are from Grandma Signe's recipe book

...so much one could say about that. I'm going to focus on Commandment IV. If anyone ever receives pie from me with anything other than praise? Badness will occur! Harsh thoughts and feelings! No more pie for that person ever!!! And who would ever despise my pastry?

But, let's face it: lots of people get freaked out at the thought of making a pie from scratch. Most of the hangups come from the crust making. Lucky for us, Depression Era Recipes has several foolproof pie crust options for us all. Let's take the first one, conveniently on the same page as Her Ten Commandments.

Pie Crust

4 T. boiling water
4 T. lard
1 1/4 cup flour
1 t. baking powder
Pinch of salt

Melt lard in hot water. Mix together the flour, baking powder and salt and stir this into the liquid. Place in the ice box until cold. Roll out thin and line tin.

I know, I know. Lard. There, I said it. Use lard. I said it again. (Heck, turn the page, and Depression Era Recipes will tell you how to render your own...)

What I like about this recipe (besides the unapologetic use of lard) is the method. Melting the fat, instead of trying to keep it cold! No cutting the cold fat into the flour, and trying to figure out when the globs are pea-sized! No food processor! No vinegar! No admonitions to chill your rolling pin, chill your board, chill your spoons, chill your forks, chill your everything. It seems so darned easy!

I have no clue how well it works. I'm intrigued.

Sketchy Salads of Yore: Harlequin Salad

Not all sketchy salads of yore involve gelatin and molds. Exhibit A: This entry from Depression Era Recipes:

Harlequin Salad

1 c. red cabbage
1 c. reg. cabbage
1 c. peas
1/2 c. beets
1 onion, diced
1/2 c. carrot, diced
Salt & pepper
French dressing

Shave cabbage thin. Cook peas, beets and carrots till tender; drain and chill. Mix all vegetables, or arrange them in layers or heaps. The effect is better if they are mixed and they are also easier to season and to arrange. Pour on French dressing an hour before serving, keep cold. Pass more French dressing at the table.

It's Best Guess Translation Time! "Reg. cabbage" has got to be green cabbage, so that we can get a harlequin effect between red and green vegetables. "French dressing," as in Casserole Cookery, means a vinaigrette. I'd also make sure that you cook your veg separately; otherwise, your carrots and peas are going to be beet red, quite literally.

I don't think the "heaps" approach sounds very appealing, but layers might work. I suspect that tossing the salad would make the greens turn red, what with the cabbage and the beets all mingled in.

This is another one of those recipes where every single ingredient that goes into it sounds good, but the overall effect just sounds a little hinky.

Depression Era Recipes, by Patricia R. Wagner: Dumplings

Some books never seem to go out of print. Depression Era Recipes, by Patricia R. Wagner, was first printed in 1989, and was on its eighteenth printing by 2000. Chefly Husband picked up a copy for me at a book sale recently, because he's nearly as much of a cookbook freak as I am. Nearly. And, with all the turmoil in the financial sector these days, and frantic rhetoric, I thought a focus on the Depression suitable for this week. I like this bit from the acknowledgements:

The Depression wasn't all soup lines and poverty. The information related herein is intended to show how people coped with the Depression, their diversions and what life was all about, what they had and how they spent their leisure time. Not all of these recipes have been personally tested by the author. But if they were good enough for Gramma Signe, Aunt Minnie and Mom, they're good enough for us.

So, some of these recipes might just not work. Or they might be a little too 1930s for today's tastes. That's part of the adventure!

On an administrative note, I'm tagging these all as 1930s recipes, even though the book was printed 50 years later. It makes sense to me.

The gingerbread recipe made me miss home, and especially miss a lovely lady who was a family friend for years before she died. She took me to a gingerbread restaurant for my first slabs of cake-like gingerbread, and she also took me to experience my first-ever chicken and dumplings.

Dumplings

2 c. flour
1 t. salt
1 1/2 c. chicken broth, boiling
1/2 c. flour
1-2 qts. chicken broth

Mix together well to make a soft dough. Put the 1/2 c. flour on a bread broad; put dough on top. Let cool enough to handle. Then roll like pie crust. Cut in 1" x 2" strips. Let these dry 15 minutes. Drop into boiling chicken broth and simmer for 15-20 minutes.

Let's fix some of the problems with this recipe. First off, the bread "broad" is clearly supposed to be a bread board. Next, if you try to mix everything together in the first step, you're going to be in a world of hurt. So, mix together, please, the first three ingredients. Then, roll out, using the 1/2 c. remaining flour to coat board, rolling pin, etc., to make easy to handle. Roll and cut as above. Finally, heat the 1 - 2 quarts broth to a boil, and add the dumplings.

So, why dumplings? Well, if you're trying to make a bit of meat stretch a long way, this is a great way to get the flavor of chicken into a less-expensive vehicle. If, say, you needed to keep a laboring man strong for work, he could eat the actual chicken, while the wife and kids had dumplings.

There's no leavening used in these bad boys, which I could go on and on discussing various religious reasons why this might make the recipe ideal for whatever, but here's why I dig the leavening-less nature of the recipe: I never end up with good leavening in the house. If I need soda or powder or yeast, I have to go out to shop. Everything needed for these dumplings, I have in my pantry right now, even though I haven't done maintenance shopping in a few weeks.

If anyone's interested in a Depression-era recipe for chicken broth, let me know; the book has several, most involving carcasses, skin, giblets, and the like. Frugality, folks. It's what's for dinner this week.

Bonus Post: Handy Tips, And Biscuits

As we finish the first week of Take One Cookbook..., there's still a host of fun things from The Savannah Cook Book that I want to get in to and share. So...a bonus post!

Lots of cookbooks have handy hints and tips. Conversions. Substitutions. Ms. Colquitt doesn't disappoint -- she has a Potpourri section smack dab in the middle of the book. It wraps up this way:

Did You Know That

The secret of good seasoning is garlic -- but that you will be sorry if you take that too seriously?

That aspic made from the juice of pickled peaches or other fruit is an excellent accompaniment for cold meats? One pint of juice to one tablespoon (or one-half package) of gelatine is the proportion?

That the juice from pickled fruits also makes a delicious spiced French dressing?

That the juice from brandied peaches makes a perfect cocktail sauce for any kind of fruit?

That mushroom sauce turns warmed-over lamb or veal into something to write home about?

That if you put a little salt in the whipped cream which you serve on creamed soups, and add a little cut-up parsley, it will make it additionally attractive?

That a little baking powder in your meringues will keep them from falling?

That brown sugar is better than white for all kinds of punch stock, since it makes a thicker syrup, and that some people go so far as to say you should always use it for strawberry sauce?

That cole slaw is a fine accompaniment for fish, if you have no cucumbers?

That shredded lettuce makes a delightful garnish?

Why, no. I didn't know. I don't think I'd ever even considered taking garlic too seriously. Nor considered putting whipped cream on a cream soup. I've never felt the lack of cucumbers when having fish, nor thought of most shredded lettuce as delightful outside of a drive-through taco. And even most times, not then.

But I know things now, many marvelous things...

Doctor Science asked for the recipe for biscuits I mentioned. There are measurements in dry pints. Heck, it even ties in nicely with the discussion on scarcity, and baking powder from yesterday, too. So, a good close to the week, I think.

What? No Baking Powder?
Biscuits To Eat With Terrapin Stew

1 pint flour
1/2 spoonful lard
1/2 tablespoon sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup milk or water
pinch salt

Dissolve sugar in milk. Sift flour and salt, and rub butter and lard into flour and mix with hands very quickly on kneading board. Roll out very thin, almost like paper, and cut with sharp knife. Bake in moderate oven.

If you make some to go with your Terrapin Stew, do let me know. Until then, it's time to put The Savannah Cook Book back on the shelf.

Patriotic Duty Combined With Kitchen Magic: Peach Leather

I've been a fan of fruit leather since I was a little girl -- it helps to have been a kid in the crunchy 1970s in Oregon. One thing Oregon rarely lacked for was rain. Georgia, it seems, is not so lucky. Take this recipe from The Savannah Cook Book:

Let 'er Rain

If crops are suffering from lack of rain, and you feel constrained to do your bit by your country, plan to make peach leather, and you will bring down rain on the just as well as the unjust. It is as good as a garden party or a county fair to ensure a downpour, since the sun is the essence of the contract for making.

Peach Leather

One peck of peaches peeled and mashed through colander. To each gallon of peach pulp, add three-quarters pound of sugar, and let come to boil. Remove from fire and spread on tin pie plats, and put in the sun to dry. Old receipts say it should stay in the sun three or four days, being brought in at night. When dry enough to peel away from the plate, it is done. Sprinkle the top with sugar, cut in strips, and roll into wafer-like pieces, of any length preferred. It will keep indefinitely in tin.

This recipe charms me completely. I like the idea that committing to make this is tantamount to doing a rain dance. I grin over the phrase "to do your bit by your country" and think both the just and unjust would prefer peach leather to rain, regardless of circumstances.

I assume most modern cooks would use a dehydrating mechanism a bit more controlled than pie tins left in the sun, but if you have a good screen porch or a lack of neighborhood cats, rats, etc., you could do it the 1930s Savannah way.

Peaches are in season in the mid-Atlantic region right now. If you're in the DC/Baltimore area, I recommend getting yourself out to Homestead Farm in Poolesville, MD. Both yellow and white peaches are "picking good" this weekend, as are the thornless blackberries. Get enough to make some pies and fruit leather, and use the rest to put up some easy freezer jam, or cordials to give away at the holidays! Make sure you try the peach shortcake at the snack stand -- it's amazing.

Sponge Cake: It's Time For Sweets

As we start to wrap up the 1930s treasure, The Savannah Cook Book, I wanted to learn more about the cookery of the time, as a lot of recipes -- especially the baked goods -- make reference to ingredient scarcity. I started wondering when certain things came into use. Baking powder, for one (1859, it seems, for commercial stuff).

Take a peek at FoodTimeline.org; if you've ever wondered why anyone would bother with beaten biscuits, this quickly shows that they were being made before the advent of commercial baking powder. A lot of things I thought of as entirely modern (margarine, the mainstay of my 1970s childhood) are from the 1800s... (Also fun for a look-see: Duke's Emergence of Advertising in America collection. Promotional cookbooks, yay!)

We've done savory and side dishes from The Savannah Cook Book; let's move on to sweet treats.

Sponge Cake

This sponge cake is famous in Savannah, and the proportions given here make two large cakes. it seem enormous, so, if you think your family will be satisfied with one, divide the proportions in half -- and then have it all to do over again a few days later!

10 eggs
1/2 pound Swansdown flour
1 pound granulated sugar
juice and rind of 2 lemons

The art is in the making, so follow the directions verbatim.

Separate eggs and put the yolks in a large bowl, and the whites on a large platter.

Grate the rind of the lemons and set aside in the strained juice to "steep."

Sift the flour three times.

Grease two large "stove-pipe" pins, and then proceed.

Beat the egg yolks until very light, adding sugar gradually, then the lemon juice and peel.

Beat the whites until stiff and dry. The old-fashioned flat egg beater is highly recommended instead of the Doyer beater or the more new-fangled electric life savers, as they make the eggs dryer. You'll get stiff and dry before they do, but no matter ....

Stir the beaten whites into the beaten yolks, and into this custard-like mixture sift again the already thrice-sifted flour, folding it in very lightly.

Divide the batter in half, and bake in two pans in a slow oven for about forty-five minutes.

Extravagant? Perhaps ... but think of the butter and baking powder you save by making it!

Just think!

I'm nearly positive there's a typo in the original -- a Doyer beater is probably a Dover beater, and what most people think of as an old-fashioned beater these days. For the recommended flat beater, picture the flat plastic blade for a KitchenAid stand mixer, scale it down for hand use, and put a handle on it.

...yeah.

I think I'll stick with my new-fangled conveniences when it comes to cake making.

And I might just start calling the stand mixer a "life saver."

Foundation In Fact, and Sweet Potato Pone

I've just finished up a plate of leftover Mulatto Rice, which tastes great, cold, right from the fridge. So far, out of The Savannah Cook Book, we've had a punch, a stew, a meat dish, and a side dish (though Mulatto Rice could stand as a main course). Must be time for a vegetable dish or two.

A newcomer to our shores is often a little surprised at the names to which some of our old vegetables answer. For instance, when we say "Guinea squash," egg plant makes its appearance, and squashes are apt to be listed at "Cimlins." When we say artichokes, we mean, of course, the Jerusalem variety -- unless it be a party -- then we have "Burr artichokes," meaning the other and more stylish branch of the family, though I have never seen that name in any of the cook books. The colored people are apt to call butter beans "see-wee" or "civvy" beans, but this seems to have a foundation in fact, since the dictionary opines that a lima bean (which is a large variety of our butter bean) is also known as the Siveau or Civet Bean.

Aaaah, Ms. Colquitt! We share a love of language, it seems. (Some might say we both also take too much pleasure in the describing "naive" and "quaint" lives and thoughts of our subjects.) I wonder if eggplant (now one word) is still called Guinea squash in regular use; any readers have it in their normal lexicon? I also wonder if Georgians today would still consider a sunchoke the default when hearing "artichoke."

The "foundation in fact" bit gets me all cranky again -- seems I can dish out the superior cultured tone, but rankle at the same in the text. Something to work on another day. Back to the fun stuff.

There's a large collection of potato and sweet potato recipes in The Savannah Cook Book. You have to be careful and read closely, though, because there are several sweet potato recipes that are really sweet recipes using potatoes.

Sweet Potato Pone

1 quart grated potato
3/4 pound butter
3/4 pound sugar
1/2 pint milk
1 tablespoon powdered ginger
grated peel of one sweet orange

Rub ingredients well together and bake in a shallow plate in a slow over. A little molasses may be added.

In the northern part of the state, where the frost sweetens the persimmons in the fall, a delicious touch is given the potato pone by adding a cup or more of persimmons before cooking.

I've never used white potatoes in a sweet dish, and I'll admit, it intrigues me. Another recipe in the book calls for wrapping marshmallows in mashed potatoes, rolling the resulting balls in coconut ("cocoanut," if you want to be book-accurate), and then baking them to get Sweet Potato Snow Balls. I'm entranced!

Fair warning: the part of me that thinks that mashed potatoes, marshmallows, and coconut all together sounds like a good idea is the same part of me that will be bringing you gelatin salads of all varieties.

Cooking the Books: Mulatto Rice

For all my thoughts of The Savannah Cook Book's Mulatto Rice as "pantry food," I must confess I had no bacon in the house, no onions, and no rice.

The last one isn't quite true. I've heaps of arborio, and piles of sushi rice, and various bits of basmati and jasmine. That said, I had no long grain white rice.

I hopped over to my local Safeway and got my supplies, and headed home to make a mess of food.

I cooked the rice separately, because I wanted to save time, and also because I was highly suspicious of the recipe -- I didn't think there'd be enough liquid in a pint of tomatoes to cook a pint of rice, and frankly, I didn't want to stand over it, fretting and fussing and wondering if I should add water or stock until it was done.

I recommend this method, also recommend that you use stewed tomatoes if you do the "I'm in a hurry" method. Diced tomatoes hold on to their acidity if they're just warmed through, and the acidity is not a welcome companion here.

I used a whole 12 oz. package of bacon, and removed just a touch of the rendered fat. After I removed the bacon (to drain crisp on a paper towel lined plate), I chucked in the diced onion and saw the white white onion take up the little black specks, and thought again about the "touched by a tarbrush" idiom -- such things one can learn in one day.

You don't need to add salt or pepper -- the bacon and bacon fat bring all the seasoning to the dish.

It's simple. It's homey. It's tasty. It's definitely worth cooking up, and makes me curious about cooking more recipes from The Savannah Cook Book (even if the descriptions and recipe titles are cringingly racist).

Mulatto Rice

One of the recipes The Savannah Cook Book is known for is Mulatto Rice. Evidently, it plays a big part in "Their Eyes Were Watching God," and people who want to know more about the dish end up finding Ms. Colquitt's tome. If the dish name makes you a little uncomfortable, well, wait 'til you read the introductory sentence.

Mulatto Rice

This is the very chic name given to rice with a touch of the tarbrush.

Fry squares of breakfast bacon and remove from the pan. Then brown some minced onion (one small one) in this grease, and add one pint can of tomatoes. When thoroughly hot, add a pint of rice to this mixture, and cook very slowly until the rice is done. Or, if you are in a hurry, cold rice may be substituted, and all warmed thoroughly together.

Originally when I decided on posting this recipe, I thought I'd lead into it with a bit of an excerpt about Pilaus, because it, again, speaks indulgently and patronizingly about "the old cooks" and "our admiring imitators," but I think there's plenty to wrestle with with Mulatto Rice.

Before reading this recipe, I don't think I'd ever heard or read the phrase "a touch of the tarbrush." It sent off alarms -- there's something going on here, surely. But it couldn't mean what I think it means...right? Perhaps it just means that the onions and the rice get dark from the frying...?

Yeah, no. It's as unappealing as can be. Really, the lead in to the next recipe, Mexican Rice," should have made it clear without me doing more web research. ("This seems to be a sort of first cousin to the dark horse above.")

And I still can't get past the idea that "Mulatto Rice" is somehow a "chic" name; what the hell were they calling it before they called it this? No, wait; don't tell me. I doubt I'll like it.

Stepping away from the socio-linguistic meltdown going on in my head, let's look at the recipe itself...

...this looks good. It looks easy. It looks like a pantry dinner -- using staples to quickly feed the household. And, really, bacon fat is always a good thing.

My husband, Nick, and friend, Mab, both asked if I was going to cook anything to go along with these blog posts; I've decided to cook one of the recipes a week. This week, I'm going to make Mulatto Rice (only in part because I don't really have a social occasion on the books that would call for gallons of Chatham Artillery Punch). I'll share the results here.

Is it wrong that I want to throw shrimp in this?

Baked Ham, or Who Needs An Ingredients List First Thing?

I mentioned yesterday the abundance of recipes in The Savannah Cook Book without ingredients lists at the start. The following recipe subverts modern recipe readers' expectations a little more -- the ingredients list, such as it is, comes at the very end.

Baked Ham

(Fortunately this is not quite as complicated as it sounds)

Take any good ham, not necessarily a very expensive one, wash it well and put it in a large boiler, skin side up. Pour over it one can of black molasses and four quarts of weak tea! -- pouring the tea in the empty syrup can to see that no sweetness lingers behind -- and let it soak in this sweet bath overnight.

Next morning, put ham in steamer -- fat side up this time -- and pour over it about two quarts of water, and bake in covered steamer three or four hours.

Take out, skin, and plaster it with a paste made of tomato catsup and mustard. Return it to the oven in this new dress and let it cook about half an hour, basting it frequently with a bottle of beer! Then sprinkle with brown sugar, bake until a little browner, and serve while hot.

Good? Well, you'd be surprised.

The strange ingredients for this proceeding include, besides the ham: one large can black molasses, one cup of tomato catsup, several tablespoons of mustard, four quarts of weak tea, one bottle of beer and one cup of brown sugar.

This recipe charms me for its exuberance (as well as for its entire lack of racist language, which I know was authentic for the period and region, but still screams out from the pages of the book). The exclamation points after the tea and beer mentions slay me. Imagine, one might use tea in something other than a bathtub punch! And beer, as a basting liquid!

All this, and I don't know how many ounces in a jar of molasses, let alone a big jar. I assume it's something we can fudge a bit on... get the biggest jar available in your local grocery store, and call it macaroni.

Though it doesn't state the kind of ham (other than clearly one with a skin), I'm betting with the 24 hour soak we're looking at a country ham.

On Buying "Sea Food" From Hucksters, and Mrs. Habersham's Terrapin Stew

The Savannah Cook Book aims to make its readers feel like they could be locals. As we saw yesterday, one of the techniques for that is "get 'em drunk, hard and fast," which will actually be quite a theme in the upcoming weeks. (Where there are punch recipes, I will bring them to you.) Other tips come in methods of service, and in sourcing ingredients. Our excerpt today comes from the start of the "Sea Food" section (linguistic squee: it's two separate words at this point, not "seafood" as we'd see it today):

Although the fish stalls in the City market are filled with crabs and shrimp brought in fresh daily, the majority of Savannah housekeepers prefer to buy their see foods from the negro hucksters who come in from the neighboring watering places, and peddle their wares from door to door--carrying on their heads great baskets of shrimp and crabs and oysters, and filling the morning air with their familiar cry:

"Craby by'er! Yeh Swimps! Yeh Oshta!"

Many efforts have been made by the City fathers to put an end to this street peddling, and many righteous and sanitary-minded officials have stepped in and enfolded the poor hucksters in such a maze of up-to-date methods for icing and standardizing their wares, that the poor things have not known what it was all about. But the plea of the housewife has carried the day, and the presence of the gayly dressed vendors with their buckets of oysters, their baskets of bright shrimp and crabs, and in the spring with swamp lilies, wild honeysuckle and bay flowers, still lends a picturesque touch to streets that are fast losing their charm in the march of progress.

When you plan a crab or shrimp menu for your party, however, it is always just as well to have a reserve dish or two up your sleeve, since the weather man has to be reckoned with, and crabs and shrimp and hucksters are all rather temperamental, and may be conspicuous by their absence on the great day, if the wind comes out from the wrong direction or nature has frowned in some other unforeseen fashion.

Golly. So much to mull over there. I think I'll stick with pondering over the phrase "neighboring watering places." From my perspective, a "watering place" is not a place one fishes, but rather, where one drinks. Is there a meaning shift going on, over time and distance, or... well, was Ms. Colquitt making a not-so-sly reference to the "negro hucksters" coming only when they were done drinking? It's not for nothing that she lists the hucksters after the crab and shrimp when talking about how temperamental (and hence, unreliable) they are.

And I'll admit having a secondary squee to seeing "sea foods." Also, ongoing problems accurately transcribing the placement of commas from the original.

I thought after that excerpt, I should include a shrimp, crab, or oyster recipe, but those included in this book are... basic? They assume that you already know what you're doing, so don't go into detail. There aren't even ingredient lists, which can be interesting in and of itself, but isn't as fun as this little gem:

Mrs. Habersham's Terrapin Stew

3 large terrapin, boiled and picked
6 hard boiled eggs
3 heaping tablespoons flour
1/2 grated nutmeg
1 onion
1/2 pound best butter
juice and rind 1 lemon
1 pint sweet cream
1 tumbler good wine, or 1/2 pint sherry
red pepper -- salt -- 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

Rub yolks of eggs and butter and flour together. Put on jelly or stock to cook, and as soon as it boils, add egg mixture, also lemon and nutmeg. Then put in terrapin eggs and meat, and last of all, the cream and wine, and be careful not to let curdle or burn. Add chopped whites of eggs. Always have enough hot milk to thin out if it is too thick.

But to prepare the terrapin before making the soup is another story. In case you have to do it yourself -- here is the approved method. Cut off heads, dip in boiling water for a short time, and carefully pull of outer skin from feet, and all that will come off the back. With a sharp hatchet cut open the terrapin, and take out the eggs, and put aside in cold water. Throw away entrails and gall bags, saving the livers which are very much liked. Leave all the legs on the back and put on to boil. Put into about three pints of water, with salt and onion, and let simmer and steam (not boil) about forty-five minutes. When tender take meat from back, and remove bones. Cook meat a little more if not tender enough. Cut up meat -- across the grain to prevent stringing -- and set stock aside to jelly. Then forget it for a few hours (if you can) and when the party is imminent, proceed as above.

I've never considered a hatchet a vital kitchen implement. Heck, I've never eaten terrapin, green turtle, or any other such creature. I've never had turtle soup, mock or otherwise. But this gives me heaps of respect for how it comes about.

Note that it is, in fact, half of a nutmeg, not 1/2 of some measure of nutmeg. Half a nutmeg. Go to town.

A tumbler is a measure used often throughout The Savannah Cook Book. I think we're safe in seeing it as 8 oz., though I'm not quite sure why the wine is measured in tumblerfuls and the sherry in pints.

Later on in the book, it will be assumed that you will have "colored men" around to assist guests in opening their roasted oysters. Here? The reader is expected to be able to dispatch terrapin -- I think the first is nostalgic longing and class pretension showing through, and the second is more aware of the then-current times (Great Depression, whee).

Also later in the book, Ms. Colquitt strenuously points out that there is a difference between terrapin stew and stewed terrapin. If anyone finds herself with a surfeit of terrapin, and wants to have the recipe for stewed terrapin to go along with this one, drop a comment and I'll oblige. There's also a recipe for Biscuits To Go With Terrapin Stew, which is frightfully proud for containing no baking powder whatsoever.

The Savannah Cook Book, by Harriet Ross Colquitt: Chatham Artillery Punch

The New Georgia Encyclopedia says this about The Savannah Cook Book, by Harriet Ross Colquitt:

Harriet Ross Colquitt was the author of The Savannah Cookbook, a more colorful and quirky collection of recipes, chock full of such coastal standards as mulatto rice (a composed rice dish with tomatoes) and Chatham Artillery Punch (a kitchen-sink conglomeration of, among other liquors, brandy, gin, rye, and rum). Published in 1933, the book boasts a foreword by poet Ogden Nash wherein he proclaims, "Everybody has the right to think whose food is the most gorgeous / And I nominate Georgia's."

This is accurate. It misses some of what I find to be the defining characteristics of this book, however. It's, well, a product of its time -- 1933 -- and the yearnings of the time, as well. So, here's a glimpse back to the good ol' days, and those who were, in turn, glimpsing back to the good ol' days.

From the Foreword:

But we have had so many requests for receipts for rice dishes, and for shrimp and crab concoctions which are peculiar to our locality, that I have concentrated on those indigenous to our soil, as it were, begging them from housekeepers, and trying to tack our elusive cooks down to some definite idea of what goes into the making of the good dishes they turn out.

But getting directions from colored cooks is rather like trying to write down the music to the spirituals which they sing -- for all good old-timers (and new-timers, too, for that matter) cook "by ear", and it is hard to bring them down to earth when they begin to improvise. They are not only very bad on detail,¹ with their vague suggestions of "a little of dis and a little of dat", but they are extremely modest about their accomplishments...

---

¹ "How long do you cook your okra?" I asked a colored cook, to which she replied that she put it on when she did the rice. Knowing that the rice should cook about twenty minutes before steaming, I thought I would find out by this devious method, so inquired "How long do you steam your rice?" "'Til dinner's ready," responded this wizard of the kitchen, and left me just where I was when I started.

...yeah. Let it be said that at least one of the things I find disturbing in that is the placement of the commas after the quotation marks... I am many things, but a grammar girl is one of 'em.

But, let's get back to the more pleasant things in this cookbook... the aforementioned Chatham Artillery punch.

Chatham Artillery Punch

1 1/2 gallons Catawba
1/2 gallon St. Croix rum
1 quart Gordon gin
1 quart Hennessy brandy
1/2 pint Benedictine
1 1/2 quarts rye whiskey
1 1/2 gallons strong tea
2 1/2 pounds brown sugar
juice 1 1/2 dozen oranges
juice 1 1/2 dozen lemons
1 bottle maraschino cherries

Make stock with above from thirty-six to forty-eight hours before time for using. Add one case of champagne when ready to serve.

I assume they mean wine made from Catawba, but they might mean juice... either way, Concord grape wine/juice can stand in.