The Gallery: What if Your Fruit Was Large and Terrifying

Eva has provided me with further evidence that Victorians had too much time on their hands.  She directed me towards this book: Fruit Figures, and How to Make Them.

The first is a giant, disembodied hand, made up to resemble an old woman.







However, these images do seem to be the inspiration for some contemporary artists.

History Dish Mondays: Peach Brandy

I have long dreamed of making peach brandy from scratch, a key component of my favorite summer-time drink: The Mint Julep. Too long have I made-do with "Mr. Boston." The time is right for plump, ripe peaches, so I am seizing the day and attempting to infuse my own peach brandy.

I consulted Jerry Thomas for guidance:

I took two large, very ripe peaches, and smushed them up good, skins and all , with the bottom of a rocks glass. I spooned them into a mason jar, and then filled the jar with brandy to the top. I mixed it around a little bit to ensure a happy marriage of brandy and peach. Thomas recommends letting the mixture macerate for 24 hours, which means in the future this mixture could be made on relatively short notice. However, I'm going to Alaska tomorrow morning for two weeks. How could letting it sit a little longer possibly hurt? It could only improve the flavor, right??

So I've just covered the jar, and pushed it to the back of the fridge. See you in two weeks, Peach Brandy! When I return, I will strain the liquid, and mix some cocktails.

A Proliferation of Jellies

I've been recently inundated with Jelly.

My mom gave a sampler set of jellies from the historic Knott's Berry Farm, which has been famous for their jellies since the 1920s and is now some sort of Cedar Point-style amusement park...it's all very confusing and odd.

So far, I've had the apple cinnamon and the strawberry; both were excellent.

My friend Mark, who has shared my recent interest in foraging, harvested mulberries off a tree in his yard. On the occasion of my last visit, he presented me with a jar of mulberry jam.

My friend Ryan just returned from a two-month bike trip around Finland. Before he left, I asked him to bring me back something typically Finnish. He gifted me this package of jelly, made from some mysterious albino berry.

I'm not quite sure what to do with them all, except maybe have a toast party.

History Dish Mondays: Little Citron Puddings

I did more research on the uses of American citron (see my previous post), and discovered it tended to be used in the same way as many candied fruits: in cakes (particular wedding cakes) and cookies. I came across the recipe for Little Citron Puddings, which seemed unique but not out of the ordinary, and relatively simple to make. I decided to give it a whirl.

The next day, I took a teacup of custard out of the fridge and gave it a taste. At first, I thought the citron didn't offer any flavor except gelatinous and sweet. But after trying a few bites of custard sans citron, I realized it really did add some depth of flavor that I couldn't quite put my finger on. The custard was a good consistency, the nutmeg delightful, and the tea-cup container pleasing and convenient. However, it just wasn't really...good. It lacked a certain something, and the texture of the citron was a tinch repulsive.

I'm thinking that American citron is one of those Victorian dishes I just can't get behind. But I'd be curious to try the same methods with a real citron, to see if it's more flavorful.

History Dish Mondays: American Citron

A sweet preparation of American citron.

There's a recipe I come across again and again in 19th century cookbooks: Citron, or American Citron. The earliest recipe appears in the first American cookbook, American Cookery by Amelia Simmons:

Citron, I've discovered, is a cirrus fruit native to southern Asia. The pulp is inedible; instead, the rind is cut up and preserved. I supposed it was generally unavailable in early America, so watermelon rind was used as a substitute.

I found a few recipe in later 19th c cookbook that suggest brining citron, like a pickle. So I decided to make two batches, a sweet preparation and a savory.

***

American Citron (sweet)

From American Cookery (1796) by Amelia Simmons.

1 quarter watermelon, fruit and skin removed, sliced into 1 inch chunks

1/2 cup sugar.

Place watermelon rind slices and sugar into a pot, cover with water, and bring to a slow boil. Boil for about two hours, or until tender. Pour into a canning jar and seal, cool in refrigerator for at least two hours.

American Citron (savory)

Based on a recipe from Martha Stewart's Everyday Food

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp salt

1/4 tsp celery seed

1/4 tsp mace

Bring ingredients to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar. Arrange rind slices in a jar. Pour hot brine into a jar until rind is completely covered and seal jar. Refrigerate until cool, about two hours (or up to 1 week).

***

For canning, I used an old spaghetti sauce jar and a canning jar that some face cream came in (I washed it). When I opened up the jars the next day, I was surprised to find that the steam had created a tight seal on both jars, including resealing the spaghetti sauce jar. I've never canned before, so these things amaze me. I sampled both citron preparations: the preserved citron was soft and almost completely transparent. It tasted like sugar melon and feet. The pickled citron was crunchier, but also a little slimy. I remembered reading some 19th c recipes that warned against the slime, and recommended soaking it in a brine, rinsing it, and brining it again to get rid of it. My bad.

The odd part about citron is that there are many more recipes for preserving it than how to eat it, or what to eat it with. Now that I've successfully made citron, I have to figure out what the hell to do with it.

American citron, brined.