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Category: Research

Posts in which we talk about research

Samian ware bowl (picture by Mercato, from Wikipedia Commons)

Samian ware bowl (picture by Mercato, from Wikipedia Commons)

Hello, Risky Readers, there’s been a slight change of plans and today you get me again. And I’m also rather late with posting – sorry about that! (I also apologize for any typos in this post; it’s really late here in Germany and I’m so ready to head to bed….)

So I thought today I could talk a little about food because tomorrow I will go to that lovely reconstructed Roman fort near where I live and attend a Roman cookery workshop. It’s called “A Look into Apicius’ Pots” and includes not just a guided tour through the fort and museum, but also a hands-on experience of Roman cuisine: we will prepare a meal using Roman recipes (from Apicius’ cook book, I assume) and then we’ll eat said meal from replicas of posh Roman tableware (that would be Samian ware made in what today is southern France).

There might even be garum, that dreadful, shudder-inducing Roman fish sauce that was made by putting fish heads and fish innards into a vessel together with herbs and what not and then putting it out into the sun for a couple of weeks. The Romans poured that stuff basically over everything. Like ketchup.

It’s going to be an interesting afternoon!

Victorian Bakers, BBC

Victorian Bakers, BBC

In addition to doing some practical research on Roman cuisine, I also recently stumbled across a rather fantastic BBC documentary called “Victorian Bakers.” In this documentary a group of modern-day bakers all don Victorian clothing and learn how their 19th-century predecessors made bread.

Bread was incredibly important for 19th-century England, as it was the staple food for large parts of the population. In the Regency period, bread making hadn’t yet become industrialized. Bakers ran their business as they had done for decades: from a bakery in a village, often near – or indeed, even part of – a local mill. They also worked closely with brewers from whom they got the yeast. Compared with more modern forms of yeast (think of dry yeast out of a package), this particular yeast was a bit more temperamental. The dough had to be kneaded much longer and the proofing took much longer as well. On the other hand, bakers had to be careful not to overproof the dough as it was possible the yeast would go bad.

Once the oven was fired up, the bread was baked and then the baker’s boy would go from house to house in the village and deliver bread that had been pre-ordered. As most people didn’t have an oven to bake in at home, bakers also offered a service whereby villagers could come and have their things baked in the baker’s oven.

While in earlier centuries only the upper classes had been able to afford white bread, by the early 19th century white bread had become the standard in all households. The older forms of barley bread and rye bread were disdained by large parts of the population, even though there were several attempts by health reformers to make whole-wheat bread popular again. Thus, in the Mirror of Literature, Amusement and Instruction we can read in 1847:

Nothing is more false to suppose than what is called fine white bread is better than the bread made of good wheat, ground into flour without abstricating from it the digestive principle contained in what is termed the husk, or skin. Nothing is more wholesome or so easy of digestion as this natural pure bread, when made with wheat of proper quality; and though the color is more homely, still the taste is far superior to that of white bread.

What I found perhaps most surprising about that BBC documentary was the realization that 19th-centiry bread would have tasted much, much different from our bread, mainly they used a different kind of wheat as well as that different yeast. That’s something we don’t really think about very often, do we?

And now it’s over to you: What type of historical food would you love to try and recreate?

Posted in Food, Research | 3 Replies
"Neck-tie scarf in imitation of Indian embroidery," from The Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine (1860?)

“Neck-tie scarf in imitation of Indian embroidery,” from The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine (1860?)

“We are very busy making Edward’s shirts, and I am proud to say that I am the neatest worker of the party.” ~ Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra, 1 Sept. 1796

Needlework was an essential skill for women of all classes during the Regency period, even though upper-class women would have spent more time on decorative work than on what was known as “plain sewing.” But as Jane Austen’s letter to her sister shows, even women of the gentry would have made their husbands’ and brothers’ shirts as well as their own shifts themselves. They would have also known how to mend clothes and how to make alterations.

Plain sewing was typically done in the morning before people would pay their morning calls. It was considered bad etiquette to do plain sewing in the company of visitors (unless they were close family). Instead, for such occasions, decorative needlework like embroidery was deemed suitable. Projects like embroidered shawls or slippers would also be made as gifts for friends and relatives.

Design for a Hand-screen, from The Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine (1860?)

Design for a Hand-screen, from The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine (1860?)

Given the high presence of needlework in a woman’s life, it is perhaps not surprising that a lot of magazines targeted at women would include patterns — mostly decorative patterns in the early ladies’ magazines as they were targeted at an upper-class audience. Later, in the mid-19th century when the audience shifted to include middle-class women, several magazines also ran larger patterns for plain sewing.

Patterns (and sheet music) included in periodicals were meant to be used, and for that reason some periodicals like The Lady’s Magazine (launched in 1770) printed them on fold outs. This was good news for the first readers of those magazines — but really bad news for us today because many of those fold outs were indeed cut out and thus are lost to us.

This morning I stumbled across a project at the University of Kent, where three scholars study The Lady’s Magazine. When one of them, Jennie Batchelor, acquired a copy of the 1776 edition of the magazine with almost all of the fold-outs still intact, a new side project was born: The Great Lady’s Magazine Stitch-Off. They are uploading the patterns from the magazine on their website and are inviting people to use them for their own stitching projects and share pictures later on.

an example of a piece from the Great Lady's Magazine Stitch-Off

The Great Lady’s Magazine Stitch-off

Isn’t this fascinating? I think it’s a wonderful way to bring those old patterns back to life.

What about you? Do you enjoy needlework? Would you love to be able to make your own clothes? (That’s on my To Do list for the future , so far I’ve only managed a few embroidery projects as well as a few softies.)

farewelltoscandalI was googling around to see if people during the Regency might have made New Year’s resolutions and found confirmation in a delightful post from The Snug Blog. The author found a 1792 etching “A Long String of Resolutions for a New Year – Design’d by G.M. Woodward” including satirical sketches of people making various resolutions including the one shown here.

I imagine they probably had a similar success rate to what people have now. Googling further, I found statistics saying that about 8-12% of those making New Year’s resolutions end up succeeding. Maybe it’s not so bad–at least those 8-12% made it, and for the rest, there’s always next year.

The problem is that starting a new calendar doesn’t mean I’ve left the baggage of the previous year behind. All the things that hindered me in the past may still be there. Any resolution that doesn’t take those things into account isn’t going to go far.

Also, if I feel the need for a change, I don’t want to wait until the New Year to start it. And if I backslide, I’m also not going to wait until the next year to start over. It’s only through setbacks and recoveries, by stringing together small successes day by day, that my larger goals have ever been met.

So I don’t really believe in New Year’s resolutions as such, although I do think it’s good to take time to reflect on how life is going and whether I’m living as authentic a life as I can.

The small steps I’ve been taking recently toward creative recovery include going to a coffee shop a few times a week to work on a new novella. I’m nearly done with the first draft and more importantly, I’m enjoying it.

Baby steps.

How do you feel about New Year’s resolutions? Have you made any? What helps you succeed?

Elena

Long time visitors to the Riskies know I have a complicated relationship with Christmas. I detest the whole commercial aspect and I also despise the idea that the season magically fixes things. However, I embrace the season in my own way—which is to accept the darkness as well as the light.

Each year, I think of people who are lonely, and of the various wars, large and small, raging through families and countries. Right now it feels as if the whole world is bleeding, and it seems that every day brings more heartbreak.

I know some people like to look away, to lose themselves in a blaze of Christmas lights, of shopping, even of obsessing about “not being ready” for Christmas. (What does “ready” really mean?)

My own way of coping is to allow the sadness in as well as the joy. Music is one of the ways I can stay in touch with both.

This year I found another version of the Coventry Carol, arranged by Ola Gjeilo, performed by the CORO Vocal Artists. Its haunting melody helps me find that stillness where I can feel the heartbreak and then let it lead me toward whatever healing action I can take for myself and others.

On the more joyful side and in the spirit of the Regency, here’s a version of the Gloucester Wassail and the Holly and the Ivy by the Waverley Consort, with assorted interesting Georgian and Regency imagery. The Gloucester Wassail was first published in the Oxford Book of Carols in 1928, but it believed to date back to the Middle Ages, so it could definitely have been part of a Regency Christmas. An early mention of The Holly and the Ivy is in a book dated 1823, and the lyrics are reprinted in an 1861 collection, A Garland of Christmas Carols, where it is stated that it was found in “an old broadside, printed a century and a half since” (around 1711), so this is another carol that our Regency characters might have sung.

Here’s the refrain from “The Gloucester Wassail”:

Wassail! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we’ll drink to thee.

If you enjoyed this post, you may want to visit some of my posts from past years about traditional Christmas music that hasn’t been used to sell cars, watches, or anything else:

Holiday Music, Traditional and Reinvented

Antidote for Carol of the Bells

Carols and Winners

What are your favorite carols?

Elena

V0001016 Joseph Constantine Carpue. Stipple engraving. Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images images@wellcome.ac.uk http://wellcomeimages.org Joseph Constantine Carpue. Stipple engraving. Published: - Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Those were the words, spoken in deep awe, by surgeon Joseph Carpue when viewing the results of his first nose reconstruction, performed on this day in 1814. Plastic surgery was born.

Warning, heavy ick factor lies ahead.

His surgery is thought to be the first plastic surgery in the west but it was based on a procedure for nose reconstruction in India published in a book twenty years before. Nose reconstructions had been performed in India since 1500 BC. Carpue published an account of his procedures in a book snappily entitled An Account of Two Successful Operations for Restoring a Lost Nose from the Integument of the Forehead.

Why nose reconstruction? Accidents could happen. The sixteenth-century astronomer Tycho Brahe lost part of his nose in a duel and wore a brass facsimile and he also had gold and silver models for special occasions. But generally, people lost their noses through syphilis (well, I did warn you…) , or to be more specific, from the mercury that was the only treatment for the disease at this time. So you might have to wear something like this number from the mid-nineteenth century:

Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images

Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images

This is a silver nose painted to match the owner’s skin color. Astonishingly, the owner of this fake nose remarried and sold the device back to her physician for three pounds, claiming her new husband preferred her without it. Hmm. True love.

And apparently there were a lot of people around without noses (and with syphilis), so much so that later in the century No Nose Clubs were formed.

The Star reported in a February 1874 article entitled “The Origins of the No Nose Club”:

Miss Sanborn tells us that an eccentric gentleman, having taken a fancy to seeing a large party of noseless persons, invited every one thus afflicted, whom he met in the streets, to dine on a certain day at a tavern, where he formed them into a brotherhood … This club met every month for a whole joyous year, when its founder died, and the flat-faced community were unhappily dissolved.

I think the only question I can have after this, is what is the strangest club you have ever belonged to and what were its activities?

Posted in Research | Tagged , | 6 Replies
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