Showing posts with label Food Studies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food Studies. Show all posts

19 February 2021

FINE DINING: CURIOUS FOODSTUFFS AT THE HISTORIC TABLE

 A Muse Bouche | Natalie Scola


Every few months I turn to Pinterest for design inspiration as to how to make the dining room table look beautiful for events. Pinterest brings up pictures of complex floral centerpieces, show stopping gingerbread houses, and every manner of iced cake. That got me thinking about how people dressed their tables hundreds of years ago. 

Food, like fashion, indicates wealth and status. Historically, the divide between the haves and the have-nots was incredibly pronounced on the dining table though ingredients and presentation. As dining and dining customs became more formalized, the upper classes looked to dress their tables with unusual, rare and elaborate centerpieces to further display their wealth. 

The pineapple was one such item. Pineapples, which are now readily available at the grocery store, were once incredibly rare and expensive items. They had to be shipped over great distances to buyers. Growing them in non-native climates was labour intensive and costly. Once a pineapple was purchased, it became a display as a centerpiece, being used over and over until it eventually rotted.

Another item found on dining tables was an epergne (pronounced AY-pairn), a centerpiece made of small dishes connected by scrolled branches which held fruits, nuts and other sweetmeats and confections. In the 18th century, they were a costly item made from silver or other metals. Even as the style of dining changed in the 19th century, epergnes remained on the table as decorative pieces. Manufactures began to produce epergnes from glass and porcelain, which eventually made them available to a wider audience and brought them into middle class homes.

This epergne from the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, displays intricate silver metalwork as well as the characteristic bowls for fruit. Source.

Elaborate game pies were also used as showstopping edible centerpieces. While lower classes did eat meat, it was still seen as a luxury food reserved for the upper classes. People ate a wide variety of meat and poultry, including ham, beef, pork, venison, mutton, hare, ducks, pigeons, geese and partridge. A common way to eat meat was to cook it in a pie. One of the earliest English-language cookbooks, The Forme of Cury (cury from the Middle French cuire, meaning to cook), gives recipes for the making of pastries called coffins and chastelets. Coffin, or “coffyn” (meaning box) as it was in the late 14th century, were pastries made with straight sides, sealed at the top and bottom. Chastlets were much more dramatic, made in the shape of a castle, usually with each tower holding a different filling.

The page from The Forme of Cury giving the recipe for chastlets. The first lines read: "take and make a foyle (leaf) of good paste with a roller of a foot broad and longer by compass. Make four coffins of the self-paste upon the roller..." Source.

The 17th century saw more development in the art of pastry crusts. These are not be the same puff pastries we have today, but a type of hot water crust pastry made with a durable rye flour. This strong flour helped the pastry hold its form. Cooks developed pies with elaborate designs, mimicking patterns from textiles, heraldry and architecture. The pastry patterns were created by hand, either by rolling or tracing paper designs directly onto the pastry. Some were created by pressing the pastry into carved wooden boards. Later in the 18th century, earthenware and metal springform tins developed and became a common item by the 19th century.

A page from Edward Kidder's Receipts of Pastry and Cookery (c.1720) showing the intricate designs for two pies. Source

The fascination with novelty shapes extended beyond pies. Manufactures developed a whole range of novelty molds to be used for cakes, jellies and ice creams! Molds were made from copper and covered with tin; some had a special vent at the top to help release the food within.

While jellies are not as popular today, historically they were seen as food for the rich. Jellies begin to appear in the 14th century, but it was not until the end of the medieval period that cooks were able to perfect jelly making. Jellies were not just sweet dishes (like how we think of Jell-O today) but also for savory dishes, such as blancmange or aspic. Cooks originally obtained gelatin from boiling collagen-rich bones, such as calf’s feet. This was a time consuming process, and restricted the use of gelatin to the wealthy. In the 16th century, isinglass, a form of pure gelatin found in fish, was imported from Russia. Again, the cost of importing the ingredient was prohibitive. But by the 18th and 19th centuries, gelatin was mass produced, which fueled the Georgian and Victorian craze for molded jellies.

Aspic was an incredibly popular dish, appearing on tables in the late 18th century. These were clear, savory jellies which encased whole or sliced ingredients. Their elaborate molded shapes made them show-stopping centerpieces; some were intentionally designed to be inedible! Molds were made out of wood, pewter, ceramic or ceramic coated in copper or tin. The more elaborate molds – those with many details or pointed tops – were the most difficult to form correctly. Aspics were so popular that the famed French chef, Antonin Carême, developed a category of food he called “chaud froid”, which were hot dishes served cold.

Examples of the types of molds available for savory jellies. Source

Sweet jellies were also popular desserts and had their own range of flavour and molds. Blancmange, a dish made with almond milk, originated as a savory dish in medieval times and included shredded chicken or fish. By the 18th century, it was a sweet dish, with sugar, cream and rice and served in tall, decorative forms. Flummery, a softer pudding made with starch from flour, oats or almonds, and milk, was molded into elaborate and novelty shapes. In Elizabeth Raffald’s 1769 cookbook, The Experienced English Housekeeper, she provides a number of recipes for molding flummery, including: a nest of eggs, floating islands, stars, moons, and eggs and bacon. She declares these unique dishes: “pretty decoration for a grand table.” Raffald gives instructions on how to form shapes by using dishes and other pots, but by the 19th century, specialized molds made it easy to create interesting novelty flummeries for the table.

Elizabeth Raffald's recipe for Eggs and Bacon made from flummery. Source

A modern-day recreation of the eggs and bacon in flummery recipe. Source.

Ice cream was seen as a rare and expensive delicacy. It was difficult to produce because ice was hard to obtain and conserve year round. Ice could be stored in special ice houses, but only the rich could afford to maintain them and enjoy frozen dishes all year. “Ices” were a popular social treat throughout the Georgian era – Jane Austen’s novels make mention of eating ice – but it was not until the mid-19th century when ice and ice cream became affordable. Ice was imported from Norway and the United States, and inventors developed better churning machines, allowing the middle classes to produce ice cream at home. 

One manufacturer was Agnes Marshall, known as the “Queen of Ices.” Marshall developed her own ice cream empire, publishing cookbooks, running a cookery school, and manufacturing ice cream churners and novelty molds. Ice cream molds continued the trend of novelty ice cream shapes, which likely developed in Italy in the late 17th century before becoming popular throughout the rest of Europe. By the 19th century, novelty ice cream forms had taken the shape of fruits, vegetables and other foodstuffs.

 
Ice cream molds offered by Agnes Marshall in her cookbook The Book of Ices (1893)| Source

Marshall capitalized on this trend, offering an incredible array of mold shapes to choose from: pineapples, grapes, melons, wicker baskets, wheat, and birds. A common – if unusual – shape was a bundle of asparagus! Many of the flavours Marshall gives in her cookbook are familiar to us today, like pistachio, lemon and cherry. Others are foreign to our taste buds, like cucumber. She provides instructions to freeze fruit ice cream in the mold that matches it’s flavour: pineapple ice cream in the pineapple mold, peach ice cream in the peach mold. Marshall even produced her own line of food dyes to colour the ice cream realistically.

A surviving example of a three-part pewter asparagus mold. Source

A modern-day recreation of ice cream in the asparagus mold. Source.

The great diversity of edible and dramatic centerpieces would end by World War I, as modernist ideas began to change dining trends to be more minimal. Some trends, like jelly foods, had a revival in the 1950s; with refrigerators seen as a status symbol in the post-war economy, gelatin-based dishes once again were seen as an indicator of wealth.

It’s easy for us to be shocked when looking at historical, either in cookbooks or in modern-day recreations because the food, flavours and presentations seem so different from what we have today. Shocking food combinations live on in modern cookery, like bacon ice cream or the novelty foods served at the Canadian National Exhibition each summer. What is lost is the incredible skill and artist that went into producing these elaborate dishes and the molds that formed them. While cookbook authors live on in their publications, home cooks and kitchens staff are unnamed and unrecognized as the talent behind these unusual dishes.

3 August 2020

FOOD DREAMS: FINDING OUR MUSES


A Muse Bouche | Dominica Tang and Lindsay Chisholm


Happy summer days to you all! We have previously written on pressing issues such as the impact of COVID-19 on food and racism in the food industry. We are putting our other ideas on the back burner for now but we’ll get back to the meat of things in our next articles. In light of the sweltering humid heat of Toronto, we have decided to cool things down and take a more introspective approach to this month’s writing. We thought this would be an opportune time to reflect on our food journeys and dreams through a light conversation with each other.

Mother of All Foodie Muses, Julia Child, photographed in her own kitchen. 
This kitchen was reconstructed within the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History.

Dominica: Lindsay, you are one of my favourite people to geek out about food! We’ve picked A Muse Bouche, so clearly, you have a special affinity for food in museums. What do you find so special about it?

Lindsay: Food is universally necessary for survival and intertwined into all aspects of life; through its research we can learn more about what it means to be human. The examination of tangible foodways can help uncover intangible concepts, whether they be reflections on society, culture, economics, and/or politics. Personally, I’m interested in people from past civilizations through the study of “edible archaeology”. What eats at you to study food and museums?

Dominica: Yes I think we both love food for its ability to provide insight on so many facets and intersections of human relationships, ideas, and activities. I'm interested in the broader modes of learning that multi-sensory experiences can provide, and intrigued by food as a medium for immersive learning. Most of my experiences with food studies in academia were purely theory-based, and while I thoroughly enjoyed that, my knowledge was enriched through cooking and baking in the historic kitchens of museums. I’d love for food to breach the walls of historic kitchens and infiltrate the larger museum sphere. COVID-19 has certainly stunted the growth of this aspect of museum learning, and I’m interested to see how museums further develop ways around this new challenge. 

Lindsay: What would your ideal museum food experience look like? Mine would be within a recreation of a Roman-style villa. I’d sample the elaborate tastes of the Roman elite while lounging on a kline atop an ostentatious mosaic within the triclinium. Bring me a globi and some peacock or boar to snack on. Possibly an edible chubby dormouse

"The Unswept Floor" mosaic in the Villa on Aventine Hill in Rome, created during Hadrian's reign. Source.

Lindsay: I’d also want to experience the life of a cook for a prominent family in a working kitchen. The grueling task of bread making can be recreated from this time period. The smells of sweat and smoke while enclosed in a hot cooking space would transpose oneself into the mentality of poorer Romans. These harsh and arduous working conditions exemplify what the daily life of a worker might have been like. Too often we get lost in the romanticization and wonders of elite and mythos of emperors, forgetting the larger portion of the population. Further dialogue should then take place within museum contexts that displays artifacts from antiquity in relation to food stuffs and cooking ware. And of course, my forever love of garum (the Monosdium Glutamate (MSG) of the Roman world). Who wouldn’t want to sample putrid fish guts?

Dominica: I love MSG and fermented fish sauce, so I would totally be into that. Echoing your thoughts on focusing on the general population, I want food and other multi-sensory experiences in museums to turn more towards marginalized histories and present-day experiences. MSG is still labeled as unhealthy, which is the legacy of a white scientist’s racism against Chinese immigrants. I still see “MSG-free” labels on Chinese food products and at Chinese restaurants. Of course, food can bring people together, but people also use food to antagonize, demonize, and ostracize a community as we’ve recently seen with the “bat soup” myth. As we’ve mentioned before, museums have a large platform to shed more light on these stories and I think food will play an important role in encouraging greater empathy towards these experiences. The Museum of Food and Drink put on the multi-sensory "Flavor: Making It and Faking It" exhibit, which included the science and history of MSG. The exhibition team offered home-made MSG tablets for visitors to try! 

The end of our conversation concluded with a hypothetical discussion about our new life goal to open a Michelin star restaurant together. The menu will be historic food inspired using kitchen instruments from that era. A historian and a classicist. What a dream team. GoFundMe account coming soon! (Just kidding!) 

                                Till next time in Julia Child's signature sign-off, "Bon Appetit!"

4 November 2019

"WHERE DOES THIS COME FROM?": PONDERING PROVENANCE IN THE GLOBAL SUPPLY CHAIN

A Muse Bouche | Jordan Fee


Whether you’re a visitor seeing a new object or a collections assistant assessing a donation, there is one universal question being asked by all: where does this thing come from? Of course, the first question might be “What is this thing?”, but that is often quickly resolved by a two-second glance at the accompanying label or conditions report. The question of origin, on the other hand, is sometimes more difficult to answer. Questions of war, colonization, economic hardship, political and even familial disruption can all play a role in determining the provenance of an artefact, and in some cases the provenance of a particular object might be entirely unknown.

(Source)
I’ve been thinking lately about the ways in which restaurants resemble museums. I mentioned in one of my last article's that the theatricality of the restaurant can in some cases play out in a manner that is similar to the movement of visitors and staff through a museum. Increasingly, chefs and restauranteurs are also seeking ways to be more socially engaged with the communities that they serve, much like museums. Although it may not be a priority for every restaurant, social engagement is now part of what people serve, and who they serve it to.



For the past few years we have had the priveledge of being a part of Pepperdine's Step Forward Volunteer Day; a day where students, staff, faculty, alumni and friends come together to engage with one another and to serve the community. On behalf of South LA and our community, thank you @pepperdine for all your hard work in weeding, aerating, watering trees and beautifying our walkways! Please check out all the great things they are doing https://buff.ly/2ZQRsDm⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ #withlovemarketandcafe #conamor #withlovefamily #community #communityprogram #communityspace #communityovercompetition #communityfirst #communitylove #comunidad #comunidadsaludable #dofoodjustice #freeclass #financialfreedom #financialliteracy #financetips #financegoals #finanzas #loveyourcommunity #nonprofit #shoplocal #socialenterprise #california #picounion #LosAngeles #usc #westadams #pepperdine #stepforwardday
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This notion of provenance is yet another way in which restaurants and museums resemble one another. The questions of where and how are becoming, in many people’s minds, equal to the question of what. While these questions are in no way new for museums or restaurants, they are occupying much larger areas of the public discourse surrounding both culture and food. Farmers markets serve as perfect examples of our obsession with food provenance, where each vendor has a specific origin story about their products. Furthermore, knowing that a restaurant serves local produce helps to justify the choices of a consumer, especially in these times, when every decision seems to be characterized by its impact on the planet.

Pike Place Market in Seattle, Washington. (Source)
The provenance of food is oftentimes very difficult to ascertain. As in the case of some museums objects, food provenance can be spotty, and the origins of a particular food item may be somewhat difficult to track down. Furthermore, food fraud – where a low-cost item is intentionally mislabelled to increase its price – is quite common, especially when it comes to fish and other seafood. Due to an extremely complicated supply-chain, some foods are simply difficult to track.

These muddled supply-chains does not only apply to protein-based products like meat or fish. Other items of produce are routinely shipped around the world, often ending up right back where they started. Recently, I read an anecdote in a book titled Burn the Ice: The American Culinary Revolution and its End, where a chef from Oregon had mushrooms shipped from France, only to find out that they had actually been grown in Oregon. What’s more disheartening is that these confusing practices are often done intentionally.

Just a few days ago, Transparency International published a brief overview of corruption in the food supply chain, showing how companies practice general obscurantism in hopes of hiding the origins – and in some cases the biological make-up – of their products. The food chain is rife with shell companies, bribery and corrupted officials, often resulting in a low level of dependency when it comes to the average consumer. Throughout this chain, from beginning to end, people are being taken advantage of, much of the time at the benefit of massive, multinational producers.



Today is #WorldFoodDay 🥑 . In a globalised world 🌎, food supply chains are often very long and many products travel halfway across the globe before they reach your dinner table. Along this chain, there are various corruption 😡 risks. This World Food Day, we take a look at the many ways #corruption affects this basic human necessity. . It starts at the very origin of food — land. 🌽 #Landcorruption has a huge impact on farming and thus on food security, especially of the communities living on and around the land in question. . But there are numerous corruption risks further down the food supply chain, too. The problem is secrecy. Unscrupulous people are often able to pass off products that aren’t what they say they are along complex supply chains that use 🕵️ shell companies. . Sometimes, food processing companies are able to operate outside the law simply because they are so big and influential, and are protected by their corrupt networks. . Corruption can affect the supply chain in many ways, and often impedes people’s access to proper food 🥕. Strong government institutions are a first step to avoid this, but integrity in global supply chains is the responsibility of private sector companies, too. . Together, they need to ensure that rules and regulations are kept and that information about business practices is made accessible. Transparency is the first step towards accountability and improvement. . Photo by Joao Marcelo Marques on Unsplash.
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Although food and agriculture are for-profit industries, I believe that they have just as much of a responsibility to provenance as non-profit institutions. Many people have a strong interest in where their food comes from, the food industry is much further behind than the museum sector. While it is far from complete, the conversation surrounding provenance is taking centre stage in many cultural institutions. Conversely, the notion of provenance in the food industry is mostly relegated to luxury products and fine-dining.

Unfortunately, the fact is that private companies are not held to the same standards as public-facing (and public-serving) institutions like museums. While some individuals, companies and governments are concerned with transparency in the food and agricultural sectors, the desire for clarity is not quite as universal. I would like to believe that the industries surrounding the production, distribution and consumption of food are as commendable as those surrounding the consumption of culture, but it is quite difficult to do so. Governments – and the individuals that comprise them – are often at the behest of massive corporations, many of which actively try to obscure and maintain global inequalities.

As you can probably tell, I am not one for blind optimism. However, writing this article has made me realize that, while provenance is important in both the museum and food sectors, it does not receive the same amount of attention in both. Even though many museums across the globe receive government funding, they are nevertheless seen as spaces for social and cultural reflection. They are hotbeds for questions. Furthermore, the public perception of museums maintains their responsibility towards transparency and social engagement. Restaurants and other food-related businesses are working to be more dependable, but there is still a long way to go.

12 March 2019

FINDING FOODWAYS, PART II.

Research Column | Casarina Hocevar


In my last post, I introduced my upcoming exhibition project, Storefront Stories, and shared a bit about my research into the historical Jewish foodways of Kensington Market. In today’s post, we shall delve into a small tidbit from the research.

Communal Ovens

Perhaps one of my favourite things I have learned in researching Kensington’s Jewish history is a small anecdote about the use of communal ovens. Throughout the 19th and early 20th century, it was common practice in the shtetlekh - villages - of Eastern Europe to use communal ovens to prepare meals for Sabbath. One of my favourite historians of Jewish foodways, Hasia Diner, writes eloquently about the importance of food and food preparation in Jewish life, especially celebratory meals:

The Jewish calendar moved from holiday to holiday, from Sabbath to the six days of the work week, from one life cycle to another, along a food trajectory … The Sabbath meals, three of them…stood out from the weekly food cycle for their richness and elaborateness. …Memoirs of Jewish life in eastern Europe recalled chicken soup, roasted meat, gefillte fish, tcholent (a mixture of beans, meats, potatoes, other vegetables) cooked long and slow, usually in communal ovens, and cakes and fruits, as the embodiment of Jewish family and communal life. - Hasia Diner, Hungering for America, 155 - 156.

As noted in Diner’s quote, meals like tcholent were cooked in a communal oven. Tcholent, similar to a slow-simmering stew, often was cooked overnight to be ready for the lunch/midday meal during Sabbath.

While searching for photographs and information about family businesses in Kensington Market for the exhibition, our team came across the accession file to the Lottman family who ran a bakery at 172 Baldwin St from the 1920s to '40s (and later at 181 Baldwin St. until 1984). In this file there is a note that reads, “[the bakery] had a brick oven and on Friday nights women would bring their pots to keep the chollent warm for the Sa[b]bath.” This short and sweet note indicates to us continuity in Jewish foodways from Eastern Europe shtetlekh to the little Jewish Market in early Toronto: the community followed a weekly routine of observing Sabbath, and to facilitate this, one of the neighbourhood bakeries shared their oven for communal cooking.

Unfortunately, at this stage of our research, we have little evidence or information about whether other bakeries in the market also participated in this practice or which women (and families) would have visited the Lottman bakery to leave their chollent overnight. Nonetheless, small moments like this help illustrate to us some aspect of the market’s foodways: weekly routines (preparing for the Sabbath meals), types of food (tcholent/chollent), division of labour (communal and gendered) and the geography (Lottman’s as a site of communal food production).

A glimpse into the past

Below are two family images of the Lottman's bakery at 172 Baldwin St. In the first: the three women are identified as Sandy Shabinsky, Katie Lottman Grossman, Ruth Berman, in the second: Bella Tichberg and her cousin Henry. Katie Lottman Grossman was Sam Lottman's daughter, who was one of the founders and owners of the bakery, and Bella Tichberg is one of his granddaughters. Later family photos include interior shots from the Lottman bakery and their more industrial kitchen; unfortunately, though, we have no known existing photographs of the original Lottman oven used for communal cooking.

The Lottman family's bakery is one of the businesses to be featured in Storefront Stories.


Permission to use from the Ontario Jewish Archives: “Lottman family,” Ontario Jewish Archives, North York, ON. Accession number: 2013-11-2.

Permission to use from the Ontario Jewish Archives: “Lottman family,” Ontario Jewish Archives, North York, ON. Accession number: 2013-11-2.


27 February 2019

CUISINE, OR: HOW I STOPPED WORRYING AND LEARNED TO LOVE THE WORD

A Muse Bouche | Jordan Fee


In the past ten to fifteen years, food in the museum has seen a great increase in popularity. The discipline of Food Studies has also become much more visible, as chefs, restaurateurs, activists and anthropologists continue to edge their way into the public eye. Recently, I was privileged with joining a class that revolved around the methods of research being applied in this field today. While I was initially very excited to enter into a discussion about food with some of my fellow colleagues (an opportunity that I rarely come by), I was quite taken aback by some of the conversations that I heard in this setting.

A wonderfully cute display on "Foods Made from Wheat" at the Kyoto University Museum. (Source.)
Immediately, I found myself immersed in a pool of thick, unforgiving academia. With each passing week I became more and more estranged from the topic that I originally intended to study. It is certainly possible that these negative feelings resulted from my own philosophy surrounding food, and it would be unreasonable to claim that the other students in this class were at fault for my own misgivings. The fact is that the kinds of conversations that I encountered in this class had been taking place for many years.

One heavily discussed topic in this class was the notion of ‘cuisine’. Referring to books and articles written by Amy Trubek, who is currently acting as Faculty Director of the Food Systems Graduate Program at the University of Vermont, the class focused on the question of dominant cuisines, as well as on the recognition of cuisines in countries and communities that had yet to be acknowledged on a national or international scale. It was by no means an uninteresting discussion, and many of the other students applied the notion of ‘cuisine’ to their respective research focuses, showing how the concept might fit into a wide variety of food systems, ranging from the spice trade in Imperial China to contemporary food systems in Latin America.

Nevertheless, the topic was discussed with a certain reverence that I found unsettling. While many people in the discussion were attempting to identify particular definitions and interpretations of cuisine, nobody seemed to be questioning the importance of the notion itself. This lack of critical interrogation fuelled my skepticism, which has in turn led me to write this article.

My face when listening to a conversation about the importance of cuisine (Source.)
In this discussion about cuisine, the problem was not the existence of the concept itself; both the notion and the practice of cuisine have important historical roots. However, these roots spring forth mainly in the Western world. Therefore, to assume that the concept should be applied to traditions that exist outside of Western thought is, to me, somewhat paternalistic. Certainly these traditions are deserving of recognition. However, to simply group them under the banner of ‘cuisine’ is to ignore their agency. The fact that we, as students in a Western university, believed so strongly in the power of the word was quite unsettling. Furthermore, I would argue that this belief is symptomatic of a more generally euro-centric way of thinking that continues to dominate the food industry today.  

Ultimately, I became too frustrated with the class. Resigned, I dropped it just a few weeks ago. I still feel saddened by the thought that I gave up so quickly, and I wonder if my decision to leave was quite childish in nature. Nevertheless, I have become convinced that words like cuisine, which seek to recognize a particular set of culinary traditions as being of particular importance, can in fact serve to perpetuate discourses that ignore the uniqueness and exceptionality of other cultures. And unfortunately, these terms usually find favour in Western institutions (universities included). 

(Source.)
Again, let me be clear: I am not claiming that the students in my class were to blame for the prevalence of these discourses. Theories of culture and cuisine have been developed by multiple generations of thinkers and practitioners. However, we as students should not become resigned to these discourses; we should question them fundamentally and ask ourselves whether or not we are being indoctrinated into a self-justifying system that determines its own sense of importance and value from within.