Showing posts with label Foodways. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Foodways. Show all posts

13 April 2021

FORGOTTEN FRUITS: DISAPPEARING, LOST AND NEGLECTED PRODUCE

 A Muse Bouche | Natalie Scola 


Spring has sprung and with the warmer weather, many people are getting their gardens ready for the summer growing season. With the pandemic, more people are turning to gardening as a pastime. An increased interest in locally grown and sourced produce is also increasing public interest in hobby gardening. Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, strawberries, and apples are common plants that are found in grocery stores, farmer’s markets, and in backyard gardens. But there are many edible plants that have disappeared or are no longer in common use. Vegetables and fruits disappear as tastes change, new varieties are introduced; and because of effect of commercialized farming. Many of these forgotten plants are seeing a revival as more people take up gardening and become interested in foods of the past.

Still Life with Quinces, 1888 by Vincent van Gogh. Quinces are still grown today but do not have the same popularity as they enjoyed historically. Source.

Skirret (Sium sisarum)

Skirret is a perennial plant grown as a root vegetable. It is part of the Umbelliferae family which also includes more familiar plants such as carrots, dill, parsley, and coriander. Skirret grows a cluster of white roots about 15-20 cm (5-7 in) long; these roots can be boiled, baked, stewed, roasted, fried, or even used raw. It is a starchy vegetable, with a floury texture similar to a potato. Skirret may have developed in China, but it was used in Europe as far back as the Roman empire, where it was prized for its natural sweetness. Skirret shows up across history on different tables and historical cookbooks provide a staggering array of recipes for preparation, including skirret pie, skirret with bacon, and fried skirret. Skirret was eventually uprooted (no pun intended) by two introduced crops. Sugar cane was much more appealing as a sweetener than the skirret root – the same displacement happened with the sugar beet, which was a main source of sugar for centuries. The other crop was the potato, which had a much higher yield and became the main starchy staple as it was easier to mass produce. Skirret now is almost impossible to find at stores or markets, but specialty growers do carry seeds. It is apparently quite easy to grow if you do find it!

This image shows the cluster of roots on a skirret plant. Source.

 Skirret is often compared to parsnips as both are starchy root vegetables. Parsnips were used in a similar manner to skirret but retained their popularity – but only in some places. Parsnips remained popular on English tables, eventually bringing the parsnip to America where it retained its popularity. However in Italy, the parsnip became unused and forgotten.

Salsify (Tragopogon porrifolius)

Another starchy root vegetable, salsify, has retained some popularity into the present day. Salsify belongs to the Asteraceae family along with daisies and dandelions and is cultivated for its root and greens. It also is known by a variety of interesting names, including oyster plant, Jerusalem star, and goatsbeard. It is native to the Mediterranean region but has been introduced to Britain, Northern Europe, and North America, where it often grows wild as a weed. The young root tastes somewhat like asparagus, while the mature root has a taste similar to oysters, hence the name oyster plant. Salsify comes in two varieties, white and black. Black salsify (Scorzonera hispanica) has retained popularity, particularly in the Mediterranean region where it is commonly called scorzonera or Spanish salsify. Historically, it was thought that salsify was an anecdote for snake bites and the bubonic plague. Seeds for scorzonera can be found online at heirloom seed retailers.

Scorzonera, or black salsify, has a black skin with a white interior. Source. 

 Medlar (Mespilus germanica)

Medlar is the fruit of the medlar tree. The plant is indigenous to southeastern Europe and southwest Asia, and has been cultivated for thousands of years. The medlar fruit is unique in that it is one of the few fruits that are available in winter, making it an important source of food for year-round gardening. It is also one of the few fruits that need to bletted to eat. Bletting is a process of softening that certain fruits go through in order to become edible. Bletting is necessary to increase natural sugars and decrease acids and tannins that make fruits astringent and unpalatable. Bletting can be achieved through prolonged storage or with frost, which helps break down the fruit. Other fruits that must be bletted before eating include persimmons and quince. When medlars are unripe they are reddish-brown and hard, but after bletting, they take on a wrinkled, brown appearance which may lead some to think they have spoiled. The shape of the fruit, with a wide blossom end, may have led to a rather rude name: “open-arse” or in French “cul de chien”.

Medlar fruit on the tree before they have been bletted. Source. 

Despite these colourful names, the medlar was an important fruit throughout history. It was first mentioned by the Greeks as far back as 700 BCE, after which it was introduced to the Romans. Charlemagne included the medlar on a list of plants in his gardens. By medieval times, it was a planted in monasteries, royal gardens and village greens. Medlar trees and fruit are mentioned in The Canterbury Tales, Don Quixote, several of Shakespeare’s works, and are seen in contemporary illustrations. Medlar fruit was eaten raw as a dessert or made into a jelly. It’s most interesting use was as medlar cheese which is not a cheese at all but a type of paste made from fruit and sugar that is then cooked in a mould. Despite their long-lasting historic popularity, medlars became virtually unknown by the mid-20th century. 

Three Medlars with a Butterfly,  Adriaen Coorte, 1705. Source.

As produce production became increasingly commercialized, the medlar was not commercially viable. The bletting process reduces the period of debility – it must be eaten as soon as it is ripe or it will truly go rotten. This reduces shelf life and makes transporting and other logistics complicated. Despite the medlar fading from common use, trees can still be found in public spaces and the tree is seeing a resurgence in popularity.

Quince (Cydonia oblonga)

Another fruit that still has some popularity today, quince can be hard to find and challenging to those unfamiliar with it. Quinces are large, knobby yellow fruits that look like a cross between an apple and a pear. They are astringent and rock hard when raw – cutting into them requires a strong arm and very large knife. But they have a wonderful aroma, somewhere between a mix of apple, citrus, and vanilla. When cooked, quince turns rosy pink and is deliciously sweet. It can be poached like pears, served alongside rich meat, and cooked into sweet jelly. Quince paste, called membrillo, is popular in Spain and makes a tasty counterpart to cheese. But while its apple and pear relatives are found in supermarkets and orchards, quinces are difficult to find commercially. Quinces originated in Iran and were part of ancient Greek and Roman cuisines. Like the medlar, they were commonly found in gardens throughout history. Many historical cookbooks list a variety of uses for quince. Quince paste called chardequince and chardewarden (warden meaning pears as the dish was made of a mixture of quince, pear, and egg) was a popular medieval dish. By the 16th and 17th centuries, quince pastes were called cotoniack and quiddany; these were prescribed by apothecaries to help with digestion. Quince pastes were often pressed into carved wooden moulds to give them a decorative appearance.

A reproduction of 17th century moulded quince paste, or cotoniack. Source.

Settlers brought quinces with them to America, where they became an important fruit crop because of their high concentration of pectin, which is used for setting jam and jelly. However, the popularity of quinces began to decline with the invention of commercial gelatin and pectin in the 1890s. Consumer tastes trended towards fruits that were easier to eat and prepare and did not require long ripening periods. The quince has remained popular throughout the Mediterranean and Southwest Asia; it is still found in Iranian, Armenian, and Lebanese cuisines. My Italian grandparents remember quinces growing in their hometowns, where it is called mela cotogna. Quince was planted in Canada as a flowering shrub, and can still be found in older neighbourhoods where beautiful pink blossoms come out every spring. Quince fruit is carried in specialty grocers and ethnic food stores, where it is season from October to December. 

In December I bought a case of quinces at an Italian wholesaler. Photo courtesy of Natalie Scola.


I used the quince to make a tasty jam! The white flesh of the fruit turns pink when cooked. Photo courtesy of Natalie Scola.

Jerusalem Artichoke (Helianthus tuberosus)

Despite its name, the Jerusalem artichoke has no relationship to Jerusalem, nor is it related to the artichoke. It is actually a type of sunflower, native to North America. The plant is cultivated for its tuber, which was a staple food crop of many Indigenous groups prior to European contact. The plant is easily cultivated, which is seen in its wide ecological distribution across North America. The long-lasting tubers were sent back to Europe where it became a popular foodstuff and naturalized. The plant was well suited to the European climate and was eaten widely as well as being used for animal feed. There are different theories about why the plant is called “Jerusalem”. Some theorize it is a corruption of the Italian word for sunflower, girasole, probably called so because of its yellow flowers. The taste of the tuber itself somewhat resembles an artichoke, giving it the second half of its name. The Jerusalem artichoke reached the peak of its popularity in the 19th century, after which consumer taste changed. In the 1950s, a marketing campaign to revive the tuber renamed it as “sunchoke”, which has become another common name for the plant. The plant has seen a revival in the last 20 years, becoming available at grocers, farmer’s markets, and to grow at home. The tubers can be roasted, pureed in soup, or even sliced and fried like potato chips!

Raw Jerusalem Artichoke tubers. Source.

Pawpaw (Asimina triloba)

The pawpaw is a fascinating, if under recognized tree. It is the largest fruit-bearing tree native to North America, and is the only temperate climate tropical fruit. It is part of the same family as custard apples, cherimoya, and soursop, but is not related to the papaya, which is sometimes also called pawpaw. The tree is small, growing about 11 meters (35 feet) high and produces large green-yellow fruits. These fruits can grow to be 15 cm long and weigh half a kilogram. The flesh of the fruit is soft and pulpy and is said to taste similar to bananas, mangos, and pineapple. The fruit is commonly eaten raw but can also be used to make baked desserts, jams, and jellies. The pawpaw is native to a large part of the Eastern United States, from the coast to Indiana and Missouri, and south to Florida. Its northmost range extends into southern Ontario, where it is one of the rarest plants in the province – it was part of the Carolinian forest system which was decimated by settler clear-cutting. The tree primarily spreads through clonal colonies, using its root system to send up shoots and create new, genetically identical plants; this is why many pawpaws are found grouped together. Some plants do grow from seed, but this is much more uncommon. There are no native animals that eat the large fruit or equally large seeds, leading some scientists to speculate that prehistoric megafauna ate the fruit, and then spread the still viable seeds after digestion. Scientists have found fossilized pawpaw leaves from the Cretaceous and Eocene eras – dinosaurs may have enjoyed snacking on pawpaws! The pawpaw survived the extinction of the dinosaurs and other ecological events and became widespread, colonizing floodplains and understory forests. Indigenous groups cultivated orchards of the plant, helping spread its range. The scientific name for the pawpaw, Asimina triloba, comes from the Powhatan word for the plant. Despite its fascinating history, the pawpaw is little known and has never been cultivated on a large commercial scale like other fruits. 

Pawpaw fruit showing the soft flesh and large seeds. Source. 

The largest problem is that pawpaws do not tolerate shipping well. They also spoil shortly after harvesting, giving them a very short shelf life and restricting markets to a local radius. Pawpaws have low pollination rates, leading to lower fruit production. Unlike most fruits and veggies, pawpaws are not pollinated by bees. Instead, the red flowers emit a curious carrion smell that attracts beetles and flies, which are less efficient pollinators than bees. Scientists are trying to breed tougher plants that will increase shipping abilities and have higher pollination rates, but the pawpaw still remains widely unknown. The genetic diversity of pawpaws have declined, with varieties disappearing as urban sprawl decreased habitat and farmers turned to more profitable fruits. However, it does have pockets of recognition: Athens County, Ohio is home to the world’s largest and longest running pawpaw festival; Carolinian Canada, a wildlife charity, holds an annual Pawpaw parade to encourage awareness of the plant; and many native-plant nurseries have started carrying pawpaw seedlings. As a native plant important to the ecological makeup of southern Ontario, the pawpaw deserves more awareness – and a spot on our plates!

Lost but Not Forgotten...

There are a great variety of food crops in traditional food systems, but many of these foods are not part of current markets and diets. The increased commercialization of crops and changes to traditional foodways have impacted which foods are widely available. As shown with the foods in this article, foods fall out of use when they are not marketable, relegating lesser-known crops to hobby growers and farmers markets. 

Lack of knowledge of traditional crops creates barriers in their use and promotion, which can lead to the loss of local culinary traditions. However, there has been a revival in growing forgotten or lost vegetables, as more people want to reconnect with culinary heritage. What foods are understood as “forgotten” or “lost” is often a matter of age and opinion. In France, for example, rutabagas have seen a steady revival: during the Second World War, rutabagas were eaten when there were mass food storages and restrictions, thus having a negative connotation in the public memory and were not commonly eaten after the war. Ethnobotanist François Couplan published a list of forgotten vegetables in 1986, which included dandelion and cardoon. These may have been forgotten to city dwellers, but many people living in rural areas would be familiar with these crops and use them in their everyday cooking. Of course, these are now commonly found in supermarkets (I saw cardoon at Longo’s this week!), showing how times have changed. 

Interest in reviving forgotten culinary traditions is happening globally. Cook and See is project by food designer Akash Muralidharan. The 100 day project was meant to bring back local produce that was disappearing from South Asian homes. Muralidharan was inspired to start the project after looking through his grandmother’s copy of Samaithu Paar (Cook and See), a 1951 cookbook, which listed vegetables that Muralidharan had never heard of. Muralidharan went to local markets, spoke to produce suppliers, scavenged through kitchen gardens, and polled family, friends, and neighbours to discover the lost vegetables. He found veggies like elephant yam, sunberries and red okra, detailing his finds on Instagram along with the origin of the plants.

 
There are many other edible plants that have faded from use, including rampion, orache and crosne. Others forgotten plants are seeing a revival thanks to the dedicated efforts of plant enthusiasts. Plants grown hundreds of years ago had unique, complex flavours and were not designed for a commercialized world. it will be interesting to see what other lost and forgotten plants return to our gardens - and which fruits and vegetables from today become things of the past.

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.


13 February 2019

FINDING FOODWAYS, PART I.

Research Column | Casarina Hocevar


This semester, I am taking over Musings’ Research Column to share a bit about my personal research and upcoming exhibition project. Ideally, this column will touch upon both the exciting and woeful moments of historical research - from archival photos to tricky translations and many winding paths in-between...and of course, give some insight into a Museum Studies student’s research!


A peek into an archival box from the Ontario Jewish Archives. Photo courtesy of Casarina Hocevar.


Exhibition Project/Research Scope

Last semester, I delved into two intersecting projects. The first is my MMSt exhibition project, Storefront Stories, co-curated with fellow Museum Studies candidates Amy, Evelyn, and Erica, for the Ontario Jewish Archives (OJA). Our project investigates and shares Kensington Market’s Jewish history through the lens of archival storefront photographs. Through the creation of our poster exhibition and website, we aim to explore Jewish life in the Market during the early 20th Century. The exhibition will use the photographs as a springboard into themes about the market’s culture, including intellectual and political life, Jewish foodways, immigration, trade and commerce, and the neighbourhood’s community.





Welcome to the instagram of Ontario Jewish Archives! Over the next couple of months, University of Toronto Museum Studies students, Casarina, Amy, Erica and Evelyn will be posting about the upcoming OJA exhibition, "Storefront Stories." . Since October, we've been busy planning, designing and researching our exhibition about Kensington Market's early Jewish history. The exhibit intends to feature approximately 12 posters with information about the unique stories of past Kensington businesses and Jewish life. . We're delighted to start the next stage of our project this week. We'll be heading into the market to connect with business owners as potential participants in the exhibition. Participating businesses will showcase a poster featuring a photo of their historic storefront and story. . . . Continue to follow us here for exhibition updates and developments. ✨
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The second project is a historical investigation of Jewish foodways in Kensington Market. This project began with a research proposal for a history course I took last semester, “The History of Food and Drink,” and has since evolved into an ongoing personal project as a way to bolster my knowledge about Kensington Market, (im)migrant foodways, and local Jewish history. (I will also be sharing some of this research at the upcoming McGill-Queen’s Graduate History Conference in March.) Through compiling, reading and interpreting a combination of primary and secondary sources, I have been slowly noting the early foodways of the Market. Primary sources used are those normally accessed at the OJA or City of Toronto Archives, such as photographs, menus, business directories, newspaper clippings, etc. While the secondary sources available come from a range of fields, including Jewish studies, food studies, geography, diaspora studies, and history.

So...why - and what are - foodways?

While Storefront Stories is not an exhibition about Kensington Market’s Jewish foodways per se, my interest and pursuit of foodways research undeniably connects to the exhibition’s broad themes. Food studies (and more specifically for me, food history) aims to understand how food, and food practices, impacts our lives. This can include both our intimate relationships with food (e.g. how we conceptualize our identities and those of others through food practices) to more public and global food topics, such as the role of restaurants in gentrification, or say the commodification and trade of food items - coffee beans, wheat, or bananas.

“Foodways” refers to more specific practices associated with people in a given place and/or period (e.g. Japanese foodways in the 19th Century, or the foodways of British colonists in India, or Palestinian foodways in the diaspora). So, in the context of my research, by focusing upon Jewish foodways in Kensington Market, I can better contextualize a range of information, including: the popularity of certain types of establishments (e.g. kosher delis), the sensory experience of the Market (what would one smell or taste or hear throughout the Market in the early 20th Century?), and, the role of gender in private and public spaces (who prepared, purchased, and served food goods in the neighbourhood?)... all of which helps to better inform us about life in early Kensington Market.

As the semester progresses, keep your eye out for future posts in this series which will highlight some of my research developments!