DRESSING FOR THE PAST: AN INTERVIEW WITH DR. CAROLYN DOWDELL

 Sew What | Natalie Scola

---

Natalie Scola: Hi Carolyn, it is so wonderful to have the chance to speak with you and thank you for taking the time to meet with me.

Carolyn Dowell: No problem at all, I am excited to be here!

NS: So my first question is how did you become interested in historical dress?

CD: It was probably in a very Canadian way! When I was a little girl, the CBC version of Anne of Green Gables came out and I was reading the books at the same time. I’m an Anne girl and the costumes in that were really good – you watch it today and they still look really good. You can see little of the fluffy 80’s hairstyles and all that in it, but for the most part it was really well done and I was absolutely enamoured of the costumes in that production. I just loved period movies and stuff ever since then. That kind of sparked the initial interest. I didn’t follow that path right away, my undergrad was in visual art. I ended up taking all the costume courses in the theatre department at my school, so by the time I finished my undergrad I thought I was going to go into costume design. But then I was exposed to the Pattern of Fashions books by Janet Arnold, and I discovered that I was really into actual historical clothing and how it was made and learning more about it - and that drove me towards my graduate studies in actual dress history. So it started nascently really early but it took quite a bit of time to develop into what it would become.

NS: When did you start making your own historical costumes? Did it come from those theatre courses?

CD: A little bit, it was a little bit the other way around, they started very close to each other but I started sewing when I was I think 17, I started making clothes for myself and I make pretty well all my own clothes still. So I started with that but I already knew I loved period movies and costumes so I pretty quickly started dabbling in that. And it was around about the same time that I was taking the costuming courses in the theatre department and so that was when I started to learn about drafting, and I made my first corset and started learning theatre versions of period techniques and I kind of just kept going with it. It was still very movie oriented, I would make costumes based on movies and TV shows that I saw. And so I was gradually realizing that I was interested in these original garments more and more. An exhibition I saw that made a really big impression on me was the Dangerous Liaisons exhibition [at the MET], that just completely sucked me in, especially because it was 18th century. Even though Anne of Green Gables was the first, I really developed a love for the 18th century and that exhibition blew me out of the water. There was so much that was really great about that exhibition. It had a really strong impression on me because it was about a year after that I moved out west to go to the University of Alberta to start my masters. As part of my degree, I did a large scale 18th century reproduction project. I was learning 18th century sewing while I was doing it and already started doing object based research for my masters. I made clothing that was from the years 1750 to 1775-ish. There was a set of foundation garments, a robe a la francaise, a robe a la anglais, a riding habit, a matching calico jacket and petticoat, a pet-en-l’air and a quilted petticoat. I put that on exhibition at University of Alberta, they have a small exhibition space in the department that I was in. It was all about the making of and showing the fashion and it was about how they were made and what it was like to be like a dressmaker or mantua maker at that time.

French dress, 1775, Costume Institute at the Met | Source

NS: When you’re making all these costumes, what does the research process look like? Do you start with sourcing material or looking for inspiration first, or do you look at the references first?

CD: Yes, all kind of at the same time! No two projects happen exactly the same way, it's kind of inorganic process. I have a ton of Pinterest boards constantly looking for new images visual sources on Pinterest. I have lots of books, like my patterns of fashion books are one of the most used sources for both styles and then how to visualize making them and what the pattern pieces should look like things. But also various types of books like from the Kyoto Costume Institute and then books of fashion plates. Mostly I do use images of extant garments and images of fashion plates, I do tend to use those more than portraiture; I mean there's definitely things that you can sometimes get from portraiture that you can't get from those other sources. Usually what ends up happening too is I almost never directly reproduce something. It's usually a combination of a few different inspirations because a lot of the times I'll see something and think “oh I really love this except I don't like this about it” or “I really love this but is there some way that I can modify this that is a way that they still would have done.” I do a lot of "franken-patterning" where I'll take patterns from different sources and squish them together.

NS: I can't read patterns at all, I have very basic sewing skills but I still have all the Janet Arnold books. I just can't truly read them so every time I see someone put a pattern together I think it’s the coolest thing ever – like how can you even read that!

CD: I mean you actually do sewing the more you understand patterns, and I was kind of thrown into the deep end with it too. My first sewing project was a dress, like every day dress for myself. But it had like a fitted bodice with darts, it had gathered skirt, it had pockets, it had a zipper and a lace up back, it really had every component possible. It was the biggest hot mess on the inside, it was atrocious! I remember there was somebody once who asked if they could borrow it and I said “no I'm not going to lend it to you just in case it falls apart”. I really wish now that I had kept it because it would be amazing to show what I started with. I started with something complicated and most people don't - for most people it's a good idea not to start with something complicated because you can easily get discouraged. But for myself it was the right thing, so having a challenging project as my first one even though was it was such a mess and perhaps only barely wearable, I was still so proud of myself.

NS: That leads really well into my next question which is: what is your favourite piece of clothing to make?

CD: I like making so many different things it's easier to say what I don't like making! I don't like making pants! My favourite things to make are probably 18th century gowns. After I did that reproduction project is part of my masters I didn't want to do 18th century again for a while because was six full months sewing eight to twelve hours a day, but now it's probably my favorite. 18th century fashion is probably my deepest love and it's why I did two graduate degrees on that. It ended up becoming kind of like my comfort sewing; I understand 18th century sewing so well that it's so easy for me to go into and do it. I really do enjoy hand sewing, I find it very relaxing - you can kind of do it anywhere, you can do it while you're watching TV and stuff which you can't really do with the machine. I find it visually and aesthetically really appealing and I really like the particular process of construction of 18th century gowns. There's that element of feeling like you're communing with historical dressmakers, particularly when you're doing hand sewing projects because it is so particularly physical and kind of visceral as opposed to when you're using a machine. Now that I feel really comfortable with it, it doesn't take as long as when I first started doing it. Like that project that I did as part of my masters I could probably do that in noticeably less time.

NS: 18th century fashion is so interesting because the fashion changes so much from the beginning to the end of the century.

CD: There's a lot of variety! When you get to know it well, you read more you start to see more in it, so I really enjoyed exploring the variety that is in the 18th century. I need to do some more from the first third of the century, I’m focusing a lot towards the end. I did a like a 1690s mantua and that was a really interesting exploration of dress.

NS: With all these outfits that you’ve made, what was the most challenging project you’ve worked on?

CD: Well actually it's one that I wouldn't really call historical more vintage. The most challenging project I think is when I reproduced Charles James' tree gown. The only reason that I was able to do it is because when I was back in London in 2012-2013 to do research for my PhD, the new assistant curator at the Museum of London was Timothy Long. He had come from the Chicago History Museum and did the Charles James exhibition there and he had taken patterns from of the foundation layers of several of James’ gowns. They had done reproductions of the foundation layers to display alongside the gowns to show what was underneath and the structure of the gown. He sent me pattern pieces for the foundation layers of the tree gown and so the next year I made my own. It was it was an amazing learning experience. I can say that it is a standing dress! I made it to go to the 2014 Toronto Officers' Garrison, my husband and I have gone several times; I love to go because it gives me an excuse to make a ballgown. It definitely made an impact that year I was there but it was it was the worst to wear it. There's a dinner that's part of the ball and the skirt of this dress just did not fit under the table! And there is an element of the under structure almost sort of like cones or buttresses that are right behind your thighs to give shape at the back and it's right where you want to sit! So my dress doesn't really fit under the table and I'm having to sit at the edge of my chair, it wasn't fun to wear. But I really love looking at it on the mannequin as a decorative dress now!

NS: Obviously you love dress history a lot, you've done two degrees in it. So why do you think that the study of dress history is important?

CD: There are a bunch of reasons. It is something you know people really do respond to. Dress is something that all human beings have in common; even if you're not in a culture that wears what we would call clothing you still practice some form of dress. Every single human being on the planet is connected by dress - we are connected to it and we are impacted by it literally from the moment we're born to death. It's our most intimate environment, it's what is literally next to our skins and it's sort of like our second skin or public skin. Dress has been so important to other aspects of history and society and culture. It’s the reason why the Industrial Revolution happened. Textiles have been the foundations of numerous countries’ economies in past centuries and it's what civilizations and empires were built on. Dress touches every single facet of life and it factors in so much to knowing who we were, which tells us who we are, which helps inform us about where we're going.

NS: That's great, I think that's a really great answer! Thank you so much for your time, you have provided such a great look into the world of historical costuming.

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.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Akash Muralidharan (@akash_muralidaran)

 

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.

SUSTAINABILITY IN 18TH CENTURY STYLE: REMAKING AND REUSING GARMENTS

 Sew What | Natalie Scola 

---

Sustainability in fashion has grown as people become more aware of the products they buy and consume. There is a huge interest in thrifting and upcycling clothes in an effort to reduce the environmental impact of the fashion industry. This seems like a new, green movement but the remaking of older clothes and reusing textiles is a centuries-old concept.

Extant garments (original garments that are still in existence in museums or private collections) are interesting because they reveal so much about the life of the object itself. Clothes are fascinating items to study as they hold a personal, intimate connection across time and place. We all wear clothes – styles change but clothing still holds thaziz  e same functions.

Clothing tells us how people lived their lives. They are a visual and physical marker of time periods, the wearer’s status and even represent important events in people’s lives. There is a prevailing idea that the wealthy wore an outfit only once. Scholarship and analysis of extant garments has proved this false. Clothes have been made and remade for centuries. Extant garments are rare partially because of the fragility and decay of textiles over time but also because they were continually remade into other clothes or items. Diaries and account books of women living in the 17th and 18th centuries show that women were concerned with cost, usefulness and aesthetics when making purchases. Studying how clothing was altered provides contextualization and gives life to an otherwise static object.

 

This dress (robe a la anglais) dates to the 1760s. However the large silk pattern is earlier, from the 1740s. The MFA Boston lists the provenance as being originally worn as a wedding dress in 1740. The dress was remade and worn by the original owner's daughter in 1760. Source. 

While it is generally understood that museums want the most pristine, undamaged objects for their collections, there is a great value placed on altered garments because it shows how construction techniques changed, how fashions evolved and how people used clothes. While remaking and reusing of clothes and textiles probably existed since people starting wearing them, this article focuses on garments from the 18th century. The 18th century saw a massive growth in consumer culture, with new imported materials and advancements in industry. Styles also changed a great deal over the century, notably with the shift towards the Regency style at the end of the 1700s and the rise of new materials for clothing. Because of these factors, there are many examples of extant garments that show evidence of alteration.

One of the main reasons why people remade garments was changing clothing styles. During the first half of the 18th century, women wore dramatic, wide gowns, which gradually narrowed by the 1770s and 1780s. Aside from fashion, people’s bodies went through natural changes, such as growth, pregnancy or weight. The large second-hand trade market meant that clothes needed to be altered to fit a new wearer. Clothes were remade also as a function of economy. The material purchased for clothes (cloth, metal, lace etc.) was often more expensive than the labour needed to make them. It made sense to remake clothes to get the maximum use out of costly textiles and trimmings. This allowed people to keep current fashions without having to purchase new materials each time.

How is it possible to tell that an extant garment is remade? It can be difficult because the level of craftsmanship in the alterations is so fine that it is hard to distinguish between the original and altered construction. Telltale signs of altering include: small holes left behind where fabric was unpicked, such as along the sleeve cuffs or the waist. Another clue are pleats that were taken out but retain their original crease.

The fabric itself provides a visual clue as to the age of the garment. Silk was an extremely popular fabric throughout the 18th century. Silk patterns changed over the course of the century. Large, abstract prints were popular in the earlier decades and more rigid, striped designs in the latter part. Some garments are made of silk that dates to earlier decades but the style and construction of the piece itself is much later; the clothes would have been remade in a newer, fashionable style while being economical in reusing an older piece. 

The large decorative pattern on this silk indicates a weaving date of the 1730s. The dress was remade in the 1770s. Source.

Some extant garments from the 19th century are also made from older, 18th century clothes. With the shift to neoclassical styles at the end of the 1700s, lighter fabrics, like muslin and cotton, were used; they evoked the specific ancient aesthetic of the period and silk was no longer as fashionable. The introduction of cotton to the British market in the 1780s also led to the decline in the silk market. By the 1820s and 30s, styles had changed again and silk was back in fashion. Contemporary silks were not as well made as older their older counterparts and could not hold up to the desired construction. The large sleeves and finely pleated skirts could be achieved with the stiffer fabrics from the 18th century.

This dress shows the fashionable style of the late 1820s with a wide neckline and puffy sleeves. The neckline featured deep, stiff pleats. The fabric of this dress was woven between 1770 and 1780. Source.

Visible alterations like patches and hemming are indicators that clothes were remade. Patching can be seen on the inside of garments, particularly bodices. Some dressmakers and tailors tried to match the original lining with a similar fabric but others used different fabrics. On visible outside areas that were widened, such as around the torso or at the skirt waist, similarly patterned fabric to the original was used; although the patterns were not identical, patching would not be noticed unless it was examined close up. The materials used in alterations are also indicative of when the garment was changed. 19th century alterations can be noted by the use of cotton thread which was introduced in the 1800s. Machine stitching and manufactured lace also point to 19th century alterations, as these would have been done by hand prior to the 1800s. 

Evidence of alterations are often minute and hard to see without high resolution photographs or in-person examinations. Museums also rarely show the interior of garments. This jacket in the collection of the MET shows careful piecing of the lining. The reusing of scraps demonstrates how fabric was used and nothing was wasted as clothes were reused. Source.

 With the rise of consumer culture, fashion became central to self-image. Altering clothes to remain fashionable was a smart economic move, ensuring that you could be dressed in the latest style for less money. The 18th century saw huge shifts in fashion as new materials became available and reflected economic and political changes. By the 1730s, the sack-back gown (robe à la française, or sacque) had become a popular style, replacing the older mantua gown. The sack-back gown featured a fitted, conical bodice with long pleats that fell from the shoulders. Square hoops or panniers were worn under the skirt to support the fabric and create a wide silhouette. As styles changed throughout the mid-1700s, the silhouette became less wide and the fullness moved to the back of the body. Close-bodied gowns (robe à l'anglaise) became fashionable by the 1770s. These gowns had less width at the sides and had fitted back pleats. Many examples of altered gowns are from this period, reflecting the change in fashion over a short period of time. By the end of the 18th century, the French Revolution ushered in an entirely new era inspired by Ancient Greece and Rome, shifting the style away from structured gowns. 

The chintz fabric of this gown was woven in the 1740s but the dress dates from the 1780s. The dress is a close-bodied gown (robe à l'anglaise) and has a fitted back with no flowing pleats as was the style later in the century. It may have been remade from an earlier sack gown. Source.

Changing fashion was not the only driving force behind altering clothes. A person’s body changes in many ways and clothes need to reflect that. As a person gained or lost weight, their clothes could be let out or taken in to fit their body. Pregnancy was also a consideration as a woman’s body would change shape for nine months! There was no maternity wear as we have today (although a rare maternity set does exist in the collection of Colonial Williamsburg) so clothes needed to be designed for a long-term, continual change. Dresses could be let out at the waist or have ties loosened in the back to allow for an expanding belly. These garments could then be taken in and altered after the pregnancy; in this way, a woman remained fashionable throughout her pregnancy and beyond.

Children’s clothes also followed the practical need for alterations as they grew: it was more economical to have clothes that grew with a child than to continually make new clothes. Adult clothes could also be altered down to fit smaller children – there were no “children’s clothes” as children wore miniature versions of adult clothes. In other instances, entirely different garments were constructed from the original. Some of these follow a logical process based on the design of the item. Short jackets like caracos or casaquins could be made by shortening a longer dress. Others were completely different, like making gloves from stockings, or shoes from a jacket! Fabric household items were repurposed as well. Quilted fabrics were commonly reused as they were sturdy and warm. Some quilted petticoats found second lives as bedcovers while original quilts became petticoats. 

The deep hem on this girl's dress from 1771-1780 may indicate extra fabric for future alterations as the child grows. Source. 

The piecing of fabric on the skirt (same garment of above) shows evidence of alteration, possibly to accommodate growth. Source.

The thriving trade in second-hand clothes also necessitated clothes being remade: whether they were given to a friend or a maid or sold to a shop, the new owners of these garments needed them altered to fit their body. Once clothes were worn down, they became rags or other useful scraps. Metal trimmings or threads were stripped from fabrics and melted down for reuse. Fabric rags ended their lives in mills to be made into paper for a growing literate society.

The reuse and remaking of clothes continued throughout the 19th century and were widely adopted for fancy dress balls. This marked the transition of the garment from clothing to costume. Fancy dress balls were a common entertainment throughout the 19th century. At fancy dress balls, people would dress in a variety of themes, including as mythological, allegorical and natural subjects. Historical themes were very popular as people could look into their attics and closets to find old clothes to repurpose. The extremely wealthy often had their fancy dress costumes made from scratch by dressmakers or couturiers – but that’s a whole other article! Older clothing could be altered to fit new wearers for fancy dress balls but also needed to be altered to align with contemporary styles. For example, the style throughout the majority of the 18th century was a flat, conical torso which was created by wearing stays. When corsets became the dominant undergarment, they produced a different shape of the body with a full bust and hips. The garments would need to be altered to accommodate this difference in support and structure.

 

Here an 18th century men's waistcoat has been altered to become a 19th century woman's fancy dress bodice. Darts were added to the front to shape the waistcoat to create a curved silhouette and the back features boning. The sleeves are a 19th century addition. Source.

This photograph shows Mrs. Louis de Lotbinière Harwood in historical dress when she attended a fancy dress ball at the Chateau de Ramezay (Montreal) in 1898. Her outfit is not a remake of an earlier garment. The dress shows elements of 18th century costume but the silhouette is distinctly late 1890s, especially the cut of the bodice which is very curved. Source. 

Aside from fancy dress events, fabrics and clothing from other cultures were made into clothing which reflected the European interest in non-Western cultures. In the early 1800s, Kashmir shawls became fashionable wear after Empress Josephine of France popularized it as a luxury symbol. They were not just used as shawls but the fabric was made into dresses. The light weight fabric lent itself well to the neoclassical style of fashion and the teardrop motif of the pattern, called buta, was visually interesting and appealed to expensive tastes. These shawls originated in the Kashmir region and were primarily worn by men. In Europe, the shawls were brought back by European officials who gave them as gifts to their wives. Several paintings exist showing upper-class women wearing dresses made from Kashmir shawls. They became ingrained in European society as indicators of class and wealth and were seen as women’s items, given to a woman upon her marriage. The shawls were removed from their original meaning, use, and cultural context and were adapted to suit Orientalist tastes in Europe. The popularity of the shawls, particularly for their patterns, led to the rise of imitation weavers in Europe. The Paisley design, copied from the buta, derives its name from the weaving town of Paisley in Scotland, where imitation Kashmir shawls were mass-produced. 

An 1812 fashion plate shows a dress made from a Kashmir shawl. Source

Empress Josephine wearing a dress made from a Kashmir shawl. She is wearing another shawl wrapped around her body. Antoine-Jean Gros, 1808. Source.

Like the Kashmir shawls, the European interest in the East led to a rise in Japonism throughout the 19th century. Japanese patterns and aesthetics were adapted for Western dress. Contemporary paintings and extant garments reflect this interest as clothes were made from kimono fabric. Some kimonos were even taken apart and made into entirely new clothes, mainly women’s dresses.

The gown on this 1870s bustle dress was made from a kimono. Source.

Altered and remade garments are important parts of museum collections as they provide so many clues about the lifecycle of an object and provide a glimpse into consumer culture of the 18th century. Extending the life of garments by reuse and alteration exists into the modern day. Wedding dresses, baptismal gowns, prom dresses and university jackets are all common items that are passed down as heirlooms and used by new generations. These reuses add another chapter of history to the story of the garment.

I am extremely grateful to Dr. Carolyn Dowdell for sharing her dissertation and bibliography with me. Dr. Dowdell is a dress historian whose work focuses on the remaking of historical garments. I will be interviewing her for this column next month, discussing dress history and historical costuming. You can see her work on her blog and Instagram.

EATING YOUR HISTORY: PASTA AND INTANGIBLE CULTURAL HISTORY

A Muse Bouche | Natalie Scola

---

In 2003, UNESCO adopted the Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH), in an effort to protect global intangible heritage. The ICH includes oral histories, performing arts, social practices, traditional knowledge and craftsmanship. However, the ICH does not include the production and consumption of food, which is a key part of heritage. Cultural groups worldwide have varied practices relating to food. It is a central tenet of identity for individuals, communities, and entire countries. The production and consumption of food is a practice that forms community bonds while maintaining cultural practices.

The Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity does include a variety of food practices. This list contains elements of intangible cultural heritage in order to "help demonstrate the diversity of cultural heritage and raise awareness about its importance". The examples of food practices on this list are fascinating and show the variety of cultural food practices found around the world: Washoku, Japan (2013); Qvevri Wine-making, Georgia (2013), Neapolitan Pizzaiuolo, Italy (2017); Airag, Mongolia (2019).

One food practice not found on the list is pasta making. My family is Italian, and I have been around pasta my whole life, from preserving tomato sauce in the summer to rolling gnocchi by hand with my nonna (grandmother). Pasta making is a varied and unique practice that changes throughout Italy and the diaspora. 

Homemade garganelli pasta. I discuss how I made this pasta at the end of this article. Photo courtesy of Natalie Scola

There are so many varieties and methods of making pasta that it is impossible to know or even name them all. Recipes change from house to house and village to village. The mechanization of pasta in the 19th and 20th centuries changed pasta production and mass immigration contributed to loss of knowledge. Some pasta types are only made in a handful of villages or by a few people. For example, in Sardinia, the rarest pasta in the world is made only by three women. The pasta, called su filindeu in Sardo or fili di Dio in Italian (Threads of God), has been made for over 300 years by women in the same family. The women make dough of semolina, wheat, water and salt and create extremely thin pasta strands. The strands are criss crossed over a circular wooden frame and dried before being cooked in a broth of mutton. It is a beautiful, complex dish but will it still exist in 50 years? With decreasing populations in smaller villages and an aging population, knowledge of how to make regional pastas and sauces are quickly dying out.

A few years ago, I was amazed to discover a YouTube channel dedicated to recording regional and often disappearing pasta dishes. Pasta Grannies is a fascinating channel that records Italian nonnas making pasta at home. The channel features pasta from all over Italy, including Sicily and Sardinia. It is addicting to watch these old women – some in their 90s! – make pasta by hand. So many unique varieties have been recorded on video: Su succu; bauletti; code de pecora; strozzapretti; curzul; ndunderi; trofie and so many more. These videos are a way of preserving a dying art and creating a digital record for years to come. I highly recommend you watch them!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Pasta Grannies (@pastagrannies)

  

A Many-Stranded History

Pasta is of course the quintessential Italian dish. But for a food that looms large in the popular imagination, it’s origin is maddeningly difficult to trace. Popular culture gives us the tale of Marco Polo bringing pasta to Italy from his travels to China but that is most likely a myth – records of pasta predate his 13th century journey. Pasta as a form of boiled dough has existed since Roman times. The first written record of pasta, or a pasta-like dish, is found in the Jerusalem Talmud from the 5th century CE. The author mentions itrium, a dish of boiled dough. By the 9th century, this word is recorded as itriyya, referring to string-like dough made from semolina that was dried prior to cooking. Pasta likely made its way to Italy through the cross-cultural Mediterranean trade. The Arab conquest of Sicily introduced many dishes and flavours that are still seen in Sicilian dishes today; pasta may have been one of the foodstuffs introduced. From Sicily, it likely spread up the peninsula. The Arab geographer al-Idrisi makes mention of pasta production in Sicily, where large quantities of pasta were produced and exported to mainland Italy and throughout the Mediterranean. Other Italian cities had strong trade connections throughout the Mediterranean, so pasta may have entered different areas of Italy at separate times.

However pasta was introduced, by the 13th century it was an established food. Pasta was not referred to as pasta, but instead called vermicelli, meaning a long, thin noodle — a word we still use today. Vermicelli was produced on a large scale and dried for long-term storage and trade. It was a common ingredient in most households and was eaten in broth or as part of gruel. Some recipes called for vermicelli to be cooked in almond milk, sugar and saffron, which is very different from how we think of pasta today.

14th century illustration from the medical treatise Tacuinum sanitatis (written by the physician Ibn Butlan in the 11th century). Pasta was thought to have medicinal properties and be good for the chest and throat. This illustration shows two women making pasta. One is kneading the dough and the other is laying long strands to dry on a frame. Source.  

While pasta-like dishes existed elsewhere in Europe, Italy developed a particular approach to pasta. There were a huge variety of pasta dishes but contemporary cooks did not categorize them as “pasta” dishes in the modern understanding as a category of cuisine. Pasta referred to a dough-based preparation made of flour mixed with other ingredients to form a paste. This paste could take on different flavours and forms, including cakes, tarts and shaped dough that were boiled or cooked in moist heat. These dishes were an ancestor of modern pasta. Pastasciutta were dishes of pasta served with sauce and pasta in brodo referred to pasta cooked in broth. Fresh pasta was made in the kitchens of the rich while common folk used dried pasta, which was a traded commodity throughout the Middle Ages. Areas like Apulia, Naples and Sardinia were main producers of durum wheat, a key flour for pasta production, and they exported pasta across Italy, to Spain and other areas throughout the Mediterranean and Europe.

By the 14th and 15th century, pasta is seen as a category of dishes on its own. Pasta varieties expanded and some familiar shapes developed: lasagne, tagliatelle, gnocchi, tortelli, and ravioli. Tortelli, a stuffed pasta, was considered a bite-sized cake, hence the name “little cake”. This is also where we get the modern-day name tortellini, which is a round, stuffed pasta. Tortelli would have been square and pan fried or cooked in broth. Bartolomeo Scappi, chef to Pope Pius V, recorded a recipe for torelli stuffed with capon as well as cow udders. The filling was scented with sugar and spices, which were common additives in savory Medieval and Renaissance dishes. While a filling like this is very different from what we are familiar with today, the idea of shaped pastas existing as a discrete genre of food emerged.

Bartolomeo Scappi's recipes for tortelletti with capon. The first lines of the recipe reads: "In a mortar grind the flesh of two capon breasts that have first been boiled with a pound of boneless beef marrow, three ounces of chicken fat, and three ounces of boiled veal udder..." There is an excellent English translation of Scappi's cookbook by the historian Terence Scully. Recipe source. Translation source. 

The commercialization of pasta was greatly helped with improvements to a machine called a brake. Brakes were used to knead pasta dough which could be very stiff and heavy when produced in large quantities. Kneading the dough by hand – or by feet! – was time consuming and strenuous. The brake mechanized this process and made it quicker to produce pasta. Brakes were used as far back as the Middle Ages but became adapted for pasta use by the 16th century. The development of the brake coincided with the development of manual extrusion presses to produce different pasta shapes. Shaping pasta was another laborious, hands-on part of pasta making. Naples was an important producer of wheat and the hot weather was ideal for drying the finished product. Pasta manufacturing was a mixture of mechanical process and artisanal skill. The machines needed workers to turn them by hand and some pasta shapes could not be made through an extruder; handmade shapes were often produced by women.

An image showing a baker's brake 17th century baker's brake. From Giovanni Branca's Le Machine (1629). Source.  

Industrialization in the 19th century brought steam and increased mechanization to pasta manufacturing. Machines automated almost all steps of the process, from kneading the dough to extruding shapes to drying. While machines were faster and more efficient than human workers, the mechanization of the industry throughout the 19th and early 20th century eliminated the knowledge of workers who had been making pasta for generations. Pasta factories, while industrial, were not massive companies, and towns often had multiple pasta producers; this shows how important pasta production was for the Italian economy. But throughout the 20th century, large companies expanded their operations, putting smaller pasta producers out of business. International companies also impacted Italian pasta export, with North America producing much of its own pasta by the 1920s, greatly reducing the need for Italian pasta exports.

Men carrying pasta, early 1900s. Source.

Pasta drying in Gargano, a town near Naples known for its pasta production. Source.

The popularity of pasta has spread through industrialization and immigration, cementing it as a national food. Artisanal pasta making is still a common practice today in many households across the country. However, the physical composition of pasta changes throughout Italy: in the North, egg-based pastas are more common but in the South, pasta is made mainly of flour and water. There is also a great variety of flours used, from the more common 00 flour ("doppio zero” or the finest grind of flour) to semolina or even flours made from chestnuts and chickpeas.

Pasta shapes themselves can be formed in many different ways, not just by cutting or filling. Pasta alla chitarra is produced using a wooden frame with wires stretched across. A sheet of pasta is placed over the frame and pressed with a rolling pin, cutting the pasta into long, thin strips resembling guitar strings, hence the name. Grooved boards are used to create ridges on gnocchi and cavatelli. A thin iron rod, called a ferrato, is used commonly in the South. A piece of pasta dough is wrapped around the rod and rolled, making a semi-closed tube, creating pasta shapes like carrati and filijie.

It is important to see the intangible heritage of pasta being preserved through projects like Pasta Grannies. How are cultural dishes are being remembered in other countries? Hopefully there will be more movements across the world to bring awareness to intangible heritage and the importance of preserving living culture.

Cuciniamo — Let's Cook! 

While researching this article, I was inspired to make one of these pastas and I settled on garganelli, a short tubular pasta made from egg dough originating from the Emilia-Romagna region. The defining feature of garganelli are its thin ridges which help to hold a heaty sauce – typically a ragù made from duck or lamb although other sauces can be used. The ridges are produced by rolling the thin squares of dough on a tool known as a pettine or comb. These are curious tools as they are historically made from the combs of weaving looms! The combs are typically made from hemp, bamboo and wood. These traditional tools are hard to find but modern ones can be made from solid wood. (In a pinch, a gnocchi board works well.) Follow along as I try my hand at making this wonderful pasta!

I started by making my egg dough. I used a mix of fine 00 flour and semolina rimacinata (a durum wheat flour). The eggs are placed in a well in the flour and beat, then small amounts of flour are incorporated until a loose dough is formed. The dough is then kneaded until smooth — about 10 minutes. It is definitely an arm workout! 

After the dough is made and left to rest, portions are passed through a pasta maker to make thin sheets. The dough is then cut into 1 1/4" squares. The squares are placed diagonally on the petinne to be rolled. I don't have an authentic petinne but my father made me one of wood and a matching dowel! 

The bottom point of the square is rolled around the wooden dowel. The dowel is then rolled forwards, pressing into the petinne to form ridges. This also seals the edges of the dough. 

And here we have garganelli! They resemble penne with their ridges but are different in that the sealed "flap" is visible. 

I didn't make ragù, the traditional sauce for garganelli (I don't think my family would enjoy duck ragù...) so I served it with pesto I made last summer using basil from my garden. The garganelli were a hit, there are no leftovers! I can't wait to try making another heritage pasta. 

Photos in this series courtesy of Natalie Scola