Showing posts with label food history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food history. 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.

8 March 2021

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!

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

9 April 2019

FINDING FOODWAYS, PART III.

Research Column | Casarina Hocevar


For the last installation of this research column, I would like to touch upon some of the challenges of historical research. The challenges of researching can be both frustrating and thrilling. For example, the availability of information may have us swinging between an overabundance of materials to absolute dead ends, leaving the research process inconsistent and difficult. This urges us, as researchers, to be careful notetakers, well organized and creative in how we go about our next avenue of inquiry. But as research comes together like pieces in a puzzle, it can lead to satisfying and exciting results, assuring us that the effort was worth it all along. The following will illustrate an example of this process from my research for Storefront Stories.

Missing Percy’s

As part of Storefront Stories, we have 9 participating businesses in Kensington Market that will feature a poster with information of a historical Jewish-owned storefront once located at their same address, with an additional 11 businesses featured online. Dividing the 20 businesses between myself and my teammates, we each wrote the narratives to a selection of storefronts. Some storefronts focus on stories of immigration, others on the success of the business, and others on more intimate family details. Our narratives have largely been informed by materials available at the Ontario Jewish Archives (OJA), but have also been supplemented by additional research from the field of Jewish Studies, history and through resources available at the City of Toronto Archives and various media outlets. Our goal is to illuminate a concise and engaging history of these storefronts to the best our ability, while respecting the limitations of available materials. 

One of the storefronts I was paired with is located at 234 Augusta Ave., where today Dolce Gelato stands. Initially, the photograph I was working with was an image of “Percy’s Fruit” - a Jewish grocery shop from mid-century Kensington Market. In the archive, the image was dated from 1959. As I began researching its history, I only found dead ends - there never seemed to be any trace of a Percy’s Fruit at 234 Augusta Ave in 1959. Shifting strategies, I searched through city directories to see if the image was perhaps incorrectly dated.


Image used with permission from the Ontario Jewish Archives: Percy's Fruit Market, Augusta Avenue and Nassau Street, 16 May 1959. Ontario Jewish Archives, Blankenstein Family Heritage Centre, fonds 18, series 2, item 2.

What I found throughout the directories were listings for different shops at 234 Augusta Ave, not Percy's Fruit. From the earliest entry in the directory until the early 1930s, there were butcher shops at 234 Augusta Ave. Then in the late 30s, Joe’s Fruit Market appears in that exact location, and remains listed for several decades. According to the city directory records, which are available through the Toronto Public Library, the information accompanying the archival image of Percy’s Fruit (e.g. date/location) did not match with the information in the directories, prompting me to reconsider whether the information I had for Percy's was even correct.

Comparing Images

Returning to the image of Percy’s Fruit, I enlarged the image and began noting the structure of the building: the roof’s slant, the location of the windows, any trimmings, etc. Then I googled 234 Augusta Ave., opened up Google Street View and compared the contemporary building to that of Percy’s. They were not the same building. Is it possible that in the 60 years that passed between this photograph of Percy’s Fruit and Dolce Gelato, the building may have changed? -Sure! However, considering there was no mention of Percy's Fruit at 234 Augusta Ave. in the city directories, I was doubtful this image belonged.

Curious, I searched for images of Joe’s Fruit Market. I was able to locate a couple within the City of Toronto Archives, whose building looked very similar to that of today’s Dolce Gelato. Noting that, I returned to the 1959 City Directory to see if a Percy’s Fruit was located elsewhere in Kensington Market. I was able to find a Percy’s Fruit listed nearby 234 Augusta Ave., with Joe’s Fruit Market at 234. Following that, I returned to the map of Kensington and began comparing the building that is listed in the 1959 directory for Percy’s to the image I had of the grocery shop. Save for a few modern updates, the two buildings - that featured on Google Maps and that of the archival image - were the same.

Conclusions

In short, after several winding research paths, I assumed the following:
  • - 234 Augusta Ave. had previously been home to multiple Jewish butcher shops in its earliest days
  • - In the late 1930s, Joe’s Fruit Market moved into 234 Augusta, where it remained until the 1970s
  • - Percy’s Fruit Market was located nearby 234 Augusta

After some consultation with my teammates and with OJA, we concluded that my research was likely correct, and unfortunately, Percy’s Fruit had been incorrectly labelled. For the purposes of our exhibition, we decided to discard the image of Percy’s for the poster, but inquired further into the story of Joe’s Fruit Market. Thankfully - and still with a couple more archival hiccups - we were able to provide a narrative of Joe’s Fruit Market, that will be featured on the exhibition poster at 234 Augusta Ave. this May.

This nugget of research has a bittersweet end. In many ways, it was satisfying as it still led me to a story I can share through the exhibition. However, I am disappointed I was never able to locate more information about Percy’s Fruit. While I found the correct address and its approximate dates of operation, the story behind the grocery shop remains largely a mystery. As researchers and museum practitioners, there are moments we need to recognize when to close one door, so we can open another: in this case, the door to Percy’s Fruit closed, while another to Joe’s Fruit Market was opened.