Seasonal Eating

16 Wednesday May 2012

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When there is a weekend event, I have to start thinking on Wednesday about lunch on Saturday and Sunday. Sunday is the more troublesome day, because there won’t be much time on Saturday to prep for Sunday: the work has to be done now.

This is not so much fun when you’re still trying to work out lunches and dinners for the regular 21st century week.

One solution, based on suggestions made for Battle Road this year, is pasties. They’re delicious and easy to carry, keep well, and are very satisfying. They’re also a meal that can be made with seasonal ingredients, like those outlined  in The compleat housewife: or, Accomplished gentlewoman’s companion, Cookery, etc. by Eliza Smith, 1742.

She presents a Bill of Fare for May that includes:

Chicken pye and a grand sallad might work, if the pretense is that I’m visiting camp. The Battle Road pasty filling was made as follows:

  • Olive oil
  • 1 poached chicken breast, diced (a whole does well for 4 -6 people, half for 3 or fewer)
  • 1 small onion, diced
  • 1 parsnip, scrubbed and sliced
  • 1 carrot, ditto
  • 1 small to medium red potato, cubed
  • 1 apple, cored and cubed
  • Small handful dried cranberries
  • Herbs de Provence, generously applied
  • Salt & pepper to taste
  • A little water
  • A little milk (optional)

Poach the chicken breast the day before, when you are making the crust. I use Martha Stewart’s perfect pâte brisée, but a Joy of Cooking crust works just as well. I toss into the water a bay leaf, a celery stalk top, an old carrot, and slice an old onion—we usually have scraps about from previous meals—and boiling these vegetables with the chicken breast tends to make the meat taste better.

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees.

Heat a little oil in a skillet and add the onions and the herbs.
When the onions are soft, add the carrot, parsnip and potato.When these are just beginning to soften, add the chicken and dried cranberries.  Add just a little water—you want the filling to be a little dry so it does not soak the crust—and the apple.
Taste for seasoning and adjust.
Stir and cook over medium heat until all ingredients are hot and the root vegetables only medium-soft. Remove from heat.

Divide the pastry crust into as many balls as you will make pasties; from a double-crust recipe, you can make at least 4 good-sized pasties.

Roll the dough into circles and add filling to one side (you’ll make a semi-circle heap of filling). Wet the edge of the circle with a brush, and fold over the crust, pressing edges together with a fork. Some people have the skill to make a twisted, decorative edge; I don’t. Brush the top of the pasty with water or milk for a brown crust. Poke several steam vents in the top with a fork, or slit with a knife.

Bake at 350 until the filling bubbles and the crust is browned, about 30 minutes. Let the pasties cool, wrap in paper and tie with string.

Extreme Something

12 Saturday May 2012

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Continentals advance at Ft Lee

National Geographic’s Extreme Reenactor aired Thursday night and we watched with a kind of…intrigued horror.

It was a reality show with wool and black powder, and as much as the men boasted that they were getting as close as they could to experiences of the soldiers, they didn’t seem all that different from us in the Rev War reenactments. There’s a bottom line, a wall of time: you cannot re-create the past.

I can no more truly start a day over, go back downstairs and re-create the moment of making coffee this morning than I can re-create an 18th century experience. There’s no way to truly re-live a moment or a feeling or an action. You’ll never get it exactly right—and that may in fact be the point.

We are always experimenting. Perhaps the best re-enactors are the ones continually seeking to polish their impressions, expand their knowledge, attempt something new. Maybe encouraging growth, renewal and on going research is more important than delineating the lines between the mainstream, the authentic, and the hardcore or progressive re-enactors.

That’s probably just the museum professional in me talking…

There’s an interesting, if slightly old, study of re-enactors done by the NPS that explores some of these questions for the RevWar time period.

Making It

10 Thursday May 2012

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One of the most satisfying things about reenacting is that you get to make things. Not just can make things, but must.

Do you want a gown to wear to an event? Gotta make one.

Want the gown to fit properly? Better make stays.

Everyone in our Regiment makes things, and not just for reenacting: there’s a toy sculptor, a machinist, a gunsmith, a diorama and replica maker, a photographer among the ranks.

There are two things I most enjoy about reenacting: one is making the clothing. As a refugee from art school (I escaped with a Master’s degree and no teaching prospects), I need to make things. If I wasn’t sewing, I’d be painting, and Robert Gamblin paints and good quality canvas aren’t cheap.

The other thing I enjoy is cooking, and being able to cook for a crowd, with limitations. When I plan for a party or family celebration, anything goes. Thai, Indian, English, Swedish, anything. For reenacting, the food needs to be both period- and class- appropriate as well as seasonally appropriate. And sometimes the best results come from limiting yourself.

One of the favorite recipes I’ve made for the Second Helping Regiment is a Gingerbread Cake recorded by a local family in a 1928 family cookbook. The family has been in Rhode Island since 1637, and were ardent patriots in the American Revolution. I have no qualms about using their 1928 recipe, since that is only the year in which it was written down—we don’t know how long they’d been making this.

Ingredients

¼ cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup boiling water
[last two ingredients: pour over butter and stir]
To the above mixture add ¾ cup molasses

Sift into the liquid mixture:
1 ½ cup flour
½ tsp ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
pinch of salt

Drop in one unbeaten egg. Beat whole with eggbeater and bake in slow over for about half an hour.

I use an 8 x 11.5 x 2 inch glass pan and bake at 350 for a little more than 30 minutes; my oven is always a little slow, being a cheap landlord-installed electric affair.

Eating in the Field, or, Hunger is no Game, Mom.

09 Wednesday May 2012

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Breakfast at Battle Road

The first time both Dave and Tom were in an event was a parade in Norton, MA. Carl ate Ritz crackers from a paper tube in his haversack; the boys had nothing, but we stopped for hamburgers on the way home.

The first time we were all in an event was Redcoats to Rebels at Old Sturbridge Village. Dave packed us lunches of sandwiches on soft rolls (wrapped in tinfoil), apples, and juice pouches. Just try to find a private, off-duty place to eat an anachronistic lunch when you’re at the largest re-enactment in New England.

After that, I got smarter. I used take-and-bake baguettes from Whole Foods, or other crusty breads, to make sandwiches. I wrapped the sandwiches in freezer paper, or parchment paper, and tied the packages up with string. Now I wrap sandwiches in white cotton napkins or towels bought from a big-box store—I cut the tags off to disguise them, so I can’t tell where I got them, and I no longer remember.

At OSV, I was hot and thirsty, so I bought a tin cup. The Captain had a lot to say about it, but passed it as ‘acceptable,’ so I have continued to use it. The boys have canteens, but what about water for me? I make lemonade for some events, boiling lemon juice and sugar to make syrup, and diluting that with ice water from the Brita pitcher. I decant this concoction to some snap-lid bottles that used to hold French lemonade. The snap-top can be removed and replaced with a cork, and I am working to replace the bottles with ‘1895’ pressed into the glass. But for now, I wrap them in striped linen-look kitchen towels.

Here’s how I pack the ‘picnic’ basket (purchased at Michael’s on sale) for a hot summer day:

On the bottom layer, two large gel ice packs I also use for post-physical therapy pain; cover these with striped, linen-look kitchen towel.

On top of the ice packs, two glass bottles of lemonade or water, chilled overnight, each wrapped in a towel.

Sandwiches or pasties (recipes to come), wrapped in paper or in white napkins.

Captain approved mug, from Burnley & Trowbridge.

Pack apples into the remaining spaces; make a place for your own tin cup or redware mug. Let the guys use their canteens; if they want lemonade or your cold water, you can share the mug or cup.

Top with a plate of gingerbread, wrapped in paper and tied with string.

Food keeps cold, and you can eat your picnic in public, knowing that you’re authentic enough to pass muster.

Clothing Criticism

08 Tuesday May 2012

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Boys at Battle Road.

Standards, people. The list serves erupt at least quarterly on the subject of authenticity in reenacting. We must have standards.

Yes, we must. We must do the best we can to recreate the past, and to share the best history we possibly can. But that does not give us a license to hurt others with words.

The Captain told me Saturday that “It used to be so bad in the Brigade, and in the Continental Line, too, that women would come up to a newcomer like you,”—here he fingered my cloak, all hand-sewn, of Wm Booth 100% wool broadcloth in a color documented to a RI runaway, and patterned after a period cloak in a RI museum—“and say, ‘Is that machine stitched?’ and proceed to criticize what the woman was wearing. The woman would never come back.  She’d take her husband with her, and we’d lose a soldier forever.”

I had to tell him they still do that, just now they do it behind people’s backs, on list serves and on blogs. “I know,” I said, “because they’ve written about me.”  After that, I hunted up the documentation for the specific little fabric trick I’d done, and date it to 1785. Oops, OK, not appropriate to a Brigade event, being two years after the end of the war.

And then again, I’ve seen similar handling of fabric in a ca. 1760 child’s frock coat from RI…. But the stinger was in, and the gown, my favorite of but two gowns, is relegated to non-Brigade events.

So where does this leave us? I can be as bad a stitch counter as the next person, able to discern a machine-stitched pocket welt at 20 paces. Sometimes I can tell a seam is machine-stitched, too. And yet…

I will confess: Machine-stitched breeches were worn by my men at Battle Road. It was that or not go at all. The buttonholes are all hand-finished, as are the eyelets. Thank goodness Dana helped me with Thomas’s breeches, or I would not have slept at all that Friday night. Two pairs of breeches had to be made, a dozen eyelets and 30 buttonholes in total. The buttons were cheaters, too, fabric-covered, but for most I used the metal blanks fitted with metal backs. For some I used rings and gathered fabric around the ring to form the shank.

Those are the least of the problems with the breeches. Despite muslin fittings on squirming boys, the legs are too long and should be shortened. Dave’s are too loose at the knee, and his waistcoat is also too loose, now. Thomas ought to wear leather-soled shoes, and the gaiters he had were too small. His breeches, too, are too long, the knee band too tight.

I know all these things. Will I fix them? Not necessarily. Their overalls are in greater need of replacement, battles loom, and time is limited. Perhaps next winter I will be able to re-fit their breeches. Until then, we’ll muddle through with what we have, upgrading the necessary, and avoiding the egregious.

For the rest of the state where we live, I hope to emulate The Hive and create workshops to help educate museum staff members in the fine art of not dressing like a tavern wench. Educating is surely better than criticizing without offering alternatives.