(no subject)

I need to get all those cookbooks away, since the Food in History course is definitely cancelled.

They are looking accusingly at me. "You can't put us away without even looking inside." I think I will do a series of posts and, bit by bit, put the cookbooks away and reclaim my floor.

Not this morning, though. A night's sleep has left me realising just how tired I *was* before I lost my temper, so I am going to rest a bit. The *good* thing about no teaching is that the rest of my work can be done in teaching-time and I can do some serious work using libary catalogues and articles today. In fact, my work aim of the day is to read 30 journal articles and deal with most of my basic bibliogrpahy.

Was it Augustine who said "Give me bibliography and journal articles, Lord, but not yet"? My research hat can wait till my eyes will stay open without the toothpicks.

(no subject)

My cookbooks are going away. Slowly. And I am going to introduce them to you one by one as they go away. Slowly. And when I get to anything with interesting chocolate recipes I may have to ponder the recipes. Slowly. If I move quickly I might have to do more bibliographical works and my eyes are spinning from journal articles. Mind you, I found a cool one on poverty in Paris in the late 13th century which will be really good for my class in a fortnight.

Talking about poverty, Queen Victoria's erstwhile cook was distressed by it. He felt the working classes needed to eat well and so he wrote them a cookbook. I love the ad just inside the front cover "Rich, Rare, Pure, and Delicious; Are the TEAS and COFFEES supplied by Phillips and Company, Tea Merchants." After that there's an ad for Robinson's Patent Barley "The Best Food for Children, Invalids, and Others." I want to know who the "others" are and if the patent barley was GM free, but that's just bibliography-fatigue making me silly.

If tea and coffee and barley just don't suit, you can try "A Winter Breakfast Beverage" of Epp's Cocoa, which is apparently homeopathic. It even gives a cocoa recipe, explaining that if you get your cocoa exactly perfect "the resulting beverage is truly, as its systematic name, Theobroma, expresses, a Food for the Gods."

After an ad for ironmongery and an illustration of Someone from the Working Class cooking in a beautiful kitchen the book proper begins. I love this book (I love lots of books - I need to go to a book-addict-recovery-centre). The recipes are full of useful advice and kind thoughts. A fish recipe lists types of fish and then adds "or any fresh-water fish you may happen to catch when fishing" and then Francatelli remembers that most of his readers don't have much access to fishing so he adds eels and then "almost any kind of fish which may come within reach of your means". There is infinite joy in this tiny book and I have only cooked a couple of the recipes. If any of you have a grand desire to help me trial "A Large Quantity of Good Soup for the Poor," it might be a fun project next winter.

Even better is Mrs Child's "The American Frugal Housewife dedicated to those who are not ashamed of economy." It's 30 years older than the Francatelli and I ought to say I have both in facsimile and that my Child is a facsimile of the twelfth edition. So now all my friends know I have a Child, but that it's only a facsimile and not the real thing at all. Don't all groan at once.

I haven't cooked any of Mrs Child's recipes. I've had the book for a few years, but whenever I get it out I find myself rather distracted by the sage advice. There is a whole section called "Hints to Persons of Moderate Fortune" and - opening that chapter at random - I am presented with "The difficulty is, education does not usually point the female heart to its only true resting-place." One hundred and twenty three pages of recipes and saccharine advice. A whole chapter on "How to endure poverty." I need to copy that to John Howard, just in case he gets his just desserts. In the meantime, I will use this book *just* for the desserts, which I am sure are delightfully frugal. Actually, there is a yummy cherry pie recipe which I could be tempted to make in November, when cherry season descends.

The last book to go away just now is Mrs Beeton. The Queen of nineteenth century advice-recipe manuals. Last time a friend looked at it they said "How can she tell us how many corkscrews you need for a picnic?" How could she not?

What I particularly like about this book is her opening words, because they sum up what I felt about my PhD thesis a-many years past "I must frankly own, that if I had known, beforehand, that this book would have cost me the labour which it has, I should never have been courageous enough to commence it." I have cooked a Beeton dinner party in my time and might do so again. I need some more fancy equipment though. Nineteenth century jellies require them. In the meantime I think I shall import nineteenth century commas into my prose. Scattered like petals across a green lawn. (sorry, devising Medievalish bibliographies do this to me - my mind fades and all that remains is a strange, strange space)

Another twenty cookbook posts and my floor will be visible. And all of you will be cursing the students who couldn't come and resulted in the Food in History being cancelled.