Tuesday, October 8, 2019

An 1829 Tea Cake


Look at that proud smile!
Recently my great-niece came to stay with me for a couple weeks. I wanted to give her something to remember about her crazy aunt who likes to dress up in old-time clothes and pretend she lives in the early 19th century. So, I took her to work with me and dressed her up too. One of the first activities we decide to do was cook in the 1820 kitchen. She was all for it, even if it was going to be hot. Of course, she turned out to be a natural historical interpreter: greeting visitors and telling them about our undertaking.

Our modern reprint.
The recipe we decided to make was a tea cake from The American Frugal Housewife by Lydia Maria Child. This cookbook was originally published in 1829. If you're interested in reading the entire book you can do so online here. It is also available to purchase from the Stephenson House's museum shop (at the historic site or online). Stephenson House has copies of several historic cookbooks in our site research library so we simply used a hard copy on hand.

The original receipt (aka recipe) is very short and very vague. I had experimented with this particular receipt once before but it didn't turn out as expected due to the leavening agent failing to activate.  After some additional research, I felt confident that this would not be the case this time.

Sometimes working with old cookbooks can be a challenge for various reasons. Two such reasons include:

1. the author assumes the reader has a basic knowledge of cooking practices of their day, therefore, leaving out the finer details of the receipt

2. some ingredients are no longer readily available

The recipe reads as follows:

Tea Cake.
There is a kind of tea cake still cheaper. Three cups of sugar, three eggs, one cup of butter, one cup of milk, a spoonful of dissolved pearlash, and four cups of flour, well beat up. If it is so stiff it will not stir easily, add a little more milk.


That's it. No information about temperature, cook time, what size cake pan, or if there is a certain method for combining the ingredients. Modern recipes are definitely more detailed. The receipt also called for "pearlash" (the 1820 version of baking soda that I purchased online here). As mentioned above, when I attempted to make this cake previously, the pearlash failed to activate. What I didn't know, at the time, was that pearlash needed something acidic like buttermilk to activate it. In my first attempt, I'd used regular whole milk which allowed me to create a very sweet, yet, unleavened brick.


The first thing we needed to do was start a fire in the hearth, as well as, the wall oven. Preheating the wall oven would require its fire to burn for several hours to heat the interior bricks to the required temperature for baking. While it was heating we'd amass all our ingredients.


I gave my niece the option of using store-bought butter and buttermilk or making our own. Of course, she wanted to "make it from scratch' (I was so proud...😍. Kid's gonna be as crazy as me someday).  That would take some time, which was good since it would be a while before the oven would be ready for baking. Fresh always tastes best anyway.

Churning butter in a small ceramic churn.
Once the butter and buttermilk were complete we could start putting everything together. We did not have a standard measuring cup in the 1820 kitchen so we used a tin cup from the cupboard. It was actually a little bit larger than a modern 8 oz measuring cup. As long as we used this cup throughout the receipt, it would work fine. The first ingredient to go into the bowl was three cups of sugar.

Measuring out three cups of sugar.

The eggs were the next thing to add. Now, I've done this two ways: one is simply putting the eggs directly into the bowl with the sugar or they can be beaten in a separate bowl then added. My niece is pictured adding them directly to the bowl but I prefer beating them first then adding them.



Egg option #1: Adding them directly to the bowl.
Egg option #2: Beat all three eggs in a separate bowl before adding them to the sugar.

Our freshly churned butter would go in next. The receipt does not say how to add the butter to the sugar.  Modern recipes sometimes tell you to 'cream' them together. Since we had chosen Egg Option #1, our sugar was still dry.  The butter was rather firm after churning and was not going to mix as easily as if it was soft.  We'd need to 'cut ' the butter into the mixture (to start) similar to how it's done to make a pie crust. Unlike pie crust, it would need to be thoroughly combined. The batter would become smoother as we added additional ingredients.

If we had used Egg Option #2 the mixture would have been wet and creaming it all together fairly easy.

Measuring a cup of our firm butter. The large bowl pictured was used to wash the butter after churning it.
One cup of butter going in.

Cutting the butter into the sugar. 

The batter looks like pie crust dough in this photo. It would not stay this way once the remaining items were added.

The recipe called for one cup of milk. As mentioned above, we needed to add a liquid that would activate the pearlash. Milk is not typically acidic unless it's sour or buttermilk. The recipe also mentioned that additional liquid may be necessary. We'd start with one cup of our fresh buttermilk and worked from there.

One cup of buttermilk added. 

Before combining the batter, the pearlash needed to be added. A spoonful of pearlash was put into the measuring cup then dissolved with some buttermilk. It's important to do this before adding it to the batter. Have you ever bitten into a piece of cake and gotten a mouthful of baking powder? YUK! 😝 Dissolving the pearlash would evenly distribute it throughout the cake batter as well as help prevent a mouthful of 'yuk'.



 Pearlash added to our measuring cup.


Adding buttermilk to the pearlash then stirring until dissolved.



Sugar, butter, pearlash, and buttermilk.

Now it was time to add the flour. Once that was done and mixed, it became obvious more buttermilk would be needed. The batter was to dry. We added more buttermilk a little at a time until we achieved a cake batter consistency. (See photos below)

Adding the flour to the bowl.

The flour had been stirred in but now it's too dry. More buttermilk would need to be added slowly.

The batter looked perfect after we added more buttermilk (almost an additional cup). This is how the batter should look once everything is combined.

This receipt makes a lot of cake batter. We prepared two different baking pans to accommodate the batter.  One of the pans was a bottomless cake ring. This type of cake pan was common in the early 19th century and it's easy to use. To enclose the bottom, we used some wax paper (parchment will work too) to cover one end and tie it in place with some cooking twine. Once the bottom was enclosed we thoroughly greased and floured the inside including the paper bottom.  The cake pan was then set on a tin baking sheet to give it some added stability (See photos below). Once pan prep was finished we poured half the batter into the ring and the other half into another pan (not pictured).


Cake ring before the paper bottom was tied on and the tin baking sheet.


Paper bottom tied in place. 

Half the cake batter was poured into the pan. 



It was time to put the cakes into the oven. I have a love/hate relationship with the beehive oven at Stephenson House.  The oven does not maintain its heat unless there is a small fire at the back of it (and I've tried every trick in the book). Baking without this small fire at the back is impossible. Traditionally, all the embers would be removed from a wall oven before food was put in then the door closed so everything would bake evenly. Unfortunately, that is not how our oven works...sigh. In the photo below you can see both cake pans and the small fire. To keep the cake baking evenly and the small fire burning, we partially close the door and rotate the pans every so often.



Two tea cakes baking in the oven (sounds like a verse from a nursery rhyme).


Today, the wall oven was being very contrary. Even though it had been thoroughly preheated and a small fire built in the back it would not stay hot. Two hours after putting the cakes into the oven, we took them out to find they weren't even close to done. Ultimately, we finished them off in the bake kettle. It took only about 30 minutes more bake-time after that before they were done. And I must say they turned out beautiful!



The cake ring in the bake kettle. We ended up finishing both cakes in the bake kettle since the wall oven would not maintain its heat. In this photo, we had just removed the lid (which is now sitting on the floor of the hearth).

The bake kettle is a small oven on short legs. Hot coals are placed under the kettle and on top of the lid. This allows heat to circulate around the food (placed inside the kettle) to bake. 


The first cake baked in the ring pan.



Cake number two baked in a mold pan.


The cakes turned out perfect! Needless to say, they didn't last long. The staff and volunteers at Stephenson House gobbled them up right away. My niece was so proud and rightly so. She worked hard all day to create them. Hopefully, she has this memory for a very long time... I know I will.



Enjoying the reward of her hard work.

Monday, October 7, 2019

Making an Early 19th Century Mourning Dress: Sleeves


It's finally time to work on the sleeves for my mourning dress. I wanted something a little fancier than I usually wear. Typically, I don't like short, puffed sleeves on my dresses (for a variety of reasons) but several period images kept catching my eye. All of the sleeves had a short, puffy top sleeve with a sheer lower sleeve. My dress is very simple but sleeves like these will offer some visual interest and period style for a very somber dress.  Below are the inspiration images


Madame Angelica Catalini by Rolinda Sharples, c.1814-1821. Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery


Mourning dress in the MET collection, c 1820

The Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria by Sir William Beechey, c. 1821






As mentioned in previous posts, the pattern used as a base for my dress is Laughing Moon #126 Ladies Round and Trained Gown with High Stomacher Front, c. 1800-1810 with modifications made to the bib. The sleeves in LM #126 were not quite the shape or style I was looking to recreate but they weren't too far off.  Last year I had made a ball gown for the Stephenson House that incorporated the sheer poofed sleeve from  Laughing Moon #138 Ladies Regency Gown, c. 1815-1825. The #138 sleeve was beautiful and exactly what my dress needed to take it into the 1820s. I decided the original sleeve pattern would be combined with #138. The sleeve from #126 incorporated the following from #138; it was shortened, slits were added, and poofs cut.



The original sleeve from #126 was shortened to resemble the sleeve from pattern #138. 



The sleeve's interfacing of wool crepe is marked for slits and pinned to the right side of the sleeve.


Using the sewing machine, I sewed around the outside of the slit markings on both sleeves.


Once all the slits were sewn the centers were cut open with a pair of sharp, pointed scissors.


The wool crepe interfacing was cut between each slit so it could be turned to the inside of the sleeve.


The bottom sleeve in the photo shows the interfacing turned to the inside and pressed.



Close-up of the right side of the sleeve once the interfacing was turned to the inside and pressed.



Close-up of the inside of the sleeve after the interacting was turned and pressed.



This is one of the silk 'poofs' that will be sewn into the sleeve slits. There were 14 in total. Unfortunately, I did not get a photo of the 'poof' before the gathering stitches were put in. This is how it looks after the gathering stitches were pulled to create the fullness. The instructions in LM #138 do a great job explaining how to attach each piece so I won't go into detail.



It so hard to see what's going on here because of the black on black. Just below my thumb is the silk 'poof'. I'm sewing the gathered poof into the slit with a spaced-backstitch all around the edge of the slit.



Three of the fourteen 'poofs' are attached.



One sleeve with all the 'poofs' sewn in.


How the sleeve looks from the inside once all the 'poofs' were attached.




Because of the weight of the sleeve, I decided to add a partial lining at this point. It's the same polished cotton used to the line the bodice. 


I have no photos of the sleeve being attached to the bodice. None of them really turned out. The black on black made distinguishing what was going on to difficult. Since I had chosen to just modify the original #126 sleeve while keeping the basic shape, all of the pattern placement instructions provided by Laughing Moon would be the same.

For the lower sleeve, I wanted something more fitted than the pattern piece from LM. This sleeve piece would be made out of sheer silk chiffon I found at Fashion Fabrics Club in St. Louis for $15.95 a yard. It was perfect for my lower sleeves and a new neckerchief. This is also the fabric used to make the 'poofs' in the upper sleeve.

Obviously not sheer silk. I did a couple mock-ups of the lower sleeve in order to get the fit I wanted. The sleeve is very long in this photo but after it is hemmed and a wrist band added, it will be the perfect length.


Getting ready to cut the silk. The fitted pattern was cut on the bias to give the sleeve more movement and stretch when I wear it.


Now, if I had been smart I would have sewn a french seam on the lower sleeve instead of the flat -felled seam but hindsight is 20/20. It didn't even occur to me until I'd already sewn in the flat-felled seam that the french seam would have been so much easier (and probably prettier). A rolled hem would be used to finish the wrist edge (not done yet in this photo). At the top, I folded over the edge 1/4" plus another 1/4" and back-stitched it (not done yet in this photo).



Flat-felled seam ready for sewing. Isn't this fabric gorgeous?

Here the lower sleeve is being attached to the upper sleeve. This view shows both sleeves inside out. The lower sleeve is being whip-stitched to the top of the upper sleeves armband. 

The lower sleeve attached to the upper sleeve. All that's left is to create a wristband.


The wristband was cut from the wool crepe the circumference of my wrist plus 1/2" for seam allowance and 1/2" for overlap to close it. The width was roughly 1  1/2". All sides were folded in 1/4" and pressed (the upper piece in photo). Then the band was folded in half lengthwise (the lower piece in photo), pressed, pinned, and all edges were whip-stitched closed.

 A hook was added to one side of the band and a thread bar to the other. This would enable me to close the band around my wrist. 



One short edge of the band was attached to the seam of the lower sleeve about 2" from the wrist edge. The band would hang free of the lower sleeve with the exception of the one short edge sewn to the lower sleeve seam.



THE COMPLETED GOWN!


I have to say I'm VERY pleased with the final gown. This is the fanciest gown in my wardrobe. Usually, my interpretation is of a working-class woman not a fancy widow in mourning. It will be easy to use this dress for other occasions by simply changing my accessories or adding an overdress. I could even pull off 'strict' schoolmistress with some spectacles and ruffly white day cap tied under my chin....😂 Upcoming school tours better watch out! LOL!



Close up of the front. My mourning jewelry is made of silk ribbon with a glass locket containing a miniature portrait of my father. It is attached to my bib with a removable straight pin.

And the back view.  Pardon my shift peeking out.




And it's done! Now on to the next project.



Other posts related to this project

Making an early 19th-century mourning dress

Making an early 19th-century mourning dress: The Skirt

Making an early 19th-century mourning dress: Skirt, Bodice, and Bib