I debated with myself about whether or not it was OK to piece the lining, and then I figured that it was what I had, so I would make do. It was a hot mess, all freehand, and I was convinced of total failure until I started stitching the lining down just over the millinery wire. Then the shape began to pull tightly and behave better. If I were to do this again, and if I were to make recommendations to another hat fiend, here’s are two changes I’d suggest:
1. Make an actual tidy pattern of your hat circle on a large piece of paper (newspaper, wrapping paper, whatever).
2. Trim and tidy edges so you are piecing straight, radial lines and not curves or tangents; better yet, buy a new remnant and don’t piece. I was too afraid of ‘wasting’ my scraps, so I pieced on the tangent. It’s OK, but I could have made this a bit easier for myself.
Happy birthday, Mr S!
Beyond those minor points, this is easy; piecing and fitting on the fly got a little wonky. Also, though your mileage may vary, 4:00 AM may not be the best time to start new projects. Wait till 5:00, when your coffee has kicked in.
We had real, not printed fabric, flowers in the house on Tuesday, which was Mr S’s birthday. I chose peonies because they looked so Dutch, though you cannot see the little variegated petals here.
Kitty wishes to know if you are getting all your leafy greens, because he is.
I have written in the past about the Living History Chicken, ripped and delicious, and the joys of making such a creature fit into a cast-iron pot. While “chicken ripper” might be the appellation you desire, it’s not what I want to be known for.
Last time, I dissed the modern ham as an item ill-suited to camp cooking (tasty, but it doesn’t look right). I have also seen hams on a spit cooked slowly (too high above) a fire, and heard a rumour about a very authentic ham-dining experience with a very authentic digestive result. That’s taking things farther than I care to take any regiment, so what to do?
Continental Army rations included, among other things, a pound of flour and a pound of beef a day per man. In Rhode Island at least, that beef might also have been fish, and I have seen chicken listed, too, as it is, technically, meat. Not wanting to inflict our fishy Ocean State customs on all comers, I think I’ll spare the regiments a pound of fish a day. But chicken? What to do? Hope to cook it?
Or maybe we should eat more fruit.The Afternoon Meal by Luis Meléndez, ca. 1772. MMA, 1982.60.39
One option is to rip the carcass apart (see above) and boil it. That would get the job done, for a bone-in chicken stew. However, I am thinking of string roasting chicken (or cornish game hens, since modern grocery store chickens are awfully large).
To be quite technically correct, I could only cook chicken for the Second Helping Regiment. They had a documented poultry thief among their number, one John Smith, who apprehended poultry if it failed to give the correct countersign when challenged. However a chicken is prepared, it will be a messy business, as we have no forks. It’s fingers, knives and spoons for us, as we have no forks. That does increase the appeal of boiling, since the meat would come off the bone more easily.
Or beeve and flower, depending on how you’re spelling in 1778.
John Buss of the 10th Massachusetts complained mightily of the rations he drew, and the quality of the beef, pining in his letters home for cheese and cider. His affection for cheese has become part of the unit’s lore and an in-joke, so I did make certain to have plenty of cheese for Monmouth. Bread, cheese, ham, fruit in season, beef stew: yawn, after a while.
Trying to cook authentically in the field could result in dull, repetitive menus, recreating the soldiers’ experience, but unless everyone you’re feeding has signed up for that, you may have an unhappy crowd on your hands. Mostly they just want food, but people will grumble if you are cooking the same thing every week (and that opportunity exists). When I was a kid, my mother cooked chicken and broccoli every Sunday night, and to this day, I won’t eat chicken and broccoli unless it is in satay sauce.
Sorry, Private: not in this man’s Army.
The 10th can count themselves lucky that they weren’t on the expedition to Quebec, when Newfoundland was on the 2nd Rhode Island’s menu, as well as squirrel-head-and-candle-wick soup. (Try explaining this Newfoundland business to your creative writing group. I tried historical fiction and got a reputation for being “dangerous,” and you can, too.)
At Monmouth, we served as another regiment’s….disposers…on Sunday morning, and were treated to the extra steaks they cut from a ham. Grilled and stacked on bread with hard cheddar cheese, this was delicious. Our conversation turned quickly to the question of grilling. After all, we only have kettles and sticks. I said I’d buy and carry a grate if they wanted ham so much, but the Adjutant proposed weaving a grid of green sticks and holding that over coals, and just brushing off the ashes when the meat fell into the coals. The minor detail left out is what we would use to retrieve the meat, though it must be a stick by any other name.
One cannot fry in or on tinware: the tinning will melt. We know soldiers carried as little as they could even in the regular infantry, so light infantry units were packing nothing but what they had to carry. No frying pan; no grate. Upon reaching this conclusion, we turned our sad-eyed stares on the other regiment with their table and stools and grill and ham, and were rewarded with another grilled ham piece each. Dogs have got a good thing going.
Begging and sharing aside, what about ham? The joke we make at home about ham being the natural prey of cats who butcher, brine, and cook the ham they beg for applies just as much to light infantry troops and their hangers-on. (They shouldn’t really have me along, but they are stuck and I’m pretty handy for getting the meals out, the canteens filled, and the wounds bandaged.) But a ham? Harder still to justify. Salt pork, yes; salt beef, yes. But the attractive and portable boneless hams at the supermarket are, sadly, more delicious than authentic.
One can take on the task of preparing meat properly oneself, in one’s copious spare time, but that won’t fix July and August’s meals. Staring sad-eyed at other regiments seems a parasitic and reputation-destroying plan. What to do?
Tune in next time for more adventures in historic meats!
As Eloise or her Nanny might say, It is rawther warmer than I care for. Lucky for me, I have a new hat. It’s a black straw hat of a kind you might see called a bergère, along with 4 yards of silk ribbon, purchased at Burnley & Trowbridge’s tent at Monmouth. Jim and Angela and their assistants were very helpful, and this was rawther a splurge for me, as I mostly buy my ribbon from Wm Booth’s remnants, when they are available. (We are tenant farmers. Mostly.)
Coromandel Coast lined hat, from an auction.
But in this instance, I wanted a lady’s hat, so I pleated up about two yards of green silk ribbon, and added a bow. To get the multi-vector bending effect, I stitched millinery wire from Abraham’s Lady around the brim. The inside of the brim is lined with pieced scraps of the purple “Fleurs d’Inde” I used for a jacket (also made from a Wm Booth remnant). It ties on with yet another yard or more of ribbon. This is really a frivolous hat, for me. There are extant examples of straw hats lined with chintz, as you can see.
As luck would have it, I got to wear it right off, the very day I made it. How often do you get the chance to do without panic and pain? We attended the Saturday version of the Rochambeau Tea on Joy Homestead, an event which has its dedicated fans.
First hat outing
I wore this same gown last year, and to Nathan Hale; to my delight, I am enjoying it more each time I wear it. I think this petticoat is the right one; madder was too close and black too contrasty. Since the Rochambeau Tea “year” is 1780, this dress passes (ahem) muster; for many of the events I attend, it is too fashion forward.
London Cries: the Fishmonger. Paul Sandby ca. 1759. YCBA B1975.3.210
This hat will, I think, also work for the 1763 event, as the woman in yellow here is wearing a similarly dual-plane twist hat. I’ll never have a yellow gown though: I look pretty horrid in yellow.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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