Tag: Brigade of the American Revolution

18th Century Sno-Cones

On By kittycalashIn Food, Living History, Reenacting1 Comment
Nooning Saturday. Sandwiches and fruit

You may not have seen the Mad Men episode about the Sno Ball campaign, but chances are good you remember Sno Cones in paper cups from street vendors or Woolworth’s. On a hot August afternoon in Chicago, they were a treat waiting for the insufferably delayed Number 11 bus. On a warm New Jersey night, one can be inspired.

When the Wemrock Orchards truck came through camp Saturday evening, we bought another bag of ice—20 pounds!—and added ice to our pitchers. The Young Mr started crunching ice cubes, and The Adjutant observed, “You’re following the label’s advice: ‘Ice is Food’.” Mr S and I looked at each other and said, “I wonder if you could make a shrub slushy?” But what to beat the ice with? Musket butts were considered and rejected. And suddenly the Young Mr said, “We have a mallet!”

Indeed we do: Mr S made us a whacking great mallet with an enormous head. We ran to the tent to fetch the mallet and the flask of shrub, wrapped two handfuls of ice in the cleanest white cloth we had, laid it on Table (a clean, flat piece of firewood) and wielded the mallet. Just a small amount of shrub (recipe here) will do; it’s pretty potent stuff, even when non-alcoholic. I did not whack long enough, but shrub over crushed ice is a delicious, if highly unlikely for a common soldier, treat. The Adjutant is correct: the ice needed more whacking. But when he said, “I guess someone will have to make a mallet for the unit that’s flat on one side and serrated on another,” I figured we’d been accepted, crazy snow-cones and all.

Monmouth Overview

On By kittycalashIn Events, Reenacting13 Comments
Cricket!

Yes, I’m tired, but what a great weekend. Even Cricket seems to have been happy. (Yes, I know pugs don’t smile and I know brachycephalic dogs have a hard time breathing, and Cricket was hot, but he did also seem pretty happy to be out in a field under a tree.) The worst of it was getting there: what should have been a 4-5 hour trip took 7 and a quarter hours, thank you New Jersey Turnpike shore traffic. Even people who left New England at 10 had 6-hour journeys, so leaving earlier would not have helped. Also, we would not have been ready as there were very last-minute gear and food assemblies required. This lengthy journey did allow us the chance to play an extended game of “what the hell is that smell?” The unfortunate winner turned out to be Mr S, who guessed cat pee, but that’s a story for another post, or perhaps for Jackson Galaxy.

Mr S on “Chair” made from stacked firewood. It works.

After erecting tents in the gloaming, including one we’d not been able to check out at home due to heavy work schedules and slight matter of incessant rain, we crashed in our clothes on straw beds and made it to Saturday. Saturday brought coffee, thank goodness, and thanks to Tew’s Company’s willingness to share their fire. (Fire good.) I finally found the camp kitchens on the map, but never walked out to them—happy trails militia folks, but the earthen kitchens were too far from our part of the Continental camp to be really practical. So we made like light infantry and perched on firewood under a tree, ate cold rations and scammed off the hat regiment.

Coming off the field, Sunday

There were plenty of sutlers, but I did not buy 5 yards of the cross barred white and blue at Burnley & Trowbridge to replicate the oyster seller gown because really, first I have to make the black heart cherry gown. I did buy a new hat and ribbon, and pair of more appropriate shears, and most satisfying of all, shoes. I have Burnley and Trowbridge shoes, and while the width is fine and narrow, the length is not and arch support is absent. By the end of a day, my feet and I are miserable, which reduces my stamina and increases my hip pain. (I have arthritis, and had my right hip replaced 2-and-a-half years ago; I’m not that old, but my femoral heads have high mileage.) On the recommendation of several friends, and despite the rubber heels, I tried Flying Canoe shoes. Though a trifle wide, the length was right and I was sold. They vastly improved my outlook and stamina, so were worth the heel cap compromise, with many thanks to my mother for an early birthday present she doesn’t yet know she bought me.

Starting to pack

So, topics for this week in some form and combination:

  • 18th century sno-cones
  • A sense of belonging
  • Future menu plans
  • The public and the spectacle
  • Monmouth Battlefield State Park Visitor Center Design
  • Shopping & Visiting
  • Bed sacks
  • There will be laundry

In the meantime, pictures are on Flickr. Lesson for today: Do not turn your back after giving a man your camera.

Time Traveling

On By kittycalashIn Events, Living History3 Comments
Girl with Pack Horse, Paul Sandby. YCBA B2001.2.1167

Once again headed south, this time with a more fully loaded vehicle and the Gentlemen of chez Calash. We shall return stinking and happy, I hope, and if not, there should be a good story in it. Farewell to any HSF Princess Dress dreams, and hello to Anne Carrowle, runaway, who still needs to re-set her sleeves but instead finished a pocket and fringe and basting and baking. Fingers crossed for good weather and happy camping.

Monmouth Menus

On By kittycalashIn Events, Food, Living History, Reenacting6 Comments

Food: It is always on my mind, even cataloging. When the tan and brown and black colors of a sampler make me think of Tiramisu,  I know it’s time to wrap up work for the day. But food is particularly on my mind this week, as I plan and calculate for Monmouth, hoping to use the lessons I’ve learned in the past instead of just being anxious. I know it’s not a test, but it feels like one, somehow.

The Young Mr has aged suddenly, in Don Draper’s kitchen.

Continental rations were supposed to be a pound of beef and a pound of flour a day for man, half that for a woman employed by the army and a quarter of that for a child. The Young Mr (who isn’t really a child and is sort of a soldier) would get more if he was really a drummer… but in any case, we’re looking at 2 + ½ + ¼ or 2 ¾ pounds of beef and the equivalent of flour at a minimum to feed two soldiers, a woman, and a child per day (at a minimum, I expect to feed the adjutant as well as ourselves).

I float out ideas like fire cake or pudding to take account of the flour, but Mr S reels me in and suggests that we should stick to what we know until we can test other ideas on the landlord’s fire pit. We shall substitute bread, therefore, and I probably will not make a nuisance of myself at the bakery or the grocery and ask them to weigh the loaves, as I have my own kitchen scale and can obsess about this in the comfort of our home.

Too fancy! From the Complete Housewife.
Too fancy! From the Complete Housewife.

My plan is about the same as every camp dining plan: that’s suitable, given the repetitive nature of Army rations (and the repetitive complaints of the soldiers, echoed in every war).

Friday
Pasties. They keep and travel well.

Saturday Morning
Bread, cheese, strawberries, eggs
Ideally, I’ll find a farm stand where I can buy local strawberries, but we will only get into a discussion of what exactly would have been in season on New Jersey in June 1778, which leads to a discussion of global heating.

Saturday Lunch
Bread, cheese, ham, cookies from home

Saturday Dinner
Beef stew and bread, strawberries, cookies from home

Sunday Morning
Bread, cheese, fruit, eggs

Sunday Lunch
Bread cheese, ham, and anything that’s left

This is essentially the same plan that I had for OSV last year, with the biggest sticking points being: will I remember the eggs? Will I manage coffee? I’m not very good at anything until I have coffee, or some kind of caffeine, which could be a challenge this time around. There’s an ice truck scheduled to go through the camps, but what I want to know is, when’s the coffee truck coming?