The Battle of Lexington, 1775. Engraving by Ralph Earl. NYPL Digital Library
We’re as done as we’re going to be. Buttonholes are stitched, the Young Mr’s garters are in process, so the last thing to do would be to replace the green ribbon on my bonnet with black, just because I feel picky and want to change it.
That, and pressing clothes and making lunches.
Mr S completed two hand-sewn market wallets so that the boys can have their own lunches and I do not have to be the walking buttery.
Clara Peeters (fl. 1607–1621) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
On the menu? A Cheshire pork pie or pasties (apple and pork), apples, water, and gingerbread cakes. I may pick up a loaf of bread (I ran out of flour this morning and barely eked out enough for the gingerbread, so rising time is out of the question) and bring some cheese as well. It’s a long day outdoors, and we are likely to be hungry. When my family gets too hungry, we get weird. By the time we are done, I expect to be this tired, so I am considering making Saturday night’s dinner tonight.
The modernized recipes for gingerbread cakes and the pork pie are from the History is Served website, but this week I found a wonderful site from the Westminster City Archives, The Cookbook of Unknown Ladies. Almond puddings are not portable, but they look fun to try.
Finished, that’s how, with holes in my fingers and a split in my thumb.
Sure hope it fits…I have tried it on along the way, and it is an open robe, so chances are good it will fit. But after I dressed Cassandra, I did have that “What if…?” moment of dread. There’s a lot of this that’s like art school. Hours laboring alone, hours of studying precedent, craft/technique and theory, and then you have a presentation, i.e. you wear the thing in public. I try not to think about it too much.
I could take this apart for you (the sleeve is more ‘modern’ than the cuff; gowns are not known to have been bound at the hem, though petticoats were; didn’t finish the matching petticoat; did I use the fabric the wrong side out?) but Gentle Reader, I suspect you can supply your own quantity of anxiety, and need not borrow a cup or quart from me.
Let’s talk about the fun parts:
For a while, I hated this gown. Seriously. The closer I got to being done with it, the more I flat-out despised it and found it ugly. Why? Too nice. That’s a respectable gown, that is. It’s the gown your mother would tell you to wear, or the one she thought you ought to change into when she said, “You’re going out in that?” As if you were planning to run away in a red and black calico gown… And I hated the color. Then I thought the wool was too heavy.
Mrs Sylvanus Bourne, JS Copley, 1766. MMA, 24.79
I am not this old. My impression is not this wealthy. My dress is not silk. But when I look at what I’ve managed to make, and I look at this (my own white apron is coming; I almost finished it yesterday, but the alarm company called and I had to go deal with an early-morning bat) I feel better. I have white mitts, a white kerchief, and there will be a white apron, bats or no bats.
It’s a neat presentation, the brown and white will look well together, and with a black hat or black bonnet. And by the time I’ve sat on dirt and ground some soil into the skirt, and burned a hole into the hem, I’ll probably like this gown.
But it seems so…proper…and that just doesn’t seem like me.
We use as small a cooler as we can, and save it for things that get dangerous, like meat. We skip dairy. If your impression is that of soldiers in the field, forget cream in your coffee or milk in your tea, unless you can point to the farm you stole it from! (See John Smith’s diary.) We hide the cooler under a blanket in our tent. Yes, the blanket is a red bed cover from Ikea and needs to be replaced.
Carrots, onions, potatoes, parsnips, beets, apples, can all travel in bags, baskets or bowls. Think basics if your impression is common soldier or common person.
Rations were generally a pound of beef for a soldier, half a pound for women on the ration, and a quarter pound for children. You can use these proportions to figure out what to make, and John Buss had a lot to say about the quality and frequency of the beef and other rations. Jeremiah Greenman of the 2nd Rhode Island ate dog on the way to Quebec, and that was one time they weren’t the 2nd Helping Regiment. We draw the line well on this side of that kind of authenticity.
Three sticks, two kettles, one bucket. I love that bucket.
Men carried their rations in haversacks, so yes, a little eeww if you’re thinking a pound of salted beef in a linen sack along with a pound of bread or flour. That’s where the cooler comes in, and a metal bowl or plate. We use split firewood to cut the meat on, and then burn the wood instead of washing a wooden cutting board in the field.
I have brought home-baked tea bread to events, and taken cookies (little cakes) to the farm. But you have to think about the context of the event, and your specific impression. I’d like to strip everything down to the “three sticks, two kettles, no matches” principle, but we’re stuck with cooler because we cook.
What we did at OSV, which was two dinners (Friday and Saturday) and two breakfasts and lunches (Saturday and Sunday) was this:
Friday Dinner: pasties
Saturday Breakfast: apples, bread and ham and cheese. Guess who forgot the eggs and oatmeal? Yes, me! The one in charge of stores. Thankyouverymuch.
Saturday Lunch: Apples, bread and ham and cheese.
Saturday Supper: Beef stew with carrots, onions and potatoes. Authenticity would have made this plain boiled beef but fortunately for us, OSV is a farm, and we could pretend John Smith had helped us enhance our rations. We scraped the kettle clean.
Sunday Breakfast: Apples, bread and cheese. The soldier in the tent next to us appeared with a cup of coffee. We eyed him with real envy; sensing peril, he quickly told us we could get our mugs filled at the OSV store, at a discount. Off we quick-marched, and Bob finished his coffee in safety. It wasn’t very good coffee, but it was the best coffee I had that week.
Sunday Lunch: By this point, the child had eaten anything that remained, and we had to buy lunch.
What did I learn from that experience?
Bring more fruit
Bring more bread
Bring the coffee & the coffee pot
When we consider packing for Monmouth this summer, these are the factors we’ll take into account, and one of the largest factors will be the amount the kid is accustomed to eating.
Workmen Lunching in a Gravel Pit, circa 1797. Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851
A compatriot asked how we handle food and cooking in the field. What do we do about “yucky stuff?” by which she meant meat.
She was doing just about the same stuff we were doing, and with Battle Road around the corner, I thought I’d write about food in the field, and ways we handle it. Other people will have other ideas, but the main things I think about are:
Maintaining authenticity and food safety (Nobody wants flux.)
Historical eating is seasonal, local eating
Gear: less is not only more, but easier
Food safety is one of those things where you really don’t want to compromise too much, though from eating at the farm, I think there is more leeway than we admit. I will confess that when I was poor and in school, I stored dairy products on the windowsill of my studio when there was no fridge, so eating at the farm is like eating… when I was a whole lot younger.
Here are my principles. I’m not an expert, your mileage may vary, but this is where I begin.
Universal Truths
Start with who you are.
Objects you bring, and food you eat, should be true to your impression.
Authenticity goes beyond the date of accouterments: a porcelain tea set may be quite correct for a 1778 Newport or 1763 Boston parlor, but it makes very little sense if you are with a Continental private. One chipped plate is different for a woman to carry, or a piece of pewter. How long either would last you is another story, but at least you’d have a story. If you are the Colonel’s wife, it’s a different matter, even more so if it’s a British Colonel.
Food safety trumps purest authenticity.
Cloth covered, hidden ice packs will hurt no one and may save you misery later.
Stay Hydrated.
Reapers, 1785. George Stubbs 1724-1806
Soldiers drank water.
In a hot summer camp, we keep a large pitcher full of water (see the Stubbs painting at left). Covered with a white linen or cotton cloth, it will keep coolish and free of dust & insects (or dog fur & fleas, if you’re in the Stubbs painting). We sliced limes into our enormous pitcher, and refilled it all day from the pump at OSV.
Limes are in period; justifying a source can be tricky, but at a certain level, safety trumps authenticity. 98 degrees and 90% humidity means drinking a lot of water.
Chances are you’re a caffeine addict like me, so what do you do? Boil water in a kettle, and bring tea in a screw of clean white paper is one answer. What’s your justification? I’m a personal fan of ‘stole it from my master,’ but in small quantities, perhaps you got it from home, or did a farm woman a favor. Or stole it from her. John Smith (I kid you not), Sergeant in Colonel Lippitt’s Rhode Island State Regiment, in Continental Service, writes in his diary* of apprehending geese and chickens who failed to respond with the correct password when challenged.
*Published as “Sergeant John Smith’s Diary of 1776”, edited by Louise Rau, in Mississippi Valley Historical Review, No. 20, 1933, pages 247 – 270. NB: Kitty Calash recommends reading, not stealing.
Tomorrow: Food-related recommendations by event type.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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