​

Cooking 18th-century recipes in a contemporary kitchen requires modifications.

 

A few years ago, I received a copy of Amelia Simmons’s “American Cookery,” first published in

1796. Since I typically don’t attempt to “dress a turtle” or “smother a fowl in oysters” for dinner, I’ve never looked to the book to answer, "What am I cooking tonight?"

But then I bought a 3 3/4 pound beef round from a nearby farm, and I wanted to give it

the royal treatment. The easy way: toss it into the slow cooker in the morning, slice and

enjoy by evening. The other way: bone up on 18th Century foodways and attempt to

simulate hearth cooking in a city apartment. I chose the road less traveled.

 

The recipe I selected was once so stylish, Simmons named it simply “To Alamode a

Round of Beef.” It begins, “To a 14 or 16 pound round of beef, put one ounce salt-petre,”

and let it cure 48 hours." As the food writer Betty Fussell put it, saltpeter was used “when the fear of poisoning by bacteria was stronger than the fear of poisoning by chemicals like nitrites, of which saltpeter is one.” I settled for a sea salt rub and two days in the fridge.

​

“American Cookery,” considered the first published American cookbook, is largely a

collection of British recipes, with the addition of some distinctly New World ingredients

and recipes ("cramberries", "pompkins", “A Nice Indian Pudding”). Simmons was

economical with her language, trimming any superfluous description.

So economical, in fact, that she didn’t bother to write her chapter on syllabubs (creamy

alcoholic spritzers, which, fortunately, are not still a thing). The chapter was lifted almost

word for word from “The Frugal Housewife,” written by Susannah Carter three decades

earlier.

 

Simmons wasn’t the only one using unsavory publishing techniques. Her publishers

added an entire market guide to “American Cookery” without asking Simmons for

permission. The guide contained instructions for sniffing out whether “deceits are used”

by purveyors. It seems fishmongers, for example, were known to paint on fake blood and

to doctor the gills.

 

Despite their attempt to educate unassuming cooks, the publishers’ own “deceits” ended

up costing them. Simmons was incensed by this “affront upon the good sense of all

classes of citizens.”  Merely months after the first edition debuted, she brought her manuscript to a new publisher and printed a second edition without the offending market guide.

 

Back in my kitchen, after letting the salted meat chill for two days, I was ready to finish

my 18th Century “Alamode.” Before cooking, the meat was to be stuffed with a mixture

of butter, spices, “grated bread,” and, surprisingly, more meat. Rather than grate my loaf

of day-old sourdough -- this is why breadcrumbs were invented -- I chopped it coarsely

and mixed in ground beef, salted butter, and a handful of thyme, marjoram, pepper, and

cayenne.

​

The recipe called for the meat parcel to be placed upon “skewers” inside a large pot so

the meat would remain elevated above the simmering water. I improvised by placing it

on an inverted round cake pan inside a large stock pot. I added two cups of boiling water

to the bottom of the pot, adding more when the water level seemed too low.

​

Thirty minutes in, the beef was already browned and the kitchen smelled of butter. To

maintain a consistent temperature and minimize evaporation, I weighted down the lid

and continually adjusted my stovetop range so the water continued gently simmering for

four hours. The result was fork tender and juicy throughout. My set-up basically

replicated a slow cooker, without any of the convenience or peace of mind.

​

The final two steps were to make a gravy and to “brown the round.” The browning of the

parcel was especially interesting. The recipe called for “butter and flour, adding ketchup

and wine to your taste.” I simply heated up some butter, stirred in some white wine and

flour to thicken, and then dredged the round on all sides. It didn’t make the round any

browner but it did coat it with butter, flour, and wine and that’s always a good thing.

 

The hidden gem of the recipe was the ketchup. While the beef was steaming in my

makeshift slow cooker, I decided to research what sort of ketchup Amelia Simmons

might have used. I was planning to scoop in tomato paste but fortunately I found myself

going down a rabbit hole of ketchup history.

​

To make a long story short, ketchup as we know it derived over centuries from the complex, intense sauces, often made from fish, used in Asian cuisine. Before tomatoes — yet another New World ingredient – Europeans were making their own ketchup with a variety of ingredients, and mushrooms

seem to have been a favorite. It just so happens, thanks to my deep love for pickled and

fermented foods, I had a jar of homemade brined mushrooms in the back of my fridge.

The brine’s earthy, salty-sourness complemented the butter and wine. If you’re not

fermenting mushrooms any time soon, you’ll get a similar result using soy sauce or

store-bought fish sauce and a touch of white wine vinegar.

 

When serving the Alamode, this plate of meat stuffed with bread, butter, and still more

meat, one might pause and consider, "What about the vegetables?"  One could be forgiven

for skipping the salad and instead borrowing a trick from Simmons’s turtle recipe: “shake

a handful of shred parsley, to make it look green.”

​

​