New Year's Cake In New York

A Victorian New Year's celebration in New York had to include several things on the menu in order to insure success. New Year's in New York meant lots of people visiting, expecting to sit down and be offered a glass of wine and something festive to eat.

A proper Victorian New Year's menu would have included smoked boneless turkey, pickled oysters, both chicken and lobster salads, and perhaps jellied tongue. But above all - there had to be New Year's cake: usually from a bakery, large, rich and beautifully decorated.

One might have other desserts on hand, too - such as fancy ices, jellies, candies and Charlotte Russe.* But New Year's cake, above all, was a must. What sort of cake was New Year's cake? Traditionally, it was a plain pound cake with either chopped almonds or caraway seeds in it. Susan Williams writes in Food in the United States 1820s-1890 (2006, p. 178) that the caraway seeds may have had an origin in Dutch baking traditions, because such cakes were served at New Year's Day receptions in New Amsterdam.

However, a recipe in Good Housekeeping magazine in 1888, for "German New Year's Cake," gives directions for a light fruit cake with candied citron and raisins. Sometimes a coin was hidden in the cake for a lucky person to find, as is also traditional in Christmas cakes. And the New York Times, in 1875, recommended two cakes for New Year's Day: a fruitcake or a Marble Cake (chocolate and vanilla batter swirled together, exactly like marble cakes today). In other words, by the end of the 19th century, one could have any kind of substantial cake on hand - but cake you had to have! And it needed to be iced and decorated in the fanciest way possible. For example, the Oxford Club in Brooklyn, which my 3rd great uncle David Barnett was a member of, had, in 1885:

a big New Year's cake in the form of a castle, bristling with sugar guns, [which] formed an attractive table piece which was properly admired and then destroyed.

The custom of holding an open house with a buffet-style meal on New Year's Day was a longstanding New York tradition, dating back to the 17th century. In New Amsterdam, New Year's cookies were wafers impressed with special designs; by the 18th century, honey spice cookies were also popular; by the 19th, cookies were often served alongside the glorious spectacle of the New Year's cake. Bakers often invited ladies, via newspaper advertisements, to inspect a display of all the fancy cakes just after Christmas.

In Brooklyn, James Kernan, whose store was at Fulton and Jay, offered "Sayer's celebrated fruit cake" and "Charlotte de Russe, plain and gothic"* in 1859, as well as "Basket Cake in great variety" (I assume that this was a cake shaped to look like a basket). Troxell's Saloon had "the choicest selection" of New Year's cakes in Brooklyn in 1867, as well as supper rooms for sleighing parties, confectionary - and even ear muffs! Thompson's, in the same year, had everything from boned turkeys, jellied hams and lobster salads to pyramids of confectionery and baskets of mottoes; they also provided the New Year's host with "glass, silver, china and waiters."

Also in Brooklyn, Anderson's, in 1856, sold bon bons,cornucopias, crystallized fruits and French candies. Anderson's was also pleased to loan any customer china, glass and silverware - but no waiters, apparently.You would have had to go back to Thompson's for them.

Additional Sources

Barnes, Donna R. and Peter G. Rose, Matters of Taste: Food and Drink in Seventeenth-century Dutch Art and Life, (2002, p.25).

"The Oxford Club Receives," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Jan. 4, 1885, p. 1.
"The Household," New York Times, Dec. 26, 1875, p. 9.

Brooklyn Daily Eagle ads:  James Kernan, Dec. 20 1859, p. 3; Troxell's, Dec. 17, 1867, p. 3; Thompson's Dec. 24, 1867, p. 3; and Anderson's, Dec. 27, 1856, p. 3. 

 New Year's Card with musicians (1904): NYPL.
A Happy New Year postcard: NYPL.
Picture of fancy cakes from Mrs. Beeton's All About Cookery, ca 1930.

*I am not sure what a gothic Charlotte [de] Russe was, but am looking into it; I'll edit this if I find out. And if you know, please do tell! A charlotte is a dessert of sponge cake or ladyfingers molded with custard and/or cream; the Charlotte Russe, or Russian charlotte, consists of ladyfingers and Bavarian cream. Individual Charlotte Russes (yellow cake topped with cream in a paper cup) were popular, inexpensive New York City treats in the 1930s.

The Christmas Cleanser

People have been eating a lot at Christmas dinner for a very long time, it would seem. In 1824 a book called The Oracle of Health published its version of a remedy for the overstuffed stomach, called Christmas Cleanser for the Stomach, a cure for "Holyday Fevers" in which

...the young patient feels hot and uneasy; the head aching and bad; the mouth parched, clammy, or having a bad taste; and the stomach and bowels all wrong and restless. As all this arises from a mass of pies and puddings, beef and sweet cakes, lying undigested in the stomach and bowels, and producing irritation of the liver and nerves, our first prescription will be a Christmas cleanser for the stomach.

This cleanser consisted of "one scruple of ipecacuan powder" [a very strong emetic] and "one grain of tartarized antimony"* mixed and divided into three doses, to be taken mixed with warm water. If you were not a "young patient," but an adult, you could take all the doses at once, washed down with camomile tea. Then you were to get up and walk around and drink ginger beer, too.

The morning after, you were to follow the Cleanser up with a "Laxative Drought for disordered Stomach," consisting of Epsom salts [a laxative], senna [a purgative or laxative], sugar, lemon peel and ginger, mixed in warm water.

The Oracle stated that all this would "in all probability, remove the undigested pudding, and leave the youth at leisure to prepare for another attack." It would certainly be unpleasant enough to take, to discourage you from overeating ever again!

It was recommended that this part of the Oracle  be read aloud to everyone over the family Christmas breakfast, as doing so would save a great deal of time and trouble.

Link to The Oracle of Health is here. The Christmas remedies are on pp 171-2.

*Antimony is the poison that killed Charles Bravo, whose wife Florence was tried for his murder in a famous and sensational English trial, in 1876. See James Ruddick's excellent Death at the Priory (2002) for a detailed treatment of this fascinating case.

Antimony was often taken in pill form in the 19th century, both as a purgative and to alleviate trouble in the bowels. They were called "everlasting pills" because they were taken, passed through the body, and were cleaned and reused.

The Victorian illustration of the Ghost of Christmas Present and Scrooge found at fictionfood.

A Last-Minute Shopper, 1914

Over on the left, this little cat  is doing her Christmas shopping back in 1914 (link takes you to bigger version at NYPL).

I wonder what is in all the packages? Catnip and a nice piece of salmon, I hope. And maybe some little socks to fill with treats - because if you use little socks, you can play with them afterwards.

The muff will also make a really good toy, once the photographer stops bothering her and goes away.

Happy holidays to you all!

[The cat card at the right is from NYPL as well.]

Miss Hazeltine's Christmas Number

Miss Julia Anne Scott Hazeltine was certain that the city editor at the Brooklyn Daily Eagle was going to be so grateful - so pleased! As a matter of fact, it would be one of the nicest Christmas presents anyone would be receiving in all of Brooklyn in 1882.

The city editor was not expecting any company that December afternoon, and seemed startled when she glided up to his desk, where he sat deep in thought, a blizzard of papers piled up around him. To get his attention, she threw a "little satchel" onto his desk, which disarranged the papers and certainly got his full attention - which was most gratifying.

Miss Hazeltine told him at once that this was no social call, but a visit between professional colleagues. "I'm a journalist. I write for all the principal story papers, besides a number of the magazines and one or two daily papers."

"You must have your hands full," the city editor remarked.

"Oh no," Miss Hazeltine confided. "I find plenty of time to do everything. I just slap off a love story, say in the morning; jump in and do a poem or two after luncheon, and get in some correspondence after supper. Oh, I know what women can do, and I'm proving my theory that we can accomplish just as much, if not more, than the men, if we are only given a fair show. Now I came in to see you about Christmas." She took a chair and pulled it up to the editor's desk. She settled down in it and gave him a bright steady look.

"Anything particularly odd about the holiday this year?" he asked.

"No, but you bring out a paper every Sunday?"

"We do."

"Now, what you want on the Sunday before Christmas is a Christmas number," said Miss Hazeltine. "Do you catch on to the idea? Something full of everything about Christmas. A regular holiday issue of the paper. See?" She beamed at him and sat back a little.

"Perfectly," he said. "But I do not see how you can be interested -"

"Ah, that's just the point. You see, I know just what a Christmas number should be. I know how to get it up. Now, I propose to bring out your Christmas number for you. " She smiled. She told him her name and handed him one of her business cards. He remarked that he had never seen any of her writings in print, ever.

Miss Hazeltine nodded; she said that newspaper men did not have time to read stories, never mind have any time to write them. Which was why she would be perfect for the Eagle. She would make them a Christmas number that would make every newspaper editor in the country jealous. Then she took a large roll of manuscript out of her pocketbook: a nice long story for the first page. "A regular Dickens' Christmas snap," it was. And then here was a poem -

He said that they really did not care to use any of these suggestions and -

But if he just heard the opening chapter - no? Then perhaps the opening verses of her poem "Christmas Morning to the Snowbird":

The snow is sifting through the air
And falling very fast;
And snowbirds hopping here and there
Sing Christmas's come at last.

The air is full of frost and ice
Jack Frost is on the window,
And little Johnny thinks it's nice
To send pennies to the Hindoo.*

At this point the city editor got up and ran to the press room, where he hid for two hours, until Miss Hazeltine had rolled up her manuscripts and gone away again. 

From "Salad for Sunday" (an op-ed feature), Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 17, 1882, p. 4. I love Miss Hazeltine and am fascinated with her, and have been trying to trace her life and career; thus far, I have found nothing but this little story. I will post a follow-up when and if I do discover more about her, or any of her writings. I very much hope to. At the very least, I will be basing a fictional character upon her, without a doubt (and so, you see, finding this article was a bit of a Christmas present for me!).

[Note: The dialogue is taken verbatim from the article; but I have imagined some of the looks and actions of the editor and Miss Hazeltine, based on their conversation.]

*Shades of Mrs. Jellyby - Miss H. is rather a Dickensian character herself, isn't she?

The picture of the Eagle building in 1898 is from the NYPL Digital Gallery, as is the picture of the ladies reading nnd the holly-and-bird postcard.

Edmund and the Christmas Chickens

It was December of 1851, and a boy named Edmund Griffin was walking past a market on Columbia Street in Brooklyn, when he saw something that made him stop right there and make a bold action.

There, outside the market, were three chickens - plucked clean of their feathers. And it was very cold, of course, since it was only a few days before Christmas.

Edmund felt sorry for the chickens and immediately thought: I will take these chickens home and dress them in some nice warm clothes. So he took the three chickens in his arms and set off for home.

Unfortunately a police officer nearby misinterpreted Edmund's kind gesture, thinking that he "had meant to convert them into a Christmas pie." And thus, Edmund was arrested at once for stealing. Do you think Edmund was really stealing the chickens, or was he going to rescue them and put little wool coats and hats on them? I like to think the latter, but you never know.

I wonder if Justice King let Edmund go? And whatever happened to the chickens?

Story from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 22, 1851, p. 3. Rooster picture from NYPL Digital Gallery. The little girl and chicken is from a Christmas card, from NYPL Digital Gallery.

A Christmas Orange

When my grandmother was a little girl in Brooklyn in the early 1890s, the best thing in her Christmas stocking (which really was a long red stocking, one of a pair that she wore sometimes - I have them now) - was the orange in the toe, way at the bottom.

The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, when writing of children's holiday treats, always speaks of candies "and oranges" - they were a special, expensive fruit, not easily had the rest of the year. In the advertisement below, from December 1901, grocer Joseph Bauland is selling "fancy Jamaica oranges" for 22 cents a dozen - a fair amount of money back then.

Part of the expense was due to the fact that oranges were imported from far-off places like Florida and  California (and Jamaica), which was a longer and more arduous process back then.  As you can see, the oranges are the most expensive item in the fruit and vegetable section (you may want to click on the link to the big version, here).

What else would a Victorian child find in his or her stocking on Christmas morning? Figs, nuts, candies (bought or homemade) and apples were all popular stocking stuffers. A child might also find small toys or a pair of gloves or mittens in their stocking. In 1877 the heroine of a story in a children's magazine called Golden Hours received a new striped stocking stuffed with:

...a bunch of holly in the top of it; then a paper of chocolates and mixed candies; then some oranges; a pair of gloves; a net for her hair; the mate of the striped stocking, a nest of filberts, and away in the toe a note [from Santa] , folded precisely three-cornered, and sealed with a bunch of miniature holly berries.

If they were lucky, my grandmother and her siblings might have had a few toys in their stockings, too, carved by their grandfather, who was a carpenter.

My grandmother's family did not have a lot of money, and she said that the orange was a once-a-year treat that she and her sister and brothers all looked forward to very much.

Image of the little girl with her cat in the stocking is from the NYPL Digital Gallery, as is the picture of the oranges. The Bauland ad is from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 12, 1901, p. 10, bigger version here.

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And thank you so much to Tina at The Clean White Page for this lovely Christmas Lemonade award!

The Sinister "Chef" of Zam-Buk

Even before one knows the company responsible for this little book (circa 1912) - one is startled. Because honestly - are you going to feel happy about cooking things recommended by this villainous-looking fellow who calls himself "Chef" in quotation marks? Is he not a real Chef? Perhaps not, since he resembles Svengali's cousin.

And if that wasn't enough to put you off, consider this: the cookbook was written and compiled under the unctuous aegis of the Zam-Buk Company - purveyors of all-purpose medicinal ointment. I wrote about Zam-Buk over on Kitchen Retro, here, which will give you some background information on this all-purpose and amazing ointment known (by its makers, at least) as "The World's Great Healer."

And what were those Good Things To Eat? The same old fare that you would find in any little cookbook of the 1890-1915 period: a few heavy main courses, some mayo-based salads, and a plethora of ordinary cakes and plain cookies, such  as Jam Jams. You'd think this sinister fellow would be serving up things he'd flambé'd in a huge incendiary chafing dish, or Mystery Pudding (I made that up, by the way, you'll have to imagine what would be in that).

The big version of "Chef" is here and the big version of the ad on the back cover is here.

The Enormous Milk Bar

This enormous milk bar was located, in the late 1930s, at 24 East 42nd Street. I love the cart parked outside complete with donkey, and the sign which is both simple and (because of its outrageous size) really rather tacky, too. Lewis Mumford (1895-1990) the historian and cultural critic, simply hated it. He wrote in 1939-40 that:

...the east part of Forty-second Street, in particular the strip between two important buildings, the New York Public Library and grand Central Terminal, already shows alarming symptoms of mistaking itself for the bawdy stretch between Seventh and Eighth Avenues; and the new Sheffield Farms Milk Bar doesn't help matters.

I have nothing against milk. It is a fine drink. Children cry for it, pigs fatten on it, Anna Held* used to bathe in it, some of my best friends drink it. I even have a sentimental feeling for Sheffield's, since I can remember, as a boy, the cold, buttery smell of its dairies in the days when they were merely a part of Sheffield, Slawson, Decker, a name to linger over, like Bailey, Banks and Biddle. But this new milk bar is a monstrosity. On the outside, it announces its presence with a huge vertical sign and a gfreat white enamelled signboard with green and red neon lights and a twiwinkling bottle of milk. It would take a lot  of ingenuity to create anything more massively vulgar and out of place than this particular front...

...As milk bars go, the interior is fairly good: the brilliant red panels at the back of the room soften the cold white glare of the walls, and the use of red on the subsidiary fixtures, like the mechanical milk-shakers, was a happy inspiration. Even the horizontal tubular lights are not so glaring to stand under as one might think from the outside. But the more playful attempts at decoration, in the form of cutout patterns and especially in a Walt Disney sort of painting, are feeble, and anyway they can hardly be seen by the milk-and-doughnut addicts without a lot of neck-stretching.

This sound rather fun, doesn't it? I would love to have visited this place. I especially want to take a look at that ersatz Disney painting and the red mechanical milk-shakers.

Image of exterior from NYPL Digital Gallery. The picture of the interior of the Sheffield is from Gotham Construction.

More on Lewis Mumford here. The Sheffield Milk Bar rant is from a collection called Sidewalk Critic: Lewis Mumford's Writings on New York (2000).

And for more on Sheffield Farms here is more at Forgotten New York and the Museum of the City of New York.

*Anna Held (1873-1918) was a famous Ziegfeld showgirl (and later common-law wife of Florenz Ziegfeld) among whose most famous beauty rituals was the milk bath. She is at the left posing with some enormous teddy bears.

Shopping For Christmas Games in New York City, 1895

Here are some of the brand new games you could buy your children for Christmas in New York City in 1895, according to the New York Times. They did not always explain the games so I am telling you as much as I know!

1. City Life - a card game "played with cards representing good and bad characters" - the object being to get as many good character cards as possible.

2. Christmas Stocking - a card game, the object of which was to get the "greatest number of presents."

3. Lost Heir - the cards "have the designs of the coats of arms of four large cities, and the titles of certain members of the Police Departments" plus two cards one for the "lost heir" and one for the "wrong boy."  The police officers were supposed to find the heir and avoid taking the "wrong boy" card.

And here are some board games you might like:

1. The Errand Boy and the Messenger Boy - the two Boys progress through various jobs "until they become Presidents."

2. From Log Cabin to White House and The Road to Washington - two games in which the players race "from the beginning of a political career through various offices to the Presidential chair." The image above is of the playing board of The Road to Washington. The larger building at the bottom is the "Grand Central Depot" in New York (though there is no city shown on the board, just the Depot) - which is bigger than the house representing Washington at the top! The bigger version is here.

3. Bobb - a "game of skill" which tested "delicacy of motion with the hand that grasps a small mallet." It was like tiddly winks in that lead-weighted pieces were moved on a board by one's tapping the underside of the board. The object was to land the pieces into "bobbs" or holes on the board.

The 1895 Times article that I got all these gift ideas from also mentions the "amusing" trend of "donkey parties." This seems to be the same as Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and there was a premade kit for playing this that was new back then "so that enjoyment can be had without the bother of supplying cloth, strips and pins." It it strange to think that people were so enamored of Pin the Tail that they were organizing whole parties around it, but this is what it sounds like.

The games all sold for anywhere between a nickel and a dollar. More Christmas shopping in Victorian New York to come...

Source: "Fine New Games and Toys," New York Times, December 1, 1895, p. 29.

The picture of The Road to Washington game board is from the Library of Congress.

The Skeleton Bang

Just down the street from Mrs. Thompson who sold hair switches and medicated gloves in New York City in the 1880s, we find one L. Shaw, advertising in Cosmopolitan in 1888 who sold - hair switches and medicated gloves.

Her gloves were called Monte Cristo Medicated Gloves, which sound European and (thus) very fancy. Shaw also has something to liven up your hair with the ominous, rather troubling name of the Skeleton Bang.

The Skeleton Bang was patented by Louise F. Marshall of new York on November 15, 1887. Marshall called it "A Wig or Similar Article" and explained that her invention was false bangs which rested upon a non-slipping skeleton base of steel springs covered with cloth.

If they were anything like the ones shown in the drawing they look rather artificial.The lady in the picture looks like she is sporting a bunch of carefully trimmed cauliflower on her head. The Skeleton Bang sounds very uncomfortable, too. Imagine those steel springs on your forehead. But at least they weren't going to slip off.

You could also buy the Genuine Auburnine to turn your hair auburn, Turkish Rose Leaves to use as rouge for cheeks and lips, and the Empress Eugenie's Secret of Beauty, which was a "transparent enamel for the complexion." That might be useful in a craft project or over nail polish - not so good for the face, though.

In addition to the cosmetics available at L.Shaw's, she also had "the best French artists" standing by to cut and color your hair "any desirable shade." So, not green or purple, presumably. The French artists sound like they would be fussy and boss you around. I wonder what they thought of Skeleton Bangs?

In the ad above and at the left, from 1886, Shaw describes her shop as a Hair and Beautifying Bazaar complete with a "Gray Hair Depot." You could get "Spanish, Grecian or basket braids" and all manner of hair styles including "Art's Greatest Triumph," the Recamiere Coiffure. Shaw actually means to refer to Madame Récamier (1777-1849), a noted literary beauty of the early 19th century. Her portrait, on the right, was painted in 1802. But the ladies in these ads, with their Skeleton Bangs, do not look quite like this.

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I am thinking about writing up some more Victorian true crime, I haven't done that in awhile. Maybe we will have a mystery object on Friday, if I can find a good one for you. And I have a really funny Christmas anecdote from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which I've been saving since last January - which I'll post nearer to the 25th.

Larger version of the Cosmopolitan ad from 1888 is here; the "Hair and Beautifying Bazaar" ad is from 1886 and the larger version of that is here.

Mrs. Thompson Redux: The Celebrated Patent Waves

Mrs. Thompson has some Celebrated Patent Waves (or rather "Waves") for you, so that you will make the best-dressed list in New York in 1882. It does not look false and wig-like (although it is in fact false and wig-like) - and is perfect for those who need more abundant waves and do not wish to ruin what hair they still possess.

As I was Googling for more information, what do you think I found? Why, I'd already written about dear Mrs. Mary Thompson back in January of this year. The subject of that post was her patented medicated gloves. There are some rather good links over there concerning her inventions and those of her husband, Charles, who invented a Crimping Pin to put waves in whatever hair you might already have.

Basically, if you wanted wavy hair of any kind in New York City in the 1880s (to say nothing of medicated gloves) you knew to get right over to the Thompson establishment at 52 East 14th Street, wallet in hand.

Or did you? Next time, we will be visiting Mrs. Thompson's rival and her very oddly named rival hairpiece.

[This advertisement is from Peterson's Magazine (volumes 81-2, 1882, p. 325).]

The Smuggler's Tomb

This is the Smuggler's Tomb which lay on the rocky East River shoreline between East 71st and East 72th Street, at the end of the 18th century. The Tomb was located on the Louvre Farm which was between 64th and 74th Streets and the East River, according to the notes on the original illustration.

David Provoost, the Smuggler, was the cousin of Samuel Provoost (1742-1815), the first Bishop of New York and president of King's College (later Columbia University). David, a Revolutionary War soldier, was outraged by the duties he was having to pay after the war. He thus turned to smuggling and was known thereafter as "Ready Money" Provoost.  David hid his spoils in this outbuilding and also in a cave at Hallett's Point in Astoria, Queens. David made "a fortune" from smuggling. His widow married Scottish-born lawyer James Alexander, and their son William** claimed to be the sixth Earl of Stirling.

Jones' Wood, owned by the Prevoost family, ran from 66th to 74th Streets and was comprised of 90 acres of land.It was sold to John Jones in 1805, and Jones' Wood became a popular picnicking area later in the 19th century. It was the original location proposed for Central Park. The Bowery Boys have an excellent post about Jones' Wood which I highly recommend.  It was said that David's ghost haunted the woods, and people liked to gather and tell ghost stories about him (though no one wanted to camp out all night, ever).

The site of the Tomb is where the Hospital for Special Surgery now stands, at 71st Street and East End Avenue.

Picture from NYPL Digital Gallery.

The Life of Bishop Provoost of New York (1855) by John Nicholas Norton is here at Google Books (it does not mention David the family smuggler, though).

*Excursion Planned for the City History Club of New York by Frank Bergen Kelley (1905, p. lxi) - link here.

**See here for Dictionary of National Biography article on William Alexander. It says that he was born in 1726, which does not make sense if his father David was a Revolutionary War soldier born about, say 1750 (see above that David's cousin Samuel was born 1742).

Also see A Loiterer in New York by Helen W. Henderson (1917, p. 337) for more on David Provoost.