Our 1920s Health Brunch series continues with our final installment - And what good is a brunch without a few sweet treats? But healthy treats are hard to find, and they were in the 1920s, too. Sugar was still considered something of a health food back then, as refined white sugar was essentially pure carbohydrate, and food scientists and nutritionists of the time understood carbohydrates generally in terms of energy, rather than associating excess carbohydrates with fat storage, as many nutritionists do today. Nutrition science was still in its infancy (the calorie had only been applied to food energy in the 1890s, and the first vitamin wasn't isolated until 1912), and scientists were researching sugar and its effect on human health. The advent of the Temperance movement also encouraged the replacement of one vice (alcohol) with another (sugar). Some health reformers did advocate for low sugar diets, notably John Harvey Kellogg, who believed that sugar was hazardous to your health. He and his younger brother Will Kellogg parted ways over Will's marketing of corn flakes, which included sugar. Will later won the legal battle to use the Kellogg name commercially, and John Harvey never really recovered from that loss. 

Digestion was also a huge concern amongst health reformers and medical professionals alike in the early 20th century. The 19th century and American diets were marked by complaints of dyspepsia, constipation, and other digestive troubles. Until the early twentieth century, fruits and especially vegetables were seen largely as filler foods that provided only the roughage needed to avoid constipation. To nutrition scientists, they contained little nutrition, as they often had limited amounts of carbohydrates and little to no protein or fat - the three primary building blocks of nutrition as understood at the time. In comparison, milk was seen as the "perfect food," because it contained carbohydrates, protein, and fat all in one beverage. 

Solving digestive troubles before they started was top of mind for many home economists and medical professionals, and the easiest (and gentlest) way to improve digestion and avoid constipation was to consume whole grains and dried fruits. The advent of the First World War increased focus on whole grains as refined white wheat flour was reserved for the military and Americans were encouraged to go "wheatless." Cornmeal was the most abundant substitute, but rye, barley, and oats were all used. Although cold cereals like those produced by Will Kellogg and Kellogg rival C.W. Post were starting to gain ground, cooked cereals like oatmeal, malt-o-meal, Cream of Wheat, etc. were still popular. 

Dried fruits were another go-to solution to digestive trouble. The poor prune (a.k.a. dried plum) has retained that reputation to this day, and Prune Whip was one of the recipes I considered for this menu, but decided to forego since many historic recipes called for using uncooked egg whites. Dried apricots, figs, and raisins all were used in similar ways by early 20th century cookbook authors, home economists, and health reformers. To this day, an oatmeal raisin cookie is considered more healthful than a chocolate chip cookie, although their calories and composition might be markedly similar. Fig Newtons also have retained much of their association with healthy eating, despite being a type of cookie.

Prunes, raisins, apricots, figs, and dates were all developed as commercial crops in California in the 19th century. Many Mediterranean fruit trees were introduced to California by Catholic missions in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, including olives, citrus fruits, plums, grapes, apricots, figs, and dates. However, commercial production came much later. Commercial prune production did not begin until the 1850s in the Santa Clara Valley. Muscat grapes were introduced to California in the 1850s, but commercial raisin production did not begin until the 1870s in the San Joaquin Valley, notably with the development of the "Thompson Seedless" variety. Apricots were also introduced in the 1850s to the Santa Clara Valley, production did not peak until the 1920s. Mission figs had been known in California since the days of Catholic missions, but they were not considered as desirable as Turkish Smyrna figs, which were finally introduced in the late 19th century in the San Joaquin Valley. Dates were the last to be brought to California, introduced in the early 20th century to the Coachella Valley. 

In the 1900s and 1910s, many fruit growers around the country were consolidating into groups and cooperatives. In 1893, the Southern California Fruit Exchange was formed of orange growers. By 1905, it renamed itself the California Fruit Growers Exchange, and in 1907 launched the "Sunkist" brand for citrus fruits. In 1912, the California Associated Raisin Company was established, and in 1915 they debuted the Sun-Maid brand. In 1917, the California Prune and Apricot Growers Association was formed, later taking on the moniker "Sunsweet." With the rising interest in both health foods and California fresh produce in the 1920s, recipes like Chef Wyman's "Sunland Salad" became more commonplace. 

​Which brings us to our final two recipes: Fruit Puffs, from 1917, and Stewed Apricots. 

"Fruit Puffs" are something of a misnomer, as you'll see. I tracked down this recipe in The National Food and Health Book, a cookbook published in 1917 by Robert Addison Harrison in Lincoln, Nebraska. It was a cookbook designed to meet the needs of the First World War. The first half of the book is devoted to information about nutrition science (including some lifted from the Cornell University reading courses for the farm wife), meal planning, food conservation, advice for leftovers, and suggested menus. The second half of the book is devoted to "Economical Recipes," many of which are eggless or call for stretching meat rations. Although there are no recipes labeled "wheatless," there are a number of recipes including whole grains. I decided I wanted a recipe that I could use whole wheat flour with, and something with dates. Fruit puffs seemed to fit the bill.

All of the recipes in this cookbook are written in paragraph form, and I was reading it on my phone while I baked, which was not the best tactic, I will admit. So the puffs did not turn out as well as I'd hoped, in part because I fudged the recipe slightly. Here's the original, as written:

FRUIT PUFFS - Two cups flour, 4 teaspoonfuls baking powder, one-half teaspoonful salt, 4 tablespoonfuls butter or lard, two-thirds cup milk or water, four tablespoonfuls finely cut dates or figs, four tablespoonfuls chopped nuts, four tablespoonfuls sugar, one-half teaspoonful cinnamon, two tablespoonfuls butter.

Mix first five ingredients as for baking powder biscuit and pat out onto a sheet (one-half inch thick) on a board. Spread with butter (melted) and sprinkle with sugar, nuts, cinnamon and fruit. Roll as for cinnamon roll and cut into eight pieces. Flatten on greased tin and bake in a hot oven. (These puffs may be served as a pudding with a lemon sauce).

And here's my adaptation:

2 cups whole wheat flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons butter
2/3 cups milk
1/4 cup finely chopped dates
1/4 cup chopped pecans
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter, melted

Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt, then cut rub in butter until crumbly. Stir in milk and knead lightly until the dough comes together. If sticky, roll out on floured surface. If a little dry, roll out on parchment or waxed paper. Roll lightly into long rectangle. In a small bowl, mix cinnamon and sugar to blend. Spread dough with melted butter, sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar mixture, sprinkle with dates and nuts. Roll lengthwise as for cinnamon rolls and cut into 1-2 inch rounds. Bake on a greased baking sheet at 425 F for 10-12 minutes, or until lightly browned. 

​These did not turn out as well as I'd hoped. Admittedly, I forgot a whole tablespoon of butter, and did not follow my instincts and add more milk to soften the dough a little. I also forgot that whole wheat flour absorbs more moisture than white, and I should have increased the liquids to compensate anyway. So the puffs were pretty dry. In retrospect, I realize I also did not "flatten" the rounds as indicated in the original recipe, which would have made them even less puffy? I do not understand the naming convention here at all. But the end result was a perfectly nice, albeit dry, biscuit pinwheel. The whole wheat, cinnamon, dates, and pecans all went nicely together. Next time I think I would add more dates and pecans, and make a softer biscuit dough. I don't think I would flatten them, however! (Well, maybe just a few, for science.)

Stewed dried fruit is quite an old dish, but as I mentioned earlier, stewed dried fruits gained popularity in the late 19th and early 20th century as a digestive aid and an inexpensive way to access fruit year-round (being considerably less expensive than canned fruit). Serving fruit with cream as dessert was also quite common, and among home economists, at least, a popular alternative to the digestion-busting pie Americans loved (and still love) so much. 

The recipe for stewed apricots (or any kind of fruit) couldn't be easier. Simply take dried apricots, cover them with water, and simmer over low heat until they are plump and tender and the water has thickened into a sauce. You can soak them overnight for even more rehydration and faster cooking. Serve warm, room temperature, or cold with a few tablespoons of heavy cream. Some recipes add sugar, honey, and/or spices, but most call simply for fruit and water. 

The stewed apricots were a nice juicy contrast to the dry biscuit pinwheels, and a good flavor companion. Of course, hot chocolate made everything better. 

And that, dear reader, is that! Over all I think the Health Brunch was a success - I learned some new cooking tricks, had a lovely time with friends, and best of all - someone else did the dishes! Here's to a healthy and delicious 2025. 

​Until next time...

Eggs benedict is a classic brunch dish consisting of a toasted English muffin, a thin slice of lean ham (often Canadian bacon), a poached egg or two, and hollandaise sauce. Although I disdained it as a child, as an adult I have come to love eggs benedict and all of the variations that seem to crop up on the menus of brunch and breakfast places across the country. When planning this brunch, I knew I wanted to attempt a version of it. And although I sadly didn't have the time or energy to do poached eggs (someday!), I did tackle a historic hollandaise sauce (recipe below) that worked marvelously. 

But before we get to the recipes, we of course have to look into the history! The history of eggs benedict is somewhat disputed, so I did my customary dive down the rabbit hole to see what I could find.

Eggs and ham have long been served together for centuries, and one of the earliest references I could find to poached eggs and ham comes from Hannah Glasse's 1796 cookbook The Art of Cookery for "Collops and Eggs," which calls for broiled bacon (English style, which is closer to Canadian bacon than American style), beef, or "hung mutton" topped with poached eggs. 

Hollandaise sauce likely dates to the 17th century, developed in France and named after the Dutch probably because of the use of butter but also because it may have been developed during the Franco-Dutch War. A version of it is mentioned in Pierre August Varenne's cookbook, Le Cuisinier Francois (or, "The French Chef"), originally published in 1651. In this 1655 edition, we have a recipe for Asparagus with White Sauce (page 149), which includes instructions for the sauce, "make a sauce with very fresh butter, a little vinegar, salt, nutmeg, and an egg yolk to bind the sauce, which take care that it does not turn" (translated by the yours truly, with the assistance of Google Translate). Anyone who has tried to make hollandaise sauce knows that curdling the egg yolk is the biggest risk, as it can "break" or "turn," in the words of Varenne.  

Although Delmonico's claims to have invented what we know today to be eggs benedict as early as the 1860s, as is often the case, they present no hard evidence to support their claim. Gastro Obscura tackled the competing origin stories, but I have not been able to verify any of them. Suffice it to say that by the 1890s, eggs benedict was showing up in cookbooks. The 1897 Hood's Practical Cookery contains a recipe for eggs benedict, which is mostly instructions for making hollandaise sauce, and then telling the reader to top a piece of toast with fried ham, a poached egg, and to cover with the sauce. An issue of Table Talk magazine, also from 1897, appears to lift the Hood's recipe wholesale. 

Eggs and How to Use Them by Adolphe Mayer, published the following year in 1898, has a whole host of recipes using poached eggs, including eggs benedict and many variations, such as:

• eggs Blanchard, which is identical to eggs benedict except it calls for truffle sauce, instead of hollandaise
• eggs Celestine, which is identical except it calls for white sauce with cheese, and is then broiled
• eggs Coquelin, which is eggs benedict "garnished with quartered artichoke bottoms tossed in butter"

The list goes on and on, including several using croquettes or chicken forcemeat, which made my decision not to use ham all the more interesting. We'll get to that in a minute, but first, the hollandaise!

I had never made hollandaise sauce before, but with my usual learn-by-doing verve, I tackled this 1905 recipe from the Boston Cooking School Magazine.  

This recipe for Eggs Benedict came from the October, 1905 issue of the Boston Cooking School Magazine, in the "Seasonable Recipes" section. The original recipe called for thin slices of ham and poached eggs. Alas, between making everything else, I did not have the energy for poached eggs, and I decided to substitute the ham with walnut sausage (recipe below). But the hollandaise sauce recipe was an interesting one, so I decided to give it a go. Here's the original:

"Make the sauce by beating one-fourth a cup of butter to a cream and, after beating in the yolks of two eggs, with a dash of salt and pepper, cooking the mixture with one-fourth cup of boiling water and a tablespoonful of lemon juice over hot water until it thickens."

Normally hollandaise sauce is made by whisking melted butter, lemon juice, and egg yolks directly over a double-boiler or bain-marie - without hot water. This recipe intrigued me, and although it was extra work, it did not break and turned out very well indeed. Here's the modern version:

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 egg yolks
salt & pepper
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/4 cup boiling water

Using small glass bowl and an electric mixer, cream the butter until soft and fluffy, then add egg yolks, salt, and pepper, and beat well, scraping down the sides of bowl as necessary. In the meantime, heat a saucepan of water over medium-low heat until steaming, but not boiling. Separately, set an electric or stovetop kettle to boil water. When the water in the saucepan is simmering, place the glass bowl over the saucepan and whisk in the boiling water and lemon juice. Continue whisking until the mixture (it will be very watery at first) is thickened. When done, remove from heat and prepare the rest of the eggs benedict ingredients. 

The original recipe says it makes enough for three eggs, but we found it made enough for more than four, as we had four eggs between we three, and we still had hollandaise sauce left over for seconds of the walnut sausage. I would say this recipe would easily cover 6 eggs (or three peoples' worth of a typical eggs benedict serving). 

Although it was finicky to beat the butter before adding the egg yolks, even with an electric mixer, it turned out very well. The addition of the boiling water did not overcook the egg yolks, and even though it probably took longer for the sauce to thicken over the double boiler, it did not break. It is important to remove the bowl from the double boiler when the sauce is thick enough, so it doesn't continue cooking. The sauce also held well, requiring only an occasional whisk before serving.

As mentioned earlier, I decided not to poach the eggs for the benedict, and so on an electric skillet I fried two eggs over hard for the husband, scrambled the two leftover egg whites for our friend, and fried one egg over easy for myself (I like a not-too runny yolk). I had toasted whole wheat English muffins earlier and they were kept warm in the oven, along with the walnut sausages. I topped the muffins with the sausage, eggs, and then poured the hollandaise sauce over. Because the eggs were not poached, they were a smidge dry. I should have buttered the English muffins first, but overall it was delicious!

So why didn't I use ham? Let's explore some of my favorite food history...

Meat alternatives are ancient, particularly in Asian countries (see: tofu, tempe, seitan), but they are not unknown in European nations. Many fake meat recipes in the West originated as recipes for Lent. Although definitions of the term "meat" have varied widely over the the decades (I've seen historical recipes that don't consider chicken and other fowl, fish and shellfish, or even lamb to be "meat"), grain and beans were common substitutes, though nuts often also played a role. Cheap and filling, they were easy to use, and foods that mimicked forcemeat, ground meat, and sausage were the easiest textures to replicate. ​

Vegetarian meat substitutes were becoming increasingly popular in the 20th century. John Harvey Kellogg, as a Seventh-Day Adventist, was a vegetarian, and he and his wife Ella Kellogg wrote a number of treatises and cookbooks on vegetarian food and healthful eating. But starting in the 1890s they also produced mock meat commercially, including nuttose and protose, the former made from peanuts, and the latter from peanuts and wheat gluten. In the 1920s apparently they even introduced Smokene, a ham variant that was closest in texture to deviled ham or SPAM. 

But it wasn't just religious people and health nuts who were interested in meat substitutes. The advent of the First World War increased interest in meat alternatives as Americans were asked to go "meatless" in addition to "wheatless" on certain days of the week. "Mock" meat had been a popular budget-extender in the 19th century, particularly with croquettes, mock oysters, mock duck, and bean-based dishes like "Boston Roast," a kidney bean and cheese loaf that gained popularity during and after World War I. Most vegetarian mock meats were reliant on combinations of legumes, nuts, grains (usually breadcrumbs), and cheese. Many were relatively flavorless, as with "Boston Roast," recipes for which generally call for no seasonings other than perhaps some onion, and to be served with tomato sauce. Some, such as mock sausage, did. In the immortal words of my husband, "sausage is just sh*tty meat with spices," and therefore, it stands to reason that the spices make up most of the flavor. I've expressed my love for leguminous sausages before (lentilwurst, lentilrizo, lentils wellington, etc.), but I wanted to try a new historical recipe.

Enter Chef Arthur Wyman, with a recipe for walnut sausage from his 1927 cookbook, Chef Wyman's Daily Health Menus. Wyman had two entire sections on meat substitutes, one of which included this recipe.

Chef Wyman's original recipe reads:

One-half cup dried lima beans, one-third cup bread crumbs, three tablespoons milk, one-quarter teaspoon pepper, one-quarter teaspoon poultry seasoning, one-quarter teaspoon salt, one teaspoon vinegar, one egg, three-quarter cup walnut meats.

Pick over dried lima beans and soak over night in cold water to cover. Drain and cook in boiling salted water until soft; again drain and force through a puree strainer. Add fine, dried bread crumbs, milk, pepper, poultry seasoning, salt, vinegar, egg slightly beaten and finely chopped walnut meats. Shape like sausages, sauté in bacon, pork or sausage fat, browning on all sides. Serve with fried apple slices. Three-fourths cup left over fresh beans or mashed potato may be used in place of dried lima beans.

And here's my adapted recipe:

1 can (14 oz) butter beans
1/3 cup panko breadcrumbs
3/4 cup walnut meats
3 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 egg
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
pinch of dried sage
pinch of dried thyme
pinch of dried marjoram
olive oil & butter for frying

Pulse walnuts in a food processor but do not puree, and set aside. Drain and rinse butter beans, then puree in food processor. Mix walnuts, bean puree, egg, vinegar, milk, salt, pepper, and herbs until well combined, then stir in panko breadcrumbs to make a stiff dough. Form into patties and fry in butter and olive oil until brown on both sides. 

Lima beans and butter beans are close relatives, and the recipe called for replacing dried and cooked with fresh cooked. However, 1/2 cup of dried beans equals 1.5 cups cooked, so I'm not sure why Chef Wyman called for replacing them with only 3/4 cups of fresh beans, unless he meant before they were cooked? At any rate, most 14 ounce cans of beans equals approximately 1.5 cups, so I decided to use those. I also decided to use panko breadcrumbs, because they are the closest to breadcrumbs actually made from bread (panko is usually just wheat flour, water, and salt) and are available unseasoned. I did not fry them in pork fat because I wanted to keep them vegetarian, but definitely make sure you have plenty of olive oil and butter in the pan when frying. The second batch got a little dry. 

​These walnut sausages were the surprise hit of the brunch and we each had an extra one without eggs and English muffins (but with the hollandaise sauce), they were that good. I also had leftovers reheated in the microwave on a salad for lunch a few days later and that was also very good. The sausages are mild and not too salty, and the texture is a bit crumbly, but they really do taste of sausage. This recipe is definitely a keeper and I will be making it again, although next time I might increase the herbs slightly.

We served our eggs benedict (although perhaps with the replacement of ham with walnut sausage we should take a page from Adolphe Mayer and call them "Eggs Wyman!") with some leftover grilled asparagus, which only seemed fitting given Varenne's original 1655 recipe for Asparagus with White Sauce. They added color and delicious smoky flavor to the plate. Both the walnut sausage and the hollandaise sauce recipes I've shared here I recommend highly. Definitely give your own version of "Eggs Wyman" a try!

That's all for now. Stay tuned for the final installment of our 1920s Health Brunch recipes series, as we'll finish with recipes and some history for Fruit Puffs (1917) and stewed apricots with cream.

​Until next time! 

When looking for recipes for my 1920s Health Brunch, I stumbled across Chef Wyman's Daily Health Menus cookbook, published in 1927. Written by Arthur Leslie Wyman, I could find little about the author himself, although a very nice photograph of him is included in the cookbook. But I did find that a few years earlier, in 1923, he edited the Los Angeles Times Prize Cook Book, and another photo and short biography were included in the introduction. It reads:

"Chef A. L. Wyman, under whose direction the TIMES PRIZE COOK BOOK was assembled, acquired his mastery of cooking by an experience covering nearly all parts of the civilized world. As chef and master baker in famous cooking establishments of Europe, Egypt, India and the Orient, he has studied the cooking of all climates and races, acquiring first-hand knowledge of many exotic foods and seasonings which, when properly handled, add appetizing variety to the menu.

"He has devoted himself of late years chiefly to educational work and to the testing and writing of recipes for large food organizations, including most of California's great fruit associations. Many of the familiar recipes using peaches, figs, raisins, walnuts, oranges and other local products were originated by him in laboratory-kitchen at Glendale. 

"Chef Wyman is, and always has been, especially interested in cooking as it applies to families and home. His department of "Practical Recipes," which appears each Saturday in the LOS ANGELES TIMES, is one of the newspaper's most popular features, and helps to make THE TIMES' Saturday marketing and domestic science pages, the most widely-read department of its kind in the West."

Sadly, Wyman apparently died in 1927, though his column was taken over by his widow Mabelle, who herself tragically died of a heart attack just a few years later in 1931. As the foreword to the Los Angeles Times cookbook suggests, Wyman apparently cut his teeth in recipe testing for fruit growers in California, which accounts both for his interest in "Health Menus," and "Sunland" fruits. The Health Menus cookbook has no introduction or explanation, so I can only assume it was designed for California residents, who would have recognized his name and his column with the Los Angeles Times. At some point in the same year the Tennessee-based grocer Piggy Wiggly must have purchased the printing rights to the cookbook, as there are 1927 editions with blue cloth covers with gold lettering in two varieties. One has "Chef Wyman's Daily Health Menus" on the cover, the other, which I found, reads "Piggly Wiggly Daily Health Menus." The interiors appear to be identical. 

The cookbook is organized by month and day of the week, and includes menu suggestions for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for each day. Recipes are not provided for every suggestion, but most are present. Even today many of the recipes sound Californian, with lots of fresh fruit and vegetables, seafood, and French and Mexican flavors. Many of the recipes also call for ingredients that would be out of season anywhere else, like strawberries in January. Wyman's "Sunland Salad" recipe was one that caught my eye because of the use of citrus fruit (how brunch-y!) with the 1920s favorite pineapple and the unusual addition of raisins. It smacked of California and 1920s ideas about citrus for vitamins, raisins for fiber, and of course lettuce-salads for reducing and health. 

Chef Wyman's original recipe reads:

"Mix two cups of peeled and diced oranges with one cup of peeled and diced grape fruit, one cup of diced pineapple, and one cup of seedless raisins that have been soaked in orange juice for one hour. Mound on lettuce-covered plates and place a table-spoon of mayonnaise on each serving."

Lots going on here! "Sunland" is clearly a reference to California, and we have both oranges and grapefruit, along with raisins - all California crops, with the addition of pineapple, likely from Hawai'i. Although the original recipe says "peeled and diced," I decided to be fancy and supremed my citrus fruit. Supreming involves cutting the peel off of the fruit, removing all of the skin, and then using a very sharp knife to cut the separating membranes away, leaving only the interior arils in nice pieces. Although the recipe doesn't specify, I also decided to use canned pineapple, since that is what would have been available to most Americans at the time. Supreming the citrus fruit made a lot of juice, so I used that, topped off with pineapple juice, to soak the raisins. It also doesn't specify the lettuce, but I assumed leaf-lettuce. And because no one likes to have to use a knife to eat a salad, I used romaine for a little added crunch, and chiffonaded it. In the interest of modern sensibilities, I skipped the mayonnaise, an extremely popular fruit salad topping in the 1920s and '30s, but not so in vogue today.

Here's my version

3 smallish navel oranges
1 large ruby red grapefruit
1 cup canned pineapple tidbits
1 cup raisins
Romaine lettuce

Supreme the citrus fruits, catching the juice in a bowl and discarding any seeds and membranes. Drain pineapple, but save juice. Pour citrus and pineapple juices over raisins and set aside until ready to serve. Wash, dry, and thinly slice (chiffonade) lettuce, then chill. 

When ready to serve, make nests of the lettuce on salad plates, then combine the fruit and raisins and spoon on top of the lettuce, drizzling some of the juice over top as a dressing.

Although simple, this recipe was extremely refreshing. This recipe was very similar to the Grapefruit Salad I made for my White Christmas party, but sweeter. It made a delicious brunch salad, although Chef Wyman originally intended it to be served with dinner. The soaked raisins added an interesting depth and sweetness and the combination of oranges, grapefruit, and pineapple was delicious. Supreming the citrus fruit made it look very pretty, but if you'd prefer to just peel and chop as Chef Wyman suggested, feel free! You can also feel free to add a tablespoon of mayonnaise to each plate, if you prefer, but that's up to you. 

​Until next time...

​Our annual holiday party was a grand success, but not everyone was able to attend, so we decided to host a New Year's Day brunch. Of course, being The Food Historian, I didn't want to do just any old brunch! Recently I have been thinking both about the origins of brunch and the 1920s interest in both breakfast and brunch foods, and health foods, so let's do a brief dive into some food history before we get to the recipes.

The word "brunch" originates in the late 19th century as a combination of the words "breakfast" and "lunch," but the origins of the style of meal go back much farther. British aristocrats in the early 19th century developed breakfast culture around large spreads of cold and fried meats, eggs, porridge, and toast. These breakfasts were often served starting mid-morning and going as late as noon, particularly if the household had been at balls, parties, the opera, or theater the night before.

Gilded Age society in late 19th century America emulated the British aristocracy, but food culture at the time was centered around very rich foods - game meats, butter, cream, and sugary desserts. Late night operas and balls going well into the wee hours of the morning meant that most of America's elite did not rise until quite late indeed, and brunch became the ideal bridge between late mornings, afternoon tea, and late dinners. 

The Progressive Era, however, brought a rejection of the excesses of the Gilded Age. Food culture became more austere and more health-focused, although brunch culture continued. Some pitched brunch as the ideal way to curtail meals to two per day. Others emphasized the importance of a filling breakfast to weather increasingly demanding white collar jobs. 

The main influence on breakfast culture in the late 1910s and early 1920s was the rise of the electric home appliance. Refrigerators allowed for eggs, milk, fruit, and salads to be chilled, and also led to the rise of icebox cookies and cakes. Electric coffee percolators allowed for fresh coffee tableside, and electric toasters took the labor and much of the difficulty out of toasting bread, English muffins, and other breakfast breads. Chafing dishes allowed omelets, eggs, hash, and creamed meats to be cooked tableside, and even electric juicers allowed for freshly squeeze orange juice.

Many of these electrical appliances were designed to replace the manual labor of household servants, who were increasingly scarce as the 20th century wore on. Advances in industrial food production, particularly with canned fruits and vegetables and commercially produced gelatin, allowed ordinary Americans to access foods historically reserved for the wealthy. 

Agricultural advances also influenced breakfast foods. The expansion of the cultivation of citrus fruits, nuts, and Mediterranean fruits like apricots, dates, plums, and grapes as well as the growing of "salad bowl" vegetables like lettuce, radishes, cucumbers, and tomatoes in California, Florida, and Arizona gave more Americans access to more fresh foods than ever before, especially during the winter months. The advent of refrigerated railroad cars allowed fresh foods to be transported over much greater distances, giving people in more northerly climes access to citrus and fresh vegetables in winter. The expansion in the 1910s of commercial poultry production dramatically increased egg production, and the rise of pasteurization allowed milk to be transported over greater distances. Pork production increased during the First World War, and Americans adopted bacon as an ideal breakfast food post-war. 

Both California and Florida loomed large in American culture of the 1920s. California thanks to the shift in movie production from New York and New Jersey to Hollywood, and Florida thanks to a real estate bubble and an interest in tropical weather. The US annexation of Hawaii in 1898, US involvement in the Banana Wars in Central America, and US military intervention in the Cuban Revolution of 1917 all increased access and affordability of tropical fruits including pineapple and bananas and interest in tropical foods and cultures.

The confluence of the availability of fresh foods year-round great influenced diet culture in the 1920s. ​

The Progressive Era brought a number of health trends to the forefront of American consciousness. Vegetarianism had long been advocated by a variety of religious groups, including the Seventh Day Adventists - the most famous of whom was John Harvey Kellogg, director of the Battle Creek Sanitarium. 

Kellogg was a proponent of the ideas of Dr. Sylvester Graham, who first advocated for the healthfulness of whole grains in the early 19th century. Battle Creek Sanitarium patient C. W. Post also touted the healthful effects of whole grains. Graham flour - also known as entire wheat flour - became a popular ingredient in breads both quick and slow, but also in recipes as diverse as puddings and pies. Whole grains were seen as better sources of fiber, and fiber was seen as an important component of digestive health for a nation often plagued with constipation and dyspepsia throughout the 19th century. Dried fruits were often touted as digestive solutions - which is where prunes get their reputation. 

Among the old 19th century ideas of health foods were new ones - vitamins. Vitamin C was isolated in 1912-13, and both tomatoes and citrus fruits were quickly adopted as important sources. Influenced by French cuisine, greens-based salads  with vinaigrette were also elevated in popular society. Dressed salads like crab, chicken, tuna, egg, ham, and potato salads tossed with cream-based boiled dressings or the newly commercially available mayonnaise, were still popular. But lettuce- and vegetable-based salads gained ground as fresh foods produced in California's "salad bowl" region meant that delicate fresh tomatoes, cucumber, and lettuces were no longer restricted to the summer months and those with gardens. Low-acid vegetables like peas, corn, lima beans, green beans, and asparagus which were difficult to can safely at home, were easily available from commercial sources. Combined with commercially available gelatins, gelatinous salads and aspics, which were previously the labor-intensive purview of the wealthy with servants, became not only incredibly available, but inexpensive. Gelatin salads were made easier by electric refrigeration as well, although they would set just as well in an ice box. Combined with fresh vegetables, canned vegetables and fruit, gelatin was an ingredient in many, but not all salads.

This was the history percolating in my head when I decided to do this brunch. I researched a number of period cookbooks. I found and discarded a number of typical health food recipes of the period, including Boston Roast (1927) Doctor Salad and C.C.C. Salad from the extremely fashionable Edgewater Beach Hotel Salad Cookbook (1927), Ginger Ale Salad (1916), Prune Whip (1910), and even Pineapple Upside Down Cake (1927), a new, albeit less healthful fad of the 1920s. I wanted the meal to be vegetarian, to fit in with both period interest in vegetarianism (although it was still considered relatively fringe in the 1920s) and my modern interest in it. I also wanted the meal to be balanced, with richer and lighter flavors, different textures, etc. I also wanted a meal that could be made without a lot of assistance the morning of. Although I have no household servants, I did get assistance from my husband (washing dishes, table setting) and our friend (lettuce chiffonading, plating, washing dishes), for which I was exceedingly grateful! Some recipes turned out far better than expected (homemade hollandaise sauce) and others didn't go quite as I'd hoped (fruit puffs). ​All in all the menu turned out delightfully, so here it is!

I won't overwhelm you with all the recipes at once, but I will link back to this post as I publish them in separate blog posts. 

The table settings were more happenstance than planned. Because we were celebrating the new year, I wanted some metallics. The coupe glasses were a Target find, believe it or not, but everything else was vintage and thrifted. Most gorgeously of all was my friend's prized chocolate set from her grandmother. A beautiful lightweight porcelain with real gold details, my husband discovered from the maker's mark that it was Noritake and dated back to 1906! Precious cargo, indeed. The hot chocolate was some my husband had received as a gift for Christmas, livened up with hot milk and heavy cream. The spiced apple sparkler was Rieme brand, and it was delicious! I added some syrup-soaked cranberries leftover from Christmas' sparkling sugared cranberries (which I have been making for years) for color. The grilled asparagus was actually delicious leftovers from New Year's Eve tapas and added color to the plate of eggs benedict. 

In all the crowd favorites were, surprisingly, the Sunland Salad and Walnut Sausage. The hollandaise sauce turned out wonderfully as well. Stay tuned for all the recipes over the coming days!

And if you'd like to learn more about the history of health food and vitamins, check out my podcast episodes "Full of Pep: The Controversial Quest for a Vitamin-Enriched America" part I and part II. Happy listening!

​Until next time...

Happy New Year! For some reason in the United States, January 1st means an austerity reaction to the overindulgence of the two previous months - from Halloween candy to New Year's Eve champagne and canapes. And while I think balance is necessary in life, I don't appreciate the diet culture nonsense that shames people into extreme restriction and grueling workouts. Teen Vogue did a piece last year on the history of diet culture. 

But while New Year's resolutions and diets rarely work out, the discovery of vitamins in the 20th century (yes, 20th) led to great leaps in nutrition education for ordinary people. When I stumbled across this British film from 1938 in 2022, I wrote a brief reaction for Patreon members, which I'm reposting here for everyone. Whatever resolutions you have (or don't have), I hope one of them is to keep consuming food history content! 

(The following content was originally published for members-only on Patreon in August, 2022.)

I'm always on the hunt for food history primary sources, and there are lots of great videos on YouTube. I'm most partial to the original digitized films, rather than videos created in the modern era. I don't usually go for British stuff, in large part because the Brits have so much more historiography on food history than Americans do. But I found this film fascinating.
Created in 1936, it summarizes some of the recent discoveries of vitamins, and the impact of food and nutrition on children and the general population, with emphasis on calcium and iron intake. 

The Great Depression, which began with the Crash of 1929 and continued until the outbreak of World War II, created real hardship and hunger around the world. The prolonged malnutrition of the Depression would lead to many governments, including the United States government, to attempt to address nutrition for the general public, using the most recent research.

Like many nutritional guidelines of the time, this film emphasizes the importance of milk consumption. Milk boosterism is controversial in the modern era, in large part because non-White people are far more likely to be lactose intolerant. Milk also has problematic associations with whiteness and purity. "The Unbearable Whiteness of Milk: Food Oppression and the USDA" is an academic paper by a law professor, not a food historian, but it raises some interesting points. 

Nutrition is complicated. We made great strides between 1890 and 1950 in understanding nutrition and vitamins, but the problem with nutrition as a field is that it tends to apply the same advice to wide swaths of an incredibly diverse population. Health (or lack thereof) is caused by a whole host of factors besides diet and activity level, including genetics, environment, and even some factors we're only just now starting to understand, like gut biome and epigenetics. Obesity in particular can be caused by a whole host of factors outside of the control of the individual, especially generational trauma, which can be expressed by ancestral malnutrition, transgenerational exposure to toxic chemicals (especially DDT), environmental factors (especially exposure to endocrine disruptors like BPA) and other stress factors including transgenerational genocide, displacement, and famine. (If you want to read the scientific studies, this paper summarizes several.)

Although the field is changing, many nutritionists and certainly official nutrition advice still reflects the bias (conscious or unconscious) of a century ago.
 
That being said, I am personally a dairy enthusiast, especially full-fat dairy, which I think has been too-long vilified. But while I grew up drinking skim milk like water, today I only drink a small glass of milk a few days a week, or on breakfast cereal or fruit as a dessert. But plain yogurt, sour cream, cottage cheese, cream, cheese, and butter are staples in my household. I can certainly understand why dairy grosses some people out, especially those who didn't grow up with it, but I blame my 100% Scandinavian roots for my addiction. Better locally-produced dairy than coffee, alcohol, or drugs, in my opinion. 

But I digress. I found the video interesting not only for its commentary on milk, but also its addressing of the problem through government intervention, which in some circles has become increasingly unpopular. But that was the turning point of the Great Depression in many ways, politically and socially. We went from Herbert Hoover's idea of the Depression, tactics he honed during the First World War as United States Food Administrator - that business was best run by executives, that businessmen were the most knowledgeable and capable of solving problems, and that public-private partnerships that profited everyone were the best way to handle crises. All of those tactics largely worked during WWI. They failed miserably during the Great Depression. It took FDR recycling his cousin Teddy's ideas of a Fair Deal into a New Deal to galvanize the nation and get us on the road to recovery. Whether or not we would have recouped the enormous public investment without a World War is debatable, but it certainly saved hundreds of thousands of people from outright starvation, malnutrition, and despair. 

If you want to learn more about nutrition history and the discovery of vitamins, check out my podcast episodes:

Full of Pep: The Controversial Quest for a Vitamin-Enriched America - Part I 
​
Full of Pep: The Controversial Quest for a Vitamin-Enriched America - Part II 

And one of my recorded talks:

When Sugar Was Good For You: The Development of Nutrition Science in America 

Editor's Note: This article was originally published in December, 2023 on Patreon.

Back in October I hosted a public event at work where I made punch. A simple mixture of sweet cider, cranberry juice, and ginger ale (2 parts cider, 1 part cranberry, 1-2 parts ginger ale). I served it in a giant black ceramic cauldron I brought from home (it was Halloween). A visitor mentioned "I didn't think anyone did punch anymore!" with delight as he ladled it into a cup.

Then, a few weeks ago, with another work event requiring punch, I decided I didn't want to risk transporting one of my own precious punch bowls. I had dropped off some clothes at our local thrift store (which supports our local SPCA!) and lo an behold, not only did the store have THREE punch bowls to choose from, but housewares were 50% off. Which means I got a punch bowl and six cups for - are you ready? - $2.50. 

As the lovely volunteers at the register were wrapping it one commented on how cheap the punch bowl was. The other said, "Yes, no one really buys them anymore." I said, "Except me! This is the second one I've bought from you." It might have been the third, to be honest.

Friends - what a travesty! Punch is so wonderful and versatile. And so easy on the host or hostess! You make it once, guests can serve themselves, and it feels so much more festive than an assortment of sodas, beers, and a bottle of wine. And it's certainly easier and less expensive than making everyone individual cocktails when you have a crowd.

I don't know when I decided to start making punch. Probably when I found a gorgeous and giant swirl-patterned milk glass punch bowl (with 11 matching punch cups) at a thrift store for $8 not long after we moved into our little house and I finally had room for such things. Years later, I found a matching one for $10, more milk glass punch cups of a different style, and in between I found a $5 cut glass punch bowl and cups at the SPCA thrift store. Whenever I throw a large party, I always serve punch. Usually two: an alcoholic one and a non-alcoholic one. Lately I've been feeling the non-alcoholic variations. Not only because we are not big drinkers in my house, but also because so many of our friends eschew alcohol for one reason or another. 

The punch I grew up with was VERY sweet. A mixture of bright red and syrupy sweet "fruit punch," 7UP, and sherbet was usually served at my grandma's house for Christmas (it was an uncle's favorite). Sometimes you'd see similar punches at weddings, although usually without the sherbet. I've found I vastly prefer punches that are not neon colors and so I pour accordingly.

The history of punch is a bit murky, but it seems to have arisen in the Western world in the early 17th century, possibly in India, but more likely in association with the production of rum in the Caribbean (a barrel unit of which was called a "puncheon"). Regardless, by the 18th century highly alcoholic punches were de rigueur at the parties of wealthy Westerners, served in exquisitely expensive punch bowls: cut crystal and silver for the fabulously wealthy, fine porcelain or glass for the upper-middle classes. Ingredients were also expensive - imported citrus, tea, expensive liquors like rum (which was pricey in Europe but cheap in the Americas), and sparkling or fortified wines, not to mention plenty of still-expensive-but-getting-cheaper-thanks-to-the-slave-trade sugar. 

By the mid-19th century punch was falling out of favor and individual cocktails were gaining popularity. But the Temperance movement was horning in on alcohol consumption more generally, and non-alcoholic punches were making narrow inroads. By the Progressive Era, and certainly by Prohibition, champagne, wine, and alcoholic punches were being replaced by fruit punches made with tea, sparkling water, ginger ale, and exotic fruits and syrups. 

These days, it's easier than ever to make non-alcoholic beverages thanks to companies making analogs out of white tea, botanicals, and spices. But a good, old-fashioned punch doesn't need pricey substitutes to taste good. 
​

I have a small but increasing obsession with Peter Pauper Press books from this time period. Here's a nice overview of the history of the company, including information about some of the artists and graphic designers they hired. Sadly, although it looks like these small style books continued until the 1980s, if not later, the modern incarnation of the company seems to have abandoned this style of little book, more's the pity. 

I did, however, treat myself to a few more copies of editions I don't have, since I love them so much, including Festive Chocolate, with recipes by the excellent and pioneering food historian Peter G. Rose! Happy Christmas to me! 

As you celebrate the holidays or any cultural or life event, I hope you'll consider adding punch to your party repertoire. Punch bowls can often be had very inexpensively at thrift stores, but a pretty mixing bowl and a ladle will do in a pinch. You can break out the fancy punch cups, or go the disposable route. Either way, I hope your family and friends react with the same pleasure that visitor did. 

Did you grow up drinking punch? Do you make it now? What's your favorite?

Back when I was researching historic cookies for theKitchn.com's Cookie Time Machine, one of the options for the 1920s was snickerdoodles. My husband had requested them, and I'd found several recipes in my 1920s cookbooks. So I scanned a recipe and sent it to my editor, only to have her respond with, "Snickerdoodles are great, but why does this recipe call for raisins?" 

I was horrified. I hadn't even realized raisins were in the recipe. We ended up choosing Orange Drop Cookies, as they fit the trends of the decade better, but I got curious. I started looking up other Snickerdoodle recipes from the 1920s. And friends, they ALL had raisins in them. 

​What on earth was going on? 

I dug a little deeper, and the trend continued.

1903 - the October, 1903 issue of Home Science Magazine has Mary Johnson Bailey Lincoln's recipe for snickerdoodles with, you guessed it, raisins.

1908 - The L.W. Cook Book snickerdoodle recipe calls for just "a few raisins." 

1911 - the July, 1911 issue of Good Housekeeping​ magazine has a snickerdoodle recipe with raisins in it.

1911 - Cook Book of the Ladies Village Improvement Society of East Hampton, Long Island calls their snickerdoodle recipe a "Pennsylvania Dutch" dish, and calls for running the raisins through a meat grinder.

1914 - The "Home" Cook Book from the Children's Summer Home of Cinnaminson, NJ has recipes for snickerdoodles with and without raisins. 

1916 - The August 1, 1916 issue of The Gas Age magazine has a snickerdoodle recipe that calls for both dates and nuts. 

1917 - the Tried and True Cook Book by the Women's War League of Mexico City has a snickerdoodle recipe that calls for raisins, but suggests that "nuts or shredded cocoanut may be substituted for the raisins." 

1918 - Even the December, 1918 issue of Gleanings in Bee Culture, a magazine for beekeepers, has a snickerdoodle recipe that calls for honey and, you guessed it, raisins.

1920 - The Home-maker's Cook Book by Mabel Marie Horton snickerdoodle recipe calls for currants, instead of raisins.

1920 - the July, 1920 issue of Gas And Electric News has a snickerdoodle recipe that calls "dates or raisins" AND nuts "peanuts are good!"

1922 - the Delta Gamma Cook Book snickerdoodle recipe calls for currants, instead of raisins.

1922 - the Kato Cook Book snickerdoodle recipe also calls for currants.

Not everyone was on the raisin train. The A.A. Cook Book (1895), The Home-Maker (April, 1889), Good Living and How to Prepare It (1905), Recipes Collected by the Ladies of the Presbyterian Church of Kingston, Penn'a (1907), Tried and True: A Collection of Approved Recipes (1907), The Bon Ton Cook Book (1909), Two Hundred Recipes for Making Desserts (1912), The Skaneateles Cook Book (1915), and The Cooking Club Magazine (July, 1916) all have snickerdoodle recipes without raisins, currants, dates, or any other ingredients other than cinnamon and sugar (usually).

Snickerdoodles themselves don't seem to enter the lexicon under that name until 1895, which was the earliest recipe I could find under that name. I find it interesting that the two 19th century recipes I could find do not call for raisins or currants, but by the time we're in the 20th century, they do. This might have something to do with the proliferation of the seedless raisin industry in California at the end of the 19th century. Today, nearly all table grapes and raisins sold in the US are seedless, based in large part on the viticulture and research of William Thompson in the 19th century. It was he who developed seedless grapes and introduced them to California in the late 19th century. California's mild temperatures made it ideal for growing grapes, and its many days of sunshine made turning grapes into raisins simple and economical. 

Prior to Thompson's innovations, most raisins were sold with the seeds inside. They had to be laboriously "stoned," or cut open to remove the seeds. This was a time-consuming and labor-intensive task, usually reserved only for special occasions or the households of the wealthy. Thompson's seedless raisins removed all of that work, making it far easier to cook and bake with raisins. 

The introduction of this new type of raisin is probably why we see their proliferation as an ingredient in snickerdoodles, among other recipes. 

I decided to try a raisin-based snickerdoodle recipe myself. The F.W. McNess' Cook Book, published in the 1920s, is one from my personal library, and the first snickerdoodle recipe I initially found. McNess was a spice and flavoring company. So I decided to give it a go.

Here's the original recipe, as written:

1 cup Light Brown Sugar,
1 Egg,
1/2 cup Chopped Raisins,
2 cups Flour
2 tablespoons Butter,
1/2 cup Milk,
2 teaspoons McNess Baking Powder
Sugar and McNess Cinnamon

Drop by spoonfuls and sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon. Nuts or cocoanut may be substituted for raisins.

Not many directions in that one! But I know the general rule for cookies. I creamed the sugar and butter together, added the egg, then the flour and baking powder, then the milk, and lastly currants, because I didn't have any raisins and was too lazy to chop them anyway. I dropped them onto a greased cookie sheet, dredged a mix of granulated sugar and ground cinnamon over top, and popped them in a 350 F oven for 10-12 minutes, until they were golden brown around the edges. 

The end result? Not too shabby, but it definitely would have been better without the raisins/currants. They have more of a tea cake texture than a chewy sugar cookie. And sprinkling the cinnamon and sugar on top was not super effective. Perhaps bakers in the early 20th century were trying to be more old-fashioned? More in line with currant-based tea cakes or scones? Maybe they were just reveling in the opportunity to bake with raisins without having to spend an hour picking out all the seeds first? Who knows? 

At any rate, although I do enjoy raisins (and currants) quite a bit, I think it's safe to say that snickerdoodles are better off without them. What do you think? Would you eat snickerdoodles if they had raisins in them?

​The Food Historian is supported by patrons on Patreon, subscribers on Substack, and people who leave tips. Your support helps keep this blog free and open to everyone. Thank you!

​(Note: A version of this article was originally published in the High Plains Reader, December 30th, 2021. Today is Sankta Luciasdag, so I'm re-posting this in honor of the December 13th holiday. Enjoy!)

​It was 1998. I was in the basement of Elim Lutheran Church in Fargo, putting on a white robe and a tinsel crown. The Swedish Cultural Heritage Society of the Red River Valley (which we all just called the Swedish Society) was celebrating another Sankta Lucia Dag. At age 13, I was still one of the attendants to Lucia. There were usually a lot of us girls, although I was the oldest there that day. And there were always a few star boys, everyone in white smocks or robes. The girls got silver string belts, tinsel crowns, and to carry electric candles. The boys got pointed posterboard hats held on with elastic and spangled with tinfoil stars and a long stick with a silver star on the end. A college student was always Lucia, but this year, the girl who promised, didn’t show. As the oldest girl present, I was immediately elected to fill in, to my chagrin. And my mom’s chagrin, since I had barely dressed up for the occasion, in typical moody teenager style. But I pulled myself together and tried to walk down the church aisle wearing my crown of electric candles and the red sash with my head held high.

Sankta Lucia (also known as Saint Lucy), was an early Christian saint who was credited with relieving a famine in Dalarna, Sweden in the 18th century. She is celebrated in Sweden every December 13th (or thereabouts) with early morning or late evening parades and ceremonies and with lussekatter or Lucia buns – a saffron flavored yeast bun swirled into an S shape with raisins in the curls. But although that’s what the whole world associates with Santka Lucias Dag, that’s not what I remember. Instead, I remember what happened AFTER the Lucia ceremony – gathering in the church basement for coffee (yuck) and about a million different Scandinavian and American Christmas cookies and other treats.

Scores of white-haired ladies in festive sweaters brought paper plates and Tupperware containers laden with pepparkakor, krumkake (which were always protected with crinkled waxed paper to keep them from breaking), sandbakkelse, kringle, rosettes, spritz, almond cake, and other Scandinavian treats alongside more American desserts like molasses crinkles, peanut butter blossoms, sugar cookies, Russian tea cakes, shortbreads, divinity, and fudge. A few savories like lefse, round cinnamon bread spread with Cheese Whiz and a sliced green olive (my favorite, except for the olive), pickled herring, Wasa rye crackers with butter, and super-thin homemade flatbread (which my Norwegian Grandma Eunice made every year at home) were also present. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the fact that I wanted to taste one of everything was a pretty good indicator of a lifelong obsession with food.

Scandinavian baking infused nearly every holiday I can remember. In particular I remember Grandma Eunice’s paper-thin flatbread, frosted tea ring dotted with candied cherries, and fragile spicy pepparkakor, always in star or heart shapes. Family tradition says that if you place a heart-shaped pepparkakor in your palm and press a finger in the middle, if it breaks into three even pieces, you can make a wish. Grandma’s were so thin, it didn’t take much pressure to break them. But although I have fond memories of baking at home, it was those Scandinavian community events that stick with me, and Christmas was bracketed with them – Sankta Lucia Dag before Christmas, and Tjuegondedag Knut after Christmas, in January. Both featured potlucks heavy on the Scandinavian Christmas treats.

About twelve years ago [ed. note - 15 now!] I moved back east to the Hudson Valley of New York. And while I love my life out here, one of the things I miss most from “back home” is the opportunity to be involved in my Scandinavian heritage again. Sure, there’s a Sons of Norway out here, but it’s small and located far from where I live. And it certainly doesn’t have its own building like the one back home in Fargo does! Could I keep the food traditions up myself? I sure could, but going it alone is hard.

I study food professionally now, and so when researching historic Christmas cookie recipes for a lecture, I ran across a gem – “Recipes From Many Lands, Furnished by the North Dakota Homemaker’s Club” compiled by Dorothy Ayers Loudon, and published by Agricultural Extension Division of the North Dakota Agricultural College (now NDSU) in Fargo, North Dakota. Published as Extension Circular 77 in July of 1927, this little cookbook is a treasure trove of immigrant recipes, including Scandinavian ones. And while there is no specific Christmas section, Scandinavian baked goods feature prominently. There are twenty-six different recipes for fattigman, ten different sandbakkels recipes, and multiple recipes each for krumkake, lefse, kringle, rosettes, rice pudding, rommegrot, and others. Not to mention a whole bunch of other recipes, including cakes, breads, meats, and more. Each recipe lists the woman who submitted it and which homemaker’s club she belonged to, and her location. The recipes brought the memories of those Scandinavian community events and their groaning boards rushing back to the surface, and I got terribly homesick.

I think about the women (and occasionally some men) who baked for those events. Did they learn to bake from their parents or grandparents? Did they bake from their own heritage, or learn for a spouse? Did they hone a specialty they took pride in? Did they get joy from sharing their baking with the community, or did they just bring something because they felt obligated? Was the treat they brought a favorite of theirs, or did they make it for someone else? When they saw some teenager filling a plate, did they feel happy, or did they roll their eyes at gluttonous kids?

I’m not a white haired little old lady yet. I’m not widowed (thank goodness) and I’m not retired (sadly). So while I don’t have as much time on my hands as some of those bakers maybe did, it’s not as if I couldn’t keep the traditions. I’ve got the krumkake iron and rolling cone, the sandbakkel tins, I’ve even got a heart-shaped waffle iron. And I do make my split pea soup just like they always did for Tjuegondedag Knut. Maybe this year I’ll dig them out and do them justice, sharing my family traditions with friends, instead of just the folks back home. I don’t always agree with blind adherence to tradition, but traditions can connect us – to the past, to family, to each other.

To that end, I’m sharing two recipes with you. One is old, but new to me. A sandbakkel recipe from “Recipes From Many Lands.” The other is my Grandma Eunice’s flatbread recipe, which was published in the Elim Lutheran Church Centennial Cookbook. Flatbreads aren't as popular as the sugary cookies and other sweet confections. But I could tell the grownups always enjoyed them, and I always ate at least a few every year. While Grandma passed away a few years ago, her recipe lives on. But only someone who has experienced her baking can tell you that the flatbreads have to be so thin they practically break when you pick them up, and they have to be patterned with the weave of the floured pastry cloth she always rolled them out on. And only someone who has tasted them can tell you about their subtle, nutty sweetness. 

That's the thing about keeping traditions - if they aren't passed on from generation to generation, you lose something that can't be conveyed printed in a book. 

1 ¼ c. buttermilk
¾ c. sweet cream
½ c. sugar (scant)
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. soda (scant)
½ c. melted butter
​3 ½ c. flour
​(not listed: whole wheat flour)

Mix together – alternate dry ingredients with liquids. Roll in whole wheat flour. Bake at 400. Roll in small balls and flatten with rolling pin. Roll thin & watch closely. Bake until slightly brown.

1 cup softened butter (2 sticks)
1 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon almond extract
2 cups flour (plus more to knead)

Preheat the oven to 350 F. In a large bowl, cream the butter and the sugar together, then add the egg and extract and mix until smooth. Add the flour, a little at a time, until the dough starts to come together, then knead with the hands until smooth. Take half dollar sized pieces of dough and press into the tart tin, pressing the dough all the way out to the edge of the tin, but not over the edges. Make sure to press well to ensure good fluting. The dough is buttery enough that you won't need to grease the tins.

Place tins on a sheet pan and bake 12-15 minutes or until golden brown. Let cool in the tins. ​

​And there ends the original article, but like any good writer and historian, I thought I'd add a few more notes and some context, for folks who don't live in the Fargo-Moorhead area.

If you've never made sandbakkelse before, you're going to need to get some special tins. Bethany Housewares, based in Iowa, makes them (along with tons of other Scandinavian baking tools), and they are conveniently available on Amazon (affiliate link). If you live somewhere in the Midwest, you may be able to find scores of them at thrift stores, which was how my mom amassed her collection, which is now mine.

Scandinavian holiday desserts mostly consist of butter, cream (see: Rommegrot, rice pudding), sugar, white flour, and occasionally some almonds and cinnamon. They're rich and melting and oh-so-delicious. But pepparkokkar and lussekatter aside, they can start to taste a little too alike if you make them all at once. I recommend adding one or two to your holiday baking rotation, and see how they go. Sandbakkelse are extremely easy to make, if you have the tins. And if you don't, try pressing them into muffin tins, or even a pie plate, and see how they go. 

​Happy Sankta Lucias Dag, alle! 

(Note: A version of this article originally appeared as a patrons-only post on Patreon.) 
​
Rømmegrøt is a Norwegian immigrant food that has been part of my life for a very long time. When I was just a baby, my mom told me, she took me to the big annual summer Scandinavian Festival in my hometown. My Grandma Ruby (mom's mom) was visiting and unbeknownst to mom, fed me some rømmegrøt. I was apparently hooked from the start.

Rømmegrøt has all the makings of a good baby food, and is often associated with births and holiday celebrations. Rømmegrøt is a type of flour and cream porridge. Very thick and smooth and rich, it's typically served at Christmastime here in the U.S., although historically it was also served at midsummer and other special occasions. Serious stick-to-your-ribs food, it joins a long line of other, grain-based pudding type dishes throughout Europe. 

In Norway, it is often left out on Christmas Eve as a treat for the nisse - the red-capped house elf who cares for animals and the home during the winter months. Artist Lennart Helje made some of the most famous tomte/nisse paintings around. Nisse are said to be friends with all animals, with special affinity for cats. But I love the Helje paintings featuring foxes the best.

Rømmegrøt in Norway was typically made with soured cream and was more often served with dried meats than cinnamon and sugar (a much later addition). In fact, if we break down the word we get "rømme" or sour cream and "grøt" or porridge. Modern Norwegian recipes usually call for dairy sour cream today. But they have a very different flavor from the kind I grew up with. 

As my mother pointed out, rømmegrøt is easy to make, calorie-rich, and tastes special without costing that much. Typically reserved for very special occasions like Christmas, midsummer, and births, rømmegrøt was also used as a food for new mothers to help build up their strength, which makes sense considering how rich-tasting it is.

In the United States, ready access in the late 19th and early 20th century to refined white flour and sugar made rømmegrøt easy and cheap to make if you kept dairy cows, like my great-grandparents on my mom's side of the family. It's not clear why Scandinavian Americans stopped using sour cream, but my guess is that because most American dairy farmers were sending their milk to cooperative dairies, instead of processing it at home, they had far more access to heavy cream than sour cream. In fact, both sets of my mom's grandparents were dairy farmers, and during the Great Depression, the "cream check" from the dairy was often the only thing keeping the family in store-bought goods. The cows, chickens, and huge kitchen gardens did the bulk of the heavy lifting in feeding families of 11 and 10 children, respectively. 

Although I have eaten rømmegrøt many a time at Scandinavian heritage festivals, those are few and far between out here in the Northeast. So I decided to try my hand at making rømmegrøt from scratch. I decided to use a recipe from the 90th Anniversary Elim Lutheran Church Cookbook, which was the church my grandfather (dad's dad) was pastor at for decades.

This recipe comes from Nellie Anderson and Erna Tronsgard - two ladies I never met, but likely my grandmother Eunice (who also contributed a recipe to this cookbook) knew well. Here's their original recipe:

1 pint heavy cream
1 cup boiling milk
1/2 cup flour

Bring the cream to a boil and boil for 10 min. Sift in flour, reduce heat and stir until thick. In a few minute the butter will separate - remove this and save. Add milk which has been brought to boiling, add a little at a time, stirring hard. This will get smooth. This will get smooth. Now add 1 tablespoon sugar and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Ladle in dishes, top with cinnamon, sugar, and the butter that was cooked out.

With only three cups of liquid I knew this recipe wouldn't make much, and I wanted to make a big batch, so I doubled the recipe:
1 quart heavy cream (4 cups)
2 cups boiling milk
1 cup flour

I found a few tiny issues with this recipe. The first one is that 1 cup flour seemed like too much, so feel free to make it a scant cup, or add more hot milk. The other is that as you are boiling the cream, you have to keep stirring or it will boil over!

Once you add the flour, you're essentially making a type of roux, which is why a sauce whisk comes in very handy for this type of thing. The key is to keep stirring ​as it keeps cooking and then all of a sudden the mixture will "break" and the butter will automatically cook out by itself! Let the butter keep cooking out and use a deep spoon or small ladle to remove as much as you can (reserve the melted butter for topping later). Then add the hot milk and beat vigorously until smooth - it will look like a very thick white sauce. Then add the salt and sugar which are listed in the instructions, but not the "top" of the recipe measurements. Because the recipe was written by home cooks, not polished, published professionals!

As you can see, mine turned out VERY thick, and it will only thicken more as it sits. I had JUST enough milk left (trying to eat down the fridge before going out of town for the holidays), but I would add more in the future. 

Serve it warm or hot with cinnamon and sugar (pre-mixed is best) and traditionally it's also served with some of the melted butter on top. I find that to be too rich, for me. I like a lot of cinnamon and sugar with mine, as this is not really sweetened at all. But it's nice for people to be able to add theirs to taste. 

No lie, I added more cinnamon and sugar to this bowl after tasting, because even though the recipe calls for a smidge of sugar, it's really not sweet at all. And this is about the serving size you want at it is extremely rich. But some folks like to add the butter back as a topping, and if you were living in dark, frigid, 18th century Norway, you'd probably want all the extra fat you could get in your diet. However, the butter is always too much for me. I've yet to find a decent use for the leftover semi-clarified butter, however. Maybe I just need to use it on bread! Or maybe lefse? But that's a Scandinavian treat tale for another day.

My mother-in-law, who had never had it before, said the flavor reminded her of rice pudding, which it does - creamy and thick and cinnamon-sugary. And rice pudding is super common in Norway and other Scandinavian countries at Christmastime. But rømmegrøt is much older, as rice was not imported to Scandinavia until the 18th century. 

To me, it tasted of nostalgia. Made me think of summer Scandinavian festivals, but still tasted like Christmas and the Midwest. With the advent of central heat, rømmegrøt is definitely not an everyday food, but it still connects us to the past in a way that reading about it never quite does. 

Have you ever had rømmegrøt? What Christmas food traditions in your family bring back fond memories or connect you to your heritage?

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Earlier this month, I posted an article on my Substack about grocery prices, price gouging, and price fixing. I mentioned the investigation of meat packers during and after the war, but I hadn't yet done much digging on the subject. When browsing a February, 1919 issue of The Delineator, imagine my surprise when I came across this advertisement from Swift & Company!

One thing I've been researching for my book is the continuation of wartime measures after November 11, 1918. This whole issue of the New-York-based magazine is chock-full of references to food conservation, and the ads are no exception. But unlike the others, this advertisement isn't touting how their products can be used to meet food conservation goals. Instead, it is a company defending itself from criticism. 

It reads:

The head of a Philadelphia family writes to ask us why the price of meat is so high. He wants to know especially about the increase during the past four years.

There are, of course, many reasons.

The heavy demand for meat, caused by large orders from the Allies and by high wages at home, has helped to boost prices. The lower purchasing power of the dollar has also caused the prices of all commodities to increase.

But one important factor is the high cost of producing and marketing meat along the line from farm to retailer.

The retailer, for example, must pay higher wages to clerks and more for delivery service, in fact, everything entering into store operation has advanced tremendously.

And the retailer has to get a much higher price for meat, because he has to pay the packers more for it.

The packers, in turn, are in the same position as the retailers. It costs them more to do business. Labor, transportation, machinery, materials - all items in the packing business - have mounted rapdily. Wages of packing house laborers, for example, have increased over 100 per cent in the past three years. But here again the packers have to get higher prices for meat when they have to pay such high prices for live stock.

During the past four years, cattle prices to Swift & Company advanced 74 per cent, whereas the price received for beef by Swift & Company has advanced only 61 per cent during the same period.

The farmers have had to get more for cattle because it costs more to raise them. 

Cor, for example, has doubled during the past four years; farm labor is scarce and wages are high.

But even with these higher production costs, the price of meat has gone up no more than the price of other foodstuffs - and this is in face of the enormous quantities sent overseas to our Army and to the Allies. 

During the past five years, flour has increased 100 per cent, corn meal 133 per cent, sugar 65 per cent. During the past year alone, fruits have advanced 30 per cent.

If the packers were to eliminate their profits entirely, there would be practically no change in the price of meat. Swift & Company's profits average only a fraction of a cent per pound of meat.

Well! Quite the claim there, and I'm not sure how effective it was. But why was a major meat packing company spending their advertising budget on a full-page ad defending themselves? Well, as it turns out, since the U.S. entrance into World War I, Swift & Company had been under investigation by the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), alongside other meat packers, for price fixing and unlawful collusion. Although ordinary citizens had been encouraged to voluntarily reduce their consumption of meat in order to free up supply for the Allies and American armed forces, meat prices were quite high throughout the war. President Woodrow Wilson had ordered an investigation of the meatpackers by the FTC as soon as the U.S. entered the war.

Considering that the big four meat packers of 2024 (JBL, Tyson, Cargill, and National Beef) were all sued for price fixing last month just reinforces how much the history of World War I repeats itself approximately 100 years later (for other instances, see one of my earlier blog posts).   

Swift & Company had already been under fire since 1902, when President Theodore Roosevelt investigated the Beef Trust. The U.S. government took them to court in 1905 and the Swift & Co. v. United States Supreme Court case sided with the Roosevelt Administration. Thanks in large part to Upton Sinclair's book The Jungle in 1905, which detailed the horrific conditions of the meatpacking industry, Teddy got to go even further. Sinclair had been trying to get the public to support labor reform. Instead, he terrified them into sanitation and food safety reform. Theodore Roosevelt passed the Federal Meat Inspection Act of 1906. Meatpackers like Swift were no longer able to have as much free rein as they did before the Sherman Antitrust Act of 1890, but despite regulatory gains, there was still work to be done.

But this one little ad wasn't the end of Swift & Company's attempt to exonerate themselves in the public eye.

The advertisement in The Delineator was one of many Swift & Co. released that February. This was another, touting its 1919 yearbook as providing "both sides" of the argument at hand. It reads:

Do you want to know both sides? 
Swift & Company's 1919 Year Book, just out, tells you

What Swift & Company profits were in 1918,
The truth about the Federal Trade Commission's investigation,
Why the prices of butter and eggs are so high,
And many other vital facts.

Whether or not you agree with us after reading this Year Book, you will at least know both sides.

You will find it interesting; Americans like to hear about big things done in a big way.

You will also discover that we are merely human beings like yourself, doing in the best possible way a necessary service.

Legislation is pending in Washington; as a good American citizen you want to know both sides of this question. It concerns you, as well as one of the most important industries in the country.

Do not hesitate to send for a copy of this booklet. Your name and address are all we need. 

I have yet to find a digitized copy of their 1919 yearbook, but I did manage to find this interesting gem from 1919, The Meatpacking Industry in America: An Illustrated Lecture, issued by Swift & Company. It explains not only how Swift & Company operate their meatpacking plants, but it also touts their sanitation and safety measures, including employee healthcare! And of course, how little profit they actually make.

Unfortunately for them and their meatpacking compatriots, the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) did not agree. In a six volume report published in the summer of 1919 (you can read volumes 1-2 here, and volumes 3-6 here), the FTC found that the five major meatpackers, including Swift & Company, had violated anti-trust laws by colluding to control production, prices, and competition through vertical integration. Their report read:

"The rapid rise of the packers to power and immense wealth and their present strangle hold on food supplies were not based necessarily on their ownership of packing houses but upon their control of the channels of distribution particularly the stockyards, private car lines, cold storage plants, and branch houses. Similarly great profits which they have secured and are now securing are not primarily due to exceptional efficiency in operating packing houses and manufacturing plants, but are secured through their monopolistic control of the distributive machinery This applies not only to the meat industry but to the other branches of the food industry which they control as is evidenced by the fact that, particularly in recent years, they have made far greater efforts to secure control of the distribution of the product than to secure manufacturing plants in the case of such products as cheese and canned goods."

"As long as the packers control these distributive utilities, producers will be at the mercy of the big packers competition will be restrained, and consumers generally will continue to pay the price of monopoly. Control and manipulation of the live stock markets have been the great factors in the discouragement of live stock production Control of the transportation and marketing facilities have been the instruments by which competitors have been crushed."

Their solution? Complete government takeover. No wonder Swift & Company were spending money right and left to convince the public of the justice of their business model!

Ultimately Swift & Company was not brought under government control. It was, however, restricted only to meatpacking operations. Alexander Mitchell Palmer, attorney general of the United States under President Wilson, forced major meat packers to a consent decree to get out of anything but meatpacking. For the public, it wasn't enough. In 1921, Congress passed the Packers and Stockyards Act of 1921, also known as the Packers Bill, and it was signed into law by President William G. Harding, President Woodrow Wilson's Republican successor. 

The Packers and Stockyards Act substantially curtailed the expansion of the major meatpackers into other foodstuffs and prevented them from vertically integrating - that is owning the stockyards and even railroads that transported livestock to their slaughterhouses. Of course, litigation began almost immediately, as did amendments to the Act.

In their first annual report, the Packers and Stockyards Administration, under the auspices of the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA), outlined not only brief biographies of some of their staff, but also the names and locations of the stockyards subject to the rules. The report also outlined complaints against packers and stockyards, including short-weight butter sales (selling 1 pound cartons of butter that contained only 15 ounces), as well as deceptive marketing of livestock, anti-competitive behavior, and general fraud. 

The Packers and Stockyards Administration is today the Grain Inspection, Packers, and Stockyards Administration (GIPSA), part of the USDA. It still operates and regulates meatpacking, stockyards, and now grain markets in the United States. Like the Food & Drug Administration oversees the safety, accuracy, and sales of manufactured foods and drugs, GIPSA oversees the safety, accuracy, and sales of grain and livestock. 

This advertising campaign from Swift & Co. is just one example of the many ways in which the First World War had a lasting impact on the American economy and government. Even though many of the regulatory agencies of the war were designed to be temporary - notably the United States Food Administration - other regulatory bodies like the Packers and Stockyards Administration had their roots in the Progressive Era and lasted long beyond the war. 

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