George Washington, Silver Spoons, and Thomas Jefferson's Peas

As far back as I can recall, I've had an eye - or rather two - for detail.  I blame my parents for the affliction, which can be both a blessing and a curse.  My father for example, now retired, was highly skilled in his profession as a tailor; details meant the world to him.  My parents would actively encourage my sisters and I to observe, compare, and contrast in order to better understand how the smallest detail - be it a button or the cut of a lapel - might add to or detract from the overall appearance of a garment.

The smallest details don't only fascinate me, but can at times become my impetus for telling a story and the lens through which I see a larger picture. Take for example the spoons seen in the photograph below.

Photo: Chronica Domus

At first glance, these two early American coin silver spoons appear to be quite unremarkable.  Devoid of decorative detail, aside from a simple monogram, one could easily be forgiven for not offering a second gander.  In fact, both the teaspoon and the large serving spoon possess rather a severe aspect to their design. There is a reason for this, and a fascinating one at that.

You see, it is believed that "coffin-end" spoons, as these are called, were fashioned by American silversmiths to commemorate the death of George Washington in 1799. The tip of the spoon's handle was clipped by the silversmith to imply the form of a coffin. This was a design which remained popular until about 1810.

The distinct shape of this early American coin silver teaspoon tells us that it was fashioned to commemorate the death of George Washington in 1799

Photo: Chronica Domus

A view of the flowing monogram engraved upon the coffin-end handle of the large serving spoon

Photo: Chronica Domus

Having culturally attained the honorary title of  "Father of His Country", George Washington, America's first president, was largely revered at the time of his death. His passing was felt deeply across the young nation.  Many citizens of his newly born nation were so moved as to actually don mourning clothes for months thereafter.  As one can imagine, it was not long until all manner of commemorative household goods and artworks appeared to mark this solemn occasion.

Oh how I kick myself for not bidding on this ink and silk mourning needlework picture when it came up for auction in San Francisco a few years ago - what was I thinking?

Source

I have owned the diminutive coin silver teaspoon for a number of years and acquired it without prior knowledge of any significance to its design.  It was much later that I learned about the association of the coffin-end handle and its connection to Washington's death.  Naturally, when I saw the large serving spoon for sale at a recent antiques fair, I had to have it.

Article Number 12 in the collection of a local professor was a coffin-end serving spoon made by silversmith Judah Hartt of Middletown, Connecticut in 1800, now happily ensconced in my own collection

Photo: Chronica Domus

The dealer from whom I purchased this piece had acquired it as part of a sizable lot of early American silverware assembled by a local professor. The professor had thoughtfully tagged each item with an informative label noting details of the item's origin and year it was made. The preceding photograph shows the label still attached to the serving spoon on the day I purchased it.

As this is a post about a presidential-related item, I thought it would be only fitting to photograph said item on an early green shell-edge pearlware platter. Thomas Jefferson, who followed in George Washington and John Adams' footsteps to become America's third president, utilized this pearlware pattern at Monticello, his mountaintop home in Virginia. Fragments of it have been excavated from the grounds surrounding Monticello's kitchen yard. Today, visitors to Monticello will be delighted to view an entire service of this attractive earthenware laid upon the dining table of the chrome yellow painted dining room.

Two Washington coffin-end coin silver spoons rest upon a green shell-edge pearlware platter, a pattern favored by Thomas Jefferson at Monticello

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, of course, what could one serve from such presidential dining accoutrements? Why, peas of course!  Not just any old peas, mind you, but the very same heirloom variety, Pisum sativum 'Prince Albert', selected by Thomas Jefferson to grow within the vegetable garden at Monticello.  Some of you may recall the post I wrote in June 2014, found here, on how I came to include these scrumptious peas in my own garden.

Thomas Jefferson's peas are still growing in my vegetable patch, from seeds gathered after each year's harvest since planting the original package, purchased from Monticello's garden shop in 2012 - this particular addition to our meal was collected early on the morning of June 24 this year
Photo: Chronica Domus

Here are those peas, served upon the same shell-edge pearlware pattern so favored by Thomas Jefferson ...

... and scooped from a commemorative George Washington coffin-end serving spoon

Photo: Chronica Domus

I do hope you enjoyed learning about these rather obscure silver spoons and their association with the passing of America's first president, along with revisiting momentarily the dining table of our third. Between these two men, of course, rests much of the reason for such a uniquely American day of celebration, on this fourth day of the seventh month.

Happy Independence Day everyone!

Colcannon From The Garden

Deliciously fragrant home-grown leeks given to me by a neighbor friend last week

Photo: Chronica Domus

The recent and much welcomed rain we have experienced here in northern California has put the late-winter vegetable garden into overdrive.   The arugula planted from seed last summer is still going strong.  In fact, it has become positively wild, running amok and sprouting peppery leaves in abundance.  The piquant bounty is always a welcome addition to the salad bowl where it peps up the milder flavored lettuces.  

Back in November, I planted six Tuscan kale seedlings that have matured to an impressive size. Brassica oleracea, to give it its botanical name, is an heirloom variety that was once favored by Thomas Jefferson and grown at Monticello as early as 1777. I can well understand why.  This particular kale looks exceedingly graceful as it stretches skyward in its slender dark-green finery. The taste, by the way, is delicious.

Tuscan Kale

Photo: Chronica Domus

The Red Russian kale I planted in the fertile soil alongside its darker cousin has reached its peak with bountiful and appetizing results.  This too is an heirloom, boasting painterly purple spines and broad scalloped leaves.

Red Russian kale was introduced to Canada from Siberia by Russian traders in 1885

Photo: Chronica Domus

I'm afraid the impressive kale plants have had to suffer some embarrassingly weedy bed fellows. Below are my very feeble-looking leeks, appearing more akin to diminutive scallions than the statuesque vegetable they are supposed to resemble.

Oh dear, what can the matter be,
two dozen leeks refuse to grow up you see

Photo: Chronica Domus

The leeks were started by my good friend and neighbor Gavin, who gave them to me in October and encouraged me to plant them.  He promised the leeks would be easy to cultivate.  Last week, Gavin came by for dinner and generously shared his home-grown bounty of fragrant leeks with us. I show them in the photograph at the onset of this post.  I was agog to discover we had planted our leeks around the same time. As can be clearly seen, the outcome differed wildly to my own.  Gavin is convinced that my stunted plants have been denied adequate sunlight for they lurk in shade for much of the day.  I suspect he is correct in his diagnosis.  Ah well, we tireless gardeners live and learn and are constantly humbled by Mother Nature's tomfoolery.

With copious amounts of kale and Gavin's beautiful leeks at hand, I took the opportunity to cook up a batch of Colcannon, a traditional Irish dish that is a marvelous comfort food during the cooler months of the year.  According to the Oxford Companion of Food, Colcannon was introduced to England during the eighteenth century where it soon, surprisingly, became a favorite of the upper classes. I say surprisingly because the primary ingredient of Colcannon is the humble potato, a vegetable surely enjoyed by all classes of society. Perhaps it was the addition of costly cream and butter that precluded the poorer classes from enjoying it as often as the rest of society.  By the mid-nineteenth century, Americans came to know the dish through the recent influx of immigrants from Ireland.

Colcannon can be made with whatever greens one has on hand and very often includes either cabbage or kale, scallions, leeks, and onions.

A trug full of delicious Red Russian Kale freshly picked from the vegetable garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

I followed the recipe found here, but added three of Gavin's medium-sized leeks which I sliced thinly and cooked in butter until lightly browned.  I then added that to the kale and scallions.  I believe the flavorsome leeks really enhance the earthy taste of Colcannon.

The kale, leek, and scallion mixture take but a few minutes to cook

Photo: Chronica Domus

Ah, something smells good!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Colcannon is an excellent substitute for plain Jane mashed potatoes.  It is also an extremely tasty way of meeting one's daily vegetable eating allowance, which is especially handy for those picky junior diners that would rather push away their greens than eat them.  Thank goodness my own daughter falls firmly into Oliver Twist's "more please" camp.

Photo: Chronica Domus

If you are looking for ways of tarting up your mashed potatoes, and incorporating healthy leafy green vegetables into your diet, look no further than Colcannon. No matter how much of it you make, I'll guarantee everyone at your table will be asking for more.

An Edible Antique: Recreating A Jeffersonian Pea Contest

Readying the table for dinner with the first crop of heirloom Prince Albert peas

Photo: Chronica Domus

One of the things I discovered while touring Thomas Jefferson's gardens at Monticello, which I wrote about here, was that he was an enthusiastic grower and eater of peas.  In fact, peas were his favorite vegetable and he planted them repeatedly during his gardening years at Monticello between 1767 to 1824.  Jefferson dedicated three entire "squares" to growing peas, and grew an astonishing twenty-three varieties, seeds for which were purchased from his favorite seedsman Bernard McMahon.

What intrigued me most about Jefferson's love of peas was the story of the yearly pea contest in which he engaged with other gentlemen farmers of the area.  The winner was declared when a farmer produced the earliest crop of peas for the year.  The winner would then invite the other participants to share in a meal that would include, naturally, the winning peas.  George Divers, a friend of Jefferson's, was always the annual champion of the contest, a proud accomplishment indeed.  It is said that the year Thomas Jefferson produced the first pea, he was loath to reveal his victory so as not to hurt his friend's pride.

Pisum sativum "Prince Albert", an attractive heirloom pea seed packet purchased at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home in Virginia

Photo: Chronica Domus

I think it would have been a great lark to have joined in on the fun of this competition if I had been a neighbor of Jefferson's (were there gentlewomen farmers in his day I wonder?).  So, when perusing the racks of seeds for sale at Monticello's gift shop, harvested from the gardens there, I naturally included a packet of English garden peas among my purchases.  I was excited to take these back to my small garden in California and see if I too could cultivate peas, an endeavor I had as yet to try.

The delicate white blossoms of the Prince Albert heirloom pea appear as white butterflies at rest

Photo: Chronica Domus

I chose an heirloom pea that is said to be indistinguishable from Pisum sativum "Early Frame", a variety that was grown at Monticello annually between 1809 and 1824.  The variety I selected, Pisum sativum "Prince Albert", was introduced to American gardeners from England in 1845 where it had been grown there for many years prior. 

Young peas on the vine photographed in May, 2014

Photo: Chronica Domus

I planted eighteen seeds on March 17 to mark St. Patrick's day.  These were, after all, green vegetables so what could be more appropriate.  The seeds were sown around two pyramidal-shaped structures that I made using branches pruned from the fruit trees in my garden, and a few pieces of twine to secure the tops.  Jefferson referred to these as "pea sticks" and they provide support for the young pea shoots and tendrils as they grow and scramble skyward.  All but one of the seeds germinated.  Half the seeds I planted were from the original seeds within the packet I bought back from Monticello in the summer of 2012. The other half were seeds I saved from the initial crop of peas I grew from those seeds last summer.  I was curious to discover if the fresher seeds I had saved would grow into stronger and taller plants, therefore producing more pea pods, than the seeds from the Monticello packet that were now three years old since being harvested.

The vines are now laden with plump peas ready for harvesting

Photo: Chronica Domus

On June 3, with assistance from my daughter, we excitedly picked the first harvest.  Our crop amounted to two hundred and fourteen plump little pea pods.  We were delighted with our little bounty.  There are several more pods remaining on the plants but those are not quite ready to be picked yet.  Also, many white flowers at the tops of the plants have yet to bloom so over the next month or so, if the bees and the butterflies cooperate, we can expect another, albeit smaller crop.  I noticed that both the newer seeds I harvested last year, and the original seeds I purchased, did equally well.  They both grew to the same height (around five and a half feet), and they both held as many pea pods as each other.

The first crop of heirloom Prince Albert peas harvested on June 3, 2014

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, what of the contest?  Well, I doubt very much I would have won the annual pea growing contest, even with the advantage of the milder climate I enjoy in California.  It took me exactly seventy-eight days from sowing my seeds to harvesting them.  An entry in one of Jefferson's gardening notebooks tells us that the "forwardest peas of February 20 come to table".  He wrote that on April 24, 1767, which meant his peas were ready to be eaten in sixty-three days, assuming as was very likely the case, that the peas were picked the same day they were consumed.  Clearly, this gentlewoman farmer is in no position to be hosting any winning feasts.

The peas after shelling 

Photo: Chronica Domus

A closer view of a perfectly formed, plump pea pod encasing six fat little peas

Photo: Chronica Domus

What I was able to do, however, was host my own dinner with a bowl of our heirloom peas as our side vegetable.  Of course, as Monticello tradition dictates, our dinner was eaten in the dining room around 4 p.m.  The peas were served from an old Paris porcelain vegetable bowl, and eaten from plates to match.  These pieces were all made during Jefferson's lifetime around the factories of Paris.  I chose them to honor the fact that Jefferson likely ate from similar porcelain tableware.  While stationed in France as Minister representing the United States, he became so enamored of French porcelain that he arranged for barrel loads to be shipped back to Monticello upon his departure from his post in Paris.  Within those barrels were held a staggering one hundred and twenty plates along with the other service pieces he selected. His granddaughter, Ellen Coolidge, noted that it was not unusual for Jefferson to have his plate changed several times during the course of his dinner.  Some of the surviving pieces of porcelain at Monticello are decorated with gilt bands and small springs of flowers.

It is indeed very satisfying to experience the same taste that Jefferson favored so much in his English peas.  Prince Albert is a very different pea from those to which we have become accustomed today.  Modern varieties are far sweeter than these heirlooms.  This heritage pea can best be described as starchier and more akin to beans than peas.  Delicious to be sure, when simply dressed with a good dollop of creamy butter, but an altogether different taste experience. 

Prince Albert peas come to table on June 4, 2014 ready to be devoured as part of our dinner

Photo: Chronica Domus

If you too are interested in growing heirloom peas, or even hosting your very own pea growing competition, Monticello now sells their seeds via their web site.  Of course, if you are as fortunate as I was and have an opportunity to visit the house and gardens in person, I believe you too will come away inspired and in awe of how well the man lived and gardened.  It is, indeed, a most fascinating look into his world.

I hope I've inspired you to try your hand at sowing a few seeds which may afford you the experience of sampling the earth born flavors of late eighteenth and early nineteenth century vegetables.

Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

An Edible Antique: Recreating A Jeffersonian Salad

A home grown Jeffersonian salad comprised of Spotted Aleppo lettuce, nasturtium flowers and French tarragon

Photo: Chronica Domus

As readers of this blog will learn over time, I am partial to the decorative arts of England, America, and France during the late 18th and early 19th centuries.  Not only do I enjoy collecting and using items from this period for my home, whenever the opportunity arises and when funds permit, I also enjoy sourcing heirloom plants, both ornamental and useful, to add to my garden.  To that effect, it was with great pleasure that I had the opportunity to visit one of America's premier antique vegetable gardens, perched high upon the side of a mountain in Charlottesville, Virginia, and created by Thomas Jefferson at his home, Monticello. Jefferson, America's third president and the principal author of the Declaration of Independence, was an accomplished tobacco and grain farmer and a grower of fruits and vegetables.  Through constant experimentation, and at the garden's most productive period around 1812, the one-thousand foot-long terraced plot was used to grow at least 330 varieties of vegetables, most of which were used to feed family and visitors at Monticello.

High summer in the vegetable gardens of Monticello, photographed during my visit in 2012

Photo: Chronica Domus

On May 6, 1795 the sage of Monticello wrote in his journal "The first lettuce comes to the table". Well, I am pleased as punch to report that exactly 219 years later, give a day or two, my first Jeffersonian lettuce has arrived at my own table.  You see, when I visited the garden two summers ago, I came away with a souvenir; two packets of heirloom seeds harvested by those that tend Monticello's garden today.  I selected the seeds based on the fact that the varieties were grown on site in Jefferson's lifetime, not easily found elsewhere for purchase, and that frankly, I was unaware of the existence of the curious sounding Spotted Aleppo lettuce.  I was very keen to take a little bit of Monticello back with me to California, a place virtually unknown to Jefferson, in an attempt to cultivate the very same lettuce he grew all those years ago in Virginia.  Perhaps, if successful, I could even go as far as recreating a salad that would have been made in the kitchens of his home, and served to Jefferson, his family, and his guests.  Would such a salad taste and look differently than if I used modern varieties of lettuces available today?  I was curious and excited to make the discovery for myself.

An attractive seed packet of Lactuca sativa 'Spotted Aleppo' lettuce seeds harvested from plants grown at Monticello

Photo: Chronica Domus

This is the second season since purchasing my seeds that I have planted Spotted Aleppo, an 18th century variety regularly grown at Monticello and first procured in 1804 from Bernard McMahon, a prominent Philadelphia seedsman and mentor to Thomas Jefferson.  I was so enamored by the initial crop last year, and found it easy to cultivate, that I let the plants go to seed so as to enable me to collect more than enough for this year's sowing.  It was recorded that lettuce was planted an average of eight times annually at Monticello during the years 1809 through 1824.  Obviously, salads played a prominent role in Jefferson's diet.

A head of Spotted Aleppo lettuce exhibiting the characteristic rusty brown spots

Photo: Chronica Domus

I sowed my seeds on St. Patrick's day, March 17, in neat little rows in my Lilliputian vegetable garden. It took about a week until the cotyledons, the first sign of germination, pushed through the cool black earth. Those tiny leaves are always such an exciting time for any gardener to spot, full of hope and optimism for a bountiful crop. On May 9, with less than six weeks in the ground, I harvested enough tender leaves to make my salad, picked in the early morning sunshine, just as they were at Monticello, then laid in cool water and removed hours before they were needed at dinner. At maturity I discovered the Spotted Aleppo, a type of romaine lettuce, is far more diminutive in scale than the hefty romaine we know today.  I estimate that the length of the leaves are no more than about eight inches.  They are also much more tender and delicate, and not at all tough and crunchy.

More of Jefferson's speckled lettuces basking in the sunshine of my vegetable garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

Esculent nasturtium flowers, that grow with abandon in my garden, were added to the lettuce leaves so that I could accurately recreate a salad that would have been a familiar sight at the dining tables of Monticello. Not only were these cheery flowers used to prepare salads by Jefferson's cooks, the leaves too were mixed in with other greens and lettuces. Nasturtium seeds were also utilized surprisingly, so nothing went to waste. These were a substitute for capers so I would imagine they were somehow pickled to serve their purpose. An 1,800 square foot bed was dedicated to the growth of nasturtiums at Monticello, planted annually between 1812 and 1824.

My garden trug holding freshly picked lettuce leaves and nasturtium flowers ready to be taken into the house

Photo: Chronica Domus

Jefferson's travels to Europe helped hone his interest in French cuisine and opened new gastronomical worlds for him.  He would send back foodstuffs, such as wine vinegar and virgin olive oil from France, to be used in the preparation of salads and vegetables.  As much as he enjoyed expensive imported olive oil, he did note that the freshness was somewhat compromised through its exposure to hot storage environments as it made its passage across the Atlantic ocean and to his home.  With this in mind, he experimented with growing sesame plants to produce a domestic salad oil that would provide a possible substitute for his favored olive oil, having once described it as "the richest gift of heaven".  Of sesame oil he said, "I did not believe there existed so perfect a substitute for olive oil".  Try as he might, he could not produce a worthwhile quantity of oil from his sesame plants despite seven years of persistence.

Salads at Monticello would be dressed at table with the oil and vinegar having been stored in glass cruets.  In my recreation of the salad, I substituted Spanish wine vinegar for tarragon vinegar, which was often used at Monticello, and introduced freshly cut French tarragon, Thomas Jefferson's favorite herb, into the mix of lettuces and nasturtium flowers.  With the final addition of a sprinkling of coarse salt, and a crack or two of the pepper mill, my home grown Jeffersonian salad was complete.

Late 18th century glass cruet bottles containing extra virgin olive oil and wine vinegar to dress the salad.  Jefferson used similar bottles but his were designed with a silver lip and handle.

Photo: Chronica Domus

An antique salad recognizable to Thomas Jefferson had he been a guest at my table

Photo: Chronica Domus

Dinner was served much earlier in Jefferson's day and to honor that tradition my salad was eaten around 4 p.m., the time the second bell rang to alert guests that they should assemble in the dining room to begin their meal at Monticello.

All done, and how delicious that was!

Photo: Chronica Domus

As I sampled the tender spotted leaves, the peppery bright flowers, and the pungent French tarragon, I toasted Jefferson and thanked him for his inspiration that I might eat as well as he, on simple food that had been grown in my own garden, with seeds from his. It was, indeed, a most satisfactory feeling.  To these simple ingredients, the addition of imported olive oil and vinegar that is now shipped to my home in a matter of days rather than weeks, as was the case in Jefferson's day, completed my salad, an edible antique and one that would be wholly recognizable to him were he to have joined me at my humble table.  I can only imagine the conversation that would ensue.  Would we wax lyrical about the quality, variety, and sheer quantity of food available to us in 21st century America?  Would he be surprised and pleased to discover how much of that food was locally grown and produced in California, including his favorite salad oil? And, what would he think of food globally produced, much of it perishable, and flown magically through the skies to reach our plates in peak condition?  Would we also deliberate, in shared disappointment, the modern norm of so few meals being taken while actually seated at a dining table?

Growing your own antique salad can successfully be accomplished in a small corner of the garden or through the use of several large containers.  Fortunately, one need no longer make the pilgrimage to Monticello to lay hands on these heirloom jewels, thanks to the modern wonders of internet shopping.  I urge you to try these surprisingly tasty old varieties for you too will discover their ease of growth and their deliciousness.

Our eating habits may have changed over the past two centuries but one thing that will always remain the same is our tendency towards Jefferson's famed "pursuit of happiness". For those much like myself, this will always include good friends, lively conversation, a shared bottle of wine, and wonderfully simple meals boasting of the earth's bounty.


Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.