A is for Pie ...

... apple pie, that is.  I've been quite a busy bee this past week baking to my heart's content. The house has been filled with the comforting nostalgic smells of homemade apple pie, wafting from the hot kitchen oven and perfuming the air. It is a smell I associate deeply with the months of autumn. Making these pies is like an annual rite of passage, heralding the cooler autumnal months ahead. 

This year, I got a little ahead of myself as I rushed into pie making on one of the hottest days of the year. The mercury had climbed to almost 100 degrees Fahrenheit, turning my kitchen into a tropical hothouse, which is certainly not an ideal or pleasant environment when the ovens are all fired up. Indian summer had arrived right on cue, and with a vengeance. I am happy to report that unlike recent years, the heat subsided within a week and things returned to their seasonal normalcy, which is just dandy with me. The grey misty morning autumn skies I enjoy are back, hooray!

My favorite vintage pastry tools; a turned wood rolling pin and a pastry jagger or wheel

Photo: Chronica Domus

I believe I have baked more apple pies than any other fruit pie.  My family enjoys them exceedingly. Come to think of it, I've yet to encounter anyone with a dislike of apple pie, have you?  Pies are an uncomplicated sweet treat, to be shared with one's family and friends following a satisfying meal, or during an afternoon tea or coffee break. Homemade pies are rarely turned down when offered by the slice.  They really are rather irresistible, even to those who feign their slenderization diet shall be set to ruin. I always make my own pastry, and use the same old wooden tools to shape the dough; an old turned wood rolling pin, and a handsome little wooden pastry jagger or wheel. I own one other rolling pin that I press into service too, a hefty French pastry baton, which was a gift from a favorite uncle. 

The first pie I made this autumn put to use some of the apples we recently harvested from our trees. Once I peeled the various unidentified apples, and added a little sugar, a pinch of cinnamon, and a grating or two of nutmeg, I heaped the fruit into the chilled pastry shell and took a moment to admire its rustic beauty. The apples really looked marvelous glistening in their juices. They ranged from creamy yellow to pale green in color.

Homegrown apples heaped into a homemade pastry shell

Photo: Chronica Domus

I chose to decorate the top of the pie in what I consider to be the quintessential American pie style. I formed the pastry into strips using my little wooden jagger.

A favorite vintage pastry jagger makes the job of pastry cutting a breeze

Photo: Chronica Domus

I then interlaced the pastry strips into a basket-weave or lattice design, glazed the top in an egg and cream wash, and sprinkled a touch more sugar across the surface. The pie was then ready for my oven.

The basket-weave pastry topped pie awaits baking

Photo: Chronica Domus

Wouldn't you agree that the lattice topping is the definitive picture of old-fashioned American apple pie?  I do not overly sweeten the fruit, nor over perfume it with spices and flavorings, at least when compared to most of the store purchased examples I have tried. The spotlight shines firmly on the apples, just as it should.

The baked pie cooling and almost ready for devouring

Photo: Chronica Domus

As my husband is American, he prefers his pie served à la mode, with scoops of vanilla ice cream. We Brits do things rather differently, or at least did when I was growing up. If drizzling one's pie with thick hot custard is not to your liking, cold double cream, or heavy whipping cream as it is known in America, is the preferred accompaniment to a slice of pie.  Interestingly, my American born daughter enthusiastically subscribes to the British way of doing things and positively drowns her pie in cream, lapping it all down before sheepishly asking for more; a modern day Oliver Twist in the making.

Can you guess which plate is mine?

Photo: Chronica Domus

Of course, a slab of mature Cheddar cheese is another option to consider as accompaniment to apple pie, but lifelong habits are hard to break and I always prefer mine with lashings of decadent cream.

The second pie I baked this past week was also made of unidentified apples. I've been patiently watching a nearby tree in our neighborhood through evening jaunts with my trusty canine companion. It is absolutely groaning with bright green fruits that resemble my favorite cooking apple, Granny Smith.   

I love the mustard yellow color of American 19th century yellow ware against the vivid green of the unidentified neighborhood apples

Photo: Chronica Domus

The neighborhood tree was ripe for picking last week so I helped myself to a bowlful of the green orbs with plans to recreate a traditional English apple pie. In England, one would, of course, opt to use the king of cooking apples, the puckeringly tart Bramley. Try as I might, I have failed miserably in my attempts at getting my little pie making hands on Bramley apples since moving to California.

Upon peeling the fruits, I noticed a remarkable green tone to their flesh, which suggested these might well be Granny Smiths. It seemed I was dealing with the venerable green ladies after all. I pressed on with the addition of an appropriate and limited amount of sugar to preserve the tartness we so enjoy in our pies, and a delicate grating of nutmeg.

Notice how green the apples appear unlike my home-grown apples

Photo: Chronica Domus

Traditional English apple pies tend to be made with a round of pastry capping the fruit.  A simple but pretty design is formed with the aid of the sharp blade of a paring knife. Not only is this an attractive decoration for the pastry, it also helps vent the steam formed while the apples are baking.

My version of traditional English apple pie ready for baking

Photo: Chronica Domus

Forty-five minutes later, my timer was abuzz, nudging me to remove the pie from the heat of the oven.   Its golden brown pastry and thickened bubbling juices around the vent holes were my cues that this pie was well and truly baked.  It looks delicious, wouldn't you agree?

Mmmm ...the tempting sight of a freshly baked pie fresh from the oven

Photo: Chronica Domus

Care for a piece of pie?

Photo: Chronica Domus

The vivid green neighborhood tree apples have baked down to an almost thick saucy consistency, much in the way of English Bramley cooking apples.  The taste is sharp and tart, again reminiscent of traditional English pies.  I was chuffed to bits at the success of my experiment, and boy was it scrumptious. Now, if only I knew the identity of these apples. I really don't believe they are Granny Smiths as those seem to hold their shape when cooked.  Ah, the complexities of pomology can be quite befuddling at times. 

As we sat chatting about who liked which pie, we all came to the conclusion that our homegrown apples were far better suited to eating than baking.  Yes, they made for a decent pie filling to be sure, but as their flavor was superior to those apples we are able to purchase from the market, they really were wasted when baked in a pie. On the other hand, the unidentified green neighborhood apples, whose zippy tart taste we enjoyed, were a hit in the flavor department, but not such a favorite for their sauce-like texture.  I personally enjoyed the baked-down filling but majority tends to rule in this household so I'll be back to baking with Granny Smiths again.

Do you enjoy eating and baking apple pies during the months of autumn, and what constitutes a tasty pie for you?  

Home At Last: The Reopening of Chuck Williams' First Shop

Home at last: A sign announcing the reopening of Chuck Williams' first shop in Sonoma, California, originally opened from 1956 to 1958

Photo: Chronica Domus

For any of my American and Canadian readers that have an interest in home cooking, they would have at some point in the past half century darkened the doors of America's premier culinary supply mecca, Williams-Sonoma. The company, whose stores are to be found in most metropolitan areas, stock a range of high-quality cookware and bakeware. One can find every conceivable piece of equipment required to build a batterie de cuisine to rival that of Antoine Carême.

The founder, Charles Williams, or Chuck as he likes to be called, was responsible for introducing American cooks to the finest, most practical and beautiful kitchen equipment, discovered on his travels as a young lad in Europe.

Mr. Williams opened his first shop in 1956 in the small wine country town of Sonoma, California. Initially, he sold only hardware but soon transformed the shop into a cook's paradise, stocking classic French kitchen equipment not found elsewhere. The emporium rapidly became a roaring success with a loyal following of enthusiastic home cooks and professional chefs alike. It soon became apparent that if the business was to further expand and continue showcasing the quality cookware Mr. Williams was introducing to the American market, he would have to relocate his shop to the big city. So, after two short years, the little shop in Sonoma was shuttered, reopening at its new location in the heart of San Francisco's shopping district. The rest, as they say, is history.

The original Williams-Sonoma shopfront, seen above at left, as it appeared between 1956 and 1958

Source

The shopfront as photographed on Saturday, October 4, 2014 during the re-opening celebrations
Photo: Chronica Domus

This past Saturday, Mr. Williams came home again. In celebration of his ninety-ninth birthday, the original Sonoma outpost was reopened to great fanfare, fifty-six years since it closed its doors. The Broadway Street location has been remodeled almost exactly as it appeared in 1958, with its simple white open shelving and classic black and white checkered flooring. Even the original shop sign has been reinstated and hangs proudly outside under the smart striped awning.

I say "almost exactly as it appeared" because the store has now expanded to fill the entire building and is divided into two parts; the original small shop front in replica form to the original, and the new addition of a cooking school off to the side. Mr. Williams' house, situated directly behind his shop, and which he once shared with his mother, has also been incorporated into the retail experience. Today, one can walk freely between the shop floor and the house, which has been restored and showcases the company's home goods. Mr. Williams' bedroom and office have been recreated, as has his private kitchen downstairs.

An interior view of the original shop showcasing the best of Mr. Williams' European culinary finds

Photo: Chronica Domus

Vintage cake pans and unusual tin geometric food molds from the company's culinary archives are incorporated into the displays of new items and are available for sale

Photo: Chronica Domus

The small original shop space showcases the early items that first propelled Williams-Sonoma to success; Apilco and Pillivuyt porcelain, including the iconic cow creamer, heavy copper pots, pans and kettles, steel vegetable mandolines, and even British Dualit toasters.

A table laden with classic French porcelain including the iconic cow creamer and vintage English ironstone and ceramic molds

Photo: Chronica Domus

Not only are new items to be found stacked on old wooden tables and lining the neat rows of white shelving, but antique and vintage items pulled from the company's culinary archives, and found by Mr. Williams in European antiques shops and markets, are also available for sale. I saw many covetable English copper jelly molds from the late 19th century, and several ironstone food molds that could have easily made their way home with me, but, alas, my cupboards are filled and my shelves are groaning, so one needs to be disciplined in such matters nowadays.

An artful display of copper culinary objects graces the walls of the original shop

Photo: Chronica Domus

Beautiful antique English copper molds that had me quivering like a jelly

Photo: Chronica Domus

More vintage finds presented like a museum exhibit on the walls of the original shop

Photo: Chronica Domus

The newer area of the expanded premises is chock-full of other tools, gadgets, equipment, and ingredients required to whip up a feast fit for a king.  The impressive demonstration kitchen, where cooking lessons are taught to small groups, can also be found here.

A view of the demonstration kitchen being used to concoct culinary goodies that were handed out to those attending the reopening celebration event

Photo: Chronica Domus

The newer side of the shop displays fine cooking oils, vinegars and condiments that elevate one's home cooking to chef status - Mr. Williams is credited with introducing American cooks to Balsamic vinegar and Maldon salt

Photo: Chronica Domus

Mr. Williams was a true visionary when he started his little business back in the 1950's and was instrumental in changing the way Americans cook at home. He was able to convince companies like KitchenAid, who supplied restaurateurs with their powerful mixer, to develop a version befitting the home cook, and also talk Le Creuset into producing their classic flaming orange colored cookware in a rainbow of colors that would appeal to a greater audience.

Hundreds of enthusiastic cooks and foodies made the pilgrimage to the reopening celebration this past Saturday in the sweltering heat of the Bay Area's Indian summer. Watching everyone buzzing about, examining the wares on offer and touring the shop, kitchen garden, and house in the back, one felt a sense of hope that perhaps the simple and grounding act of preparing home-cooked meals is still alive and well in a world where convenience foods abound, and when many of us eat out more and more frequently. Personally, Mr. Williams has made the preparation of my meals much more pleasurable and convenient by way of the many items he has deftly sourced for my kitchen over the years. Whenever my English relatives come to visit, they always ask to be taken to the flagship store on Union Square to shop for gifts and unusual tools to use in their own kitchens. Perhaps in the not-too-distant future, Williams-Sonoma will consider crossing the pond to introduce legions of British cooks to the delights of the many American culinary gadgets Mr. Williams has unearthed.

A framed photograph of Chuck Williams hangs on a wall in the back of the house along with many other portraits of him, newspaper clippings and company memorabilia

Photo: Chronica Domus

If you find yourself in the pleasant environs of California's wine country, I do urge you to add this marvelous little shop to your travel itinerary, especially if you, like me, enjoy dabbling in the kitchen.

Do you have a favorite kitchen gadget that you discovered on your travels, was passed down from a family member, or picked up at one of Mr. Williams' stores?


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.

Arcane Dining Oddities: The Wine Rinser

The grand spectacle of the formal dinner party has, sadly, waned over the years.  As a result, many of the items that were once commonplace at the finest of tables during the late 18th and early 19th centuries are now considered arcane oddities.  Take, for example, the wine rinser.

A pair of English Regency glass wine rinsers demonstrating how they would have been used to rinse one's wine glass between courses

Photo: Chronica Domus

Wine rinsers, or wine coolers as they were sometimes called, would be used to rinse one's wine glass between the various wine courses of an elaborate dinner.  The rinsers would be conveniently placed within easy reach of every diner, and partially filled with the coldest water available to facilitate in the task of rinsing or cooling one's glass. The wine glass would be inverted into the water so that the stem could easily rest upon either of the two lips flanking the rim, as demonstrated in the photograph above. The diner would then gently swirl the foot of the wine glass to rinse it. If the glass was to be cooled in preparation for the next wine, it would remain in the water until it was time to imbibe.

Often these vessels, particularly during the English Regency period, would be decorated with a fluted comb cut design, adding to the  reflective qualities of the glass. Can you imagine the arresting sight of a dining room illuminated by candlelight with all that dazzling glass sparkling and twinkling on the table?  In the days before the conveniences that electricity affords today, the reflective quality of items such as drinking glasses or even looking glasses and their gilded frames, was an important aspect to consider in the landscape of the dining room.

The two English Regency era wine rinsers shown in the above photograph are part of a set of four that I purchased many years ago in London from a gentleman glass dealer named Tony, and from whom I have since purchased other items. The rinsers were mouth blown and their pontils smoothly ground so as not to mar the surface of a dining table or snag on the host's tablecloth.

I recall Tony telling me that the rinsers were a popular item with the floral designer of the now-defunct Takashimaya department store in New York city.  He would regularly ship them to the store where they would be pressed into service as vases for Takashimaya's beguiling flower arrangements.

I must admit that although we do enjoy giving formal dinner parties at home, and setting our table with antique silver and china, we don't actually use the wine rinsers for their intended purpose. Instead, I use the rinsers much as Takashimaya's florist did and fill them with small, low arrangements to set upon our table and around the dining room.

Flowers arranged, a-la-Takashimaya, using a Regency glass wine rinser as a vase, one of four that I made for a dinner party held earlier in the year

Photo: Chronica Domus

Recently, I came across another rinser to add to my collection.  I almost fainted when I spotted it sitting among the dross of a local thrift store for an unspeakably low price.  I don't think anyone would have recognized what it was that was about to be wrapped up and taken home with me.  I was chuffed to bits to say the least.  I believe the rinser is of English origin and is slightly younger in age than the Regency examples in my collection.  The polished pontil is again in evidence, as is the slightly grey tone of the glass. The simple slice cut design would lead me to believe that it dates to around 1830 and made during William IV's reign.  Here it is:

My new old glass wine rinser that I would guess dates from around 1830

Photo: Chronica Domus

Wine rinsers were not only made of clear glass but also of colored glass.  These were of course much more costly to produce and therefore rarer to find today.  President George Washington and his wife Martha utilized a set of cobalt blue wine rinsers in their green dining room to good effect at Mount Vernon.  Below is a photograph surreptitiously snapped during my visit a few years ago showing the rinsers in situ.  I have also seen rinsers in amethyst, green, and even a deep ruby color.

Mount Vernon's principal dining room set for dinner with cobalt glass wine rinsers

Photo: Chronica Domus

Perhaps if I amass a few more of these beautiful glass vessels, I could use them for dessert and scoop ice cream into them, or perhaps even a cold fruit soup.

Do you own and use any arcane dining oddities, and what would you do with these pretty glass wine rinsers?

The Apple Harvest Is In!

I have a confession to make.  As readers of this blog may know by now, I enjoy the challenge and reward of cultivating older varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers.  That is why, when it came time to select two apple trees to plant in the garden, I did a most shocking and unexpected thing.  I opted to plant two Frankentrees.

You might find yourself asking "what in heavens is a Frankentree?"  Imagine, if you will, a tree that was created by Dr. Frankenstein.  It would be multi-limbed to be sure, and I'd wager that each of those limbs would also be harvested from a variety of sources, just the way the doctor built his own monster.  You see, dear reader, my duo of trees are a veritable orchard, each producing five distinct varieties of apple ranging in size from a small plum to a large orange, and colors spanning pale green to flaming amber.

 A bushel basket filled with a variety of apples harvested from a single tree last weekend

Photo: Chronica Domus

These Frankentrees were cultivated using a very old method of horticultural trickery known as grafting. Grafting is unlike modern genetically modified Frankencrops, which have of course been fiddled with to the point of introducing genes found in other species. Grafting is merely taking one branch of an apple tree, and fusing it to the rootstock of a different apple variety. The resulting fruit is all apple and not some Gravenstein/porcine hybrid. Despite the tendency for some to spread applesauce on their pork, I'd prefer not to have pork in my apple, thank you very much.

From memory, none of the varieties of apple produced by my trees are new.  I write "from memory" as I've been a rather lax and naughty horticultural chronicler.  I have inadvertently allowed the initial nursery labels, attached to each bough, to fade in the strong sunlight, obliterating the five apples' identity.  As a result, I am left clueless as to the types of apples I am growing and eating, which is the sort of trifling detail that keeps me awake at night. Of course, any assistance my dear readers could provide in their identification, and my enlightenment, would be most welcomed.

Earlier this year I wrote a post, here, highlighting the array of white blooms found within my spring garden. At the time, I included the following two photographs, showing what I hoped would become the future apple harvest.

White apple blossom unfurling on one of the two Frankentrees in my garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

A grouping of little white apple blossoms - notice how this blossom differs to the more blowsy ones in the preceding photograph

Photo: Chronica Domus

Six months later, with the succession of the seasons, and through the magic of photography, here are those blossoms.  They have transformed beautifully into this year's apple harvest. I photographed these juicy orbs a few weeks ago, when the fruits were weighing down their branches, and were almost ready for picking.

Tinted a rosy pink, this beautiful green variety is begging to be eaten

Photo: Chronica Domus

A small red-flecked variety good enough to have tempted Adam

Photo: Chronica Domus

It was with much pleasure this past Sunday, immersed in the long shadows of late summer's golden light, that my daughter and I sought out the old bushel baskets and excitedly gathered around the trees in hopes of harvesting as many of the apples as we could pick. Several of the fruits had fallen prey to the pecks of ravenous birds, while others had dropped to earth, ripening much earlier than the varieties we were able to yield on Sunday. 

The harvest is in!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Our efforts filled the trio of bushel baskets you see above. We were supremely gratified and humbled that Mother Nature had performed her duties admirably, especially during this most difficult year of drought.  We had gathered more than enough apples to keep us happy. Not only that, but we were certain the varied wildlife that treks through the garden nightly also feasted well.  Scattered about us were many half-eaten apples, which we imagined provided bountiful nocturnal feasting opportunities for the multitude of raccoon, skunks, and opossums. We derive much pleasure in the fact that a small portion of our fruit-growing efforts benefit our fellow creatures. It all feels rather balanced in a world that is often topsy-turvy when it comes to such matters.

Rose tinted apples in the dappled sunlight

Photo: Chronica Domus

Photo: Chronica Domus

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Our bushel baskets ready to be taken into the house

Photo: Chronica Domus

Of course, what student wouldn't want to offer a fresh apple to a favored teacher, so come Monday morning, not only will I be packing my daughter off to school with an apple in her lunch box, but I will also include a few to share.

Four of the five varieties from our trees, yet to be identified by my loyal readers

Photo: Chronica Domus

Do you enjoy apples at this bountiful time of year, and what would you do with a spare bushel?

Beyond The Plain White Door

Our desire to restore period-appropriate detail to our house is something we've pursued since taking ownership many years ago.  Not all of the projects we undertake are on a grand scale, but with every little detail we add (an old door knob, for example), we aim to turn back the clock, or at least give the impression that we have. Of course, balancing life in the modern world with old-world design can sometimes be tricky. We have learned not to be slavishly OCD about such matters, but merely to make selections which are as period sympathetic as we are able. We typically take our time when undertaking such things, primarily to insure they are done correctly, and that we have sufficient funds to cover the cost of the project at hand. Ridding our home of the incongruous and ill-fitting 1950's garage door has been on our renovation list for many years.  So, this past summer, with much excitement and hand-clapping, we finally set forth on realizing our long anticipated vision.

This door, which sits to the left of our garage, was the inspiration for the new garage door's design

Photo: Chronica Domus

From the very beginning, we settled on the theory that the original carriage doors would have been of similar design to that of the door photographed above. It is located adjacent to the garage and is original to the house. We believe this entrance was used by tradesmen and domestics, as it has its own separate doorbell, and is located at the back of the house. It is also the closest door leading to the kitchen. We took inspiration from this door when approaching our project, making modest but necessary adjustments to the scale of the fenestration.

It was important to us that as we were going to all the effort and expense of having the garage door custom made, it should look as authentic as possible and reminiscent of the original. As I wrote in my previous post here, we soon discovered that true carriage doors, which swing outward, would not work in our situation as our very modern motor car would fail to clear the opening.  With this in mind, we devised an alternative design that would, by all appearances, resemble the way in which we imagined the original doors to have looked. In essence, we would be building one solid "mock" carriage door, opening upward, thereby maintaining the adequate space required to park our vehicle. Sectional roll-up mock carriage doors were never considered as we did not feel the look of the tell-tale horizontal sections succeeded in allowing for the trick of the eye which was our aim. Additionally, it would be impossible to preserve the scale of the glazing pattern.  Our approach was one which our door maker Ron had never before undertaken, so this would be an interesting project for all involved.

If our project was to be a success, it was imperative that the design of the door appear as authentic as possible. Of particular concern was the glazing. Isn't all clear glass the same, one might ask? Well, the answer, of course, is certainly not.  One of the joys of the tradesmen's entrance door is peeking through the subtle distorted views produced by the old glass window panes.  This original glass possesses slight striations, pitting, and the occasional air bubble. The distortion is present because the glass utilized for glazing windows during the 19th and early 20th centuries was still being mouth-blown, producing this rather distinctive characteristic which is lacking in modern machine plate glass.

For a brief moment, we considered sourcing genuine old glass, often found at salvage yards.  The glazing would first have to be painstakingly removed from rickety old sash windows, always a nerve wracking and dicey proposition, before it is cut to size.  We have resorted to this laborious technique for earlier projects completed shortly after purchasing our house. The end result, however, carried a high price in terms of plenty of tears and vexation as, inevitably, much breakage would occur.  Often this would happen just as the final cut was being performed.  For later restoration projects, we turned to America's only vendor of authentic mouth-blown glass, S.A. Bendheim, who carry an excellent "light restoration" glass that is mouth-blown in a German factory employing the traditional blow-pipe method.  We were thrilled to discover an optional laminate feature available for projects such as ours, that require safety glass to be utilized for larger panes. We do, after all, live in a modern world where building codes cannot be bypassed for aesthetics, at least that is the case in our area of the world. The laminate, I am relieved to report, is imperceptible to the naked eye, and does not affect the final appearance of the glass. Our order was placed following, not prior, to the door's construction.  This is because final measurements for each window pane are double-checked to within an eighth of an inch, insuring the custom cut panes, once they arrive, would fit snugly between their muntins (or "sticks" as Ron likes to call them).

Once the issue of the glazing material was put to bed, we then turned our attentions to the hardware that would embellish our door. The carriage door handles would serve a decorative purpose only, having eliminated the need to open any doors outward.  We did, however, want to select a model to closely match those used on carriage doors of the era.  We took our cues from studying old catalogue illustrations, and from the design of the original black iron railing, located by our front door steps. We opted for a fine set of heavy-duty black forged iron handles, and bypassed the machine stamped pretenders which are so much easier to source.

The door handles on this carriage door date from the early 1920's and were made by the National Manufacturing Company

Photo: archive.org

A letter box or, as it is known in America, a mail slot, made of rich oiled bronze, was chosen in a size commensurate with early 20th century examples. As with practically everything else available for sale these days, the average size of a humble letter box has swelled during the decades since our house was built.  There are now two standard slot sizes from which to select.  A larger "magazine size" is best suited to the modern proportions of McMansionesque houses and, more appropriately for our modestly-sized garage, a smaller "letter size" slot.

Only after having sourced all of the bits and bobs that would help us achieve a period-appropriate look, were we ready to give Ron the green light to proceed with the construction of the door.  By doing our legwork upfront, we had eliminated any possible obstacle to insuring the completed door would look just as we wished. As the old cliché would have it, the devil is in the details.

Our garage door was built in the workroom of Artistic Garage Doors by a team of capable carpenters

Photo: Chronica Domus

Ron and his carpenters worked diligently to construct our door from high quality kiln dried wood using traditional joinery methods. We were thrilled to see the door's progress upon visiting the workroom just prior to installation. The door had received a snowy white undercoat of primer in preparation for glazing.

The first view of our mock carriage doors complete with an undercoat of white primer

Photo: Chronica Domus

Within a few days of the glass order arriving, and after examining each piece for breakage (there was none, we are pleased and relieved to report), the pieces were set between the muntins, and an appointment for delivery was made post haste.

I believe my husband may have been surprised at how much I squealed with delight upon seeing this:

Ron at work insuring the new door is installed correctly

Photo: Chronica Domus

It took Ron, with the aid of one of his carpenters, less than two hours to rid us of the ugly white 1950's garage door, and turn back the clock to the 1920's with our interpretation of what must surely resemble the original set of carriage doors. In the removal process, Ron had unearthed a little treasure. It was a rusty portion of the original top bolt mechanism that long ago held one of the two carriage doors in place. The piece had been buried beneath the supports of the 1950's installation for over half a century.

Long buried hardware which once secured the slide bolt of the original carriage doors

Photo: Chronica Domus

Below you see the completed new "mock" carriage door. We have painted it in the same plumy blue as the other exterior doors of our house, using a traditional paint brush. Yes, it may seem superfluous to mention this little detail, but it is surprising to learn how much painting is now accomplished with the aid of a spray gun, rendering the finish flat and characterless. No, we rather enjoy seeing brushstrokes on our wooden painted surfaces. The carriage door handles and letter box complete the smart tailored appearance of the door, and the light restoration glass gently distorts the gleaming reflection.

Don't you think the new door looks quite smart and a more appropriate choice for a 1920's era house?  Notice how the new door now seats flush in the opening, unlike the ill-installed 1950's door.

Photo: Chronica Domus

The magic of it all is that we are able to raise the door upwards mechanically.  Not only do we benefit from the modern convenience and practicalities of electricity, but we are also able to drive our much wider modern motor car comfortably through the opening.

The carriage door may appear old, but it has all the practicality of a modern-era door

Photo: Chronica Domus

The photograph below shows the spring mechanism that makes it all possible. We find the door to be as beautiful from the inside as from the outside, thanks to Ron's capable carpentry skills.  An added benefit of replacing our windowless slab of a door is that the garage is now flooded with abundant natural light, making it a far more airy and pleasant environment. During the late afternoon, long rippling shadows are cast across the garage, a pleasant effect of the mouth-blown glass.  It is all quite lovely!  The fenestration also affords us a welcomed view of the greenery outside, a benefit we had not previously considered when planning the design of the door.

An inside view of the mock carriage door showing the springs that make it all possible

Photo: Chronica Domus

One final consideration was the question of how we would corral our daily mail as it is pushed through the letter box by our postman. We opted for a whimsical touch and thus hung a Nantucket wicker bicycle basket under the chute. The back of the roomy basket sits flush against the door, and can accommodate over a week's worth of mail if needed. The basket can also be removed with little effort if we are to be away from home for extended periods of time. This is accomplished by unbuckling the leather and brass fasteners, and replacing the bicycle basket with a much larger wicker basket positioned on the floor beneath the chute.

We added a whimsical yet practical solution for the collection of our daily mail; a Nantucket wicker bicycle basket

Photo: Chronica Domus

A view of the new garage door with our motor car tucked safely within

Photo: Chronica Domus

I hope you've enjoyed following along in our progress, and ultimate arrival to our very modern interpretation of traditional carriage doors. Wouldn't you agree that it constitutes a vast improvement over the prior incongruous flat panel?

Ron and his entire team were an absolute delight to work with. Together we met every challenge and obstacle to realizing our dream of restoring a touch more period-appropriate detail and dignity to the exterior of our home.

Now, onto the next project.

 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.

"When one door closes ...

... another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the one which has opened for us".

The ill-fitting 1950's garage door that has been a constant source of vexation for me since moving into our home, seen here with a swatch of color and the mail slot removed

Photo: Chronica Domus

I respectfully disagree with Alexander Graham Bell, who famously uttered these words, at least when it comes to the subject of our garage door that is. I have known since the day we purchased our home, which was a very long time ago, that I would never regret the final closing of this particular door.

The original door to our garage, which was built in 1925, would have been of a very different design to that which is shown above, incongruously installed during the 1950's.

At the beginning of the 20th century architects began designing structures, similar to carriage houses, with the specific purpose of sheltering automobiles from the elements. The doors on these buildings were doubled, hung on hinges, and opened outward. They were known as carriage doors.  This was the type of door that originally dressed our garage, and a finishing touch which we longed to call upon in effort of restoring period-appropriate dignity to our home.

An example of early 20th century carriage doors similar to those which would have been original to our home

Photo: archive.org

Ah, you might think, an easy task once one has clarity of vision as to what is desired. As it turned out, it was a more complicated project than we had anticipated and many obstacles were to present along the way.  Firstly, where does one go to find such a set of doors?  The answer was certainly not the standard building supply outlets offering modern roll-up sectional garage doors.  The few salvage yards in our area were trolled over the period of several months, but the examples we saw were beyond what we would consider salvageable.  Besides, what were the chances of finding an exact fit? We soon came to the realization that there was only one option available to us, and that was to have the doors custom made.  Which brings us to our second obstacle.  Who could we possibly turn to to get the job done right?  

Again, this was not an easy task.  We followed many leads but unlike finding painters and general contractors, which are a dime a dozen, finding a capable person to build a set of carriage doors in our area was like finding a grain of wheat among the chaff.

Serendipitous circumstance led us to our answer.  We had worked with a painter last summer that mentioned a recent job he had completed where the owners had designed a garage door to be made to their specifications.  I excitedly asked the painter for contact details of the door maker, in hopes of following up with him.  Soon thereafter, we had scheduled an appointment with Ron, the owner of  Artistic Garage Doors, so that he could visit our home and discuss our project.  

Ron soon let us know that he could build anything we might desire but true carriage doors would not work for our situation.  Our Volvo wagon demands more shoulder room than the Tin Lizzy which might well have rested within the garage when first built.  Our existing door opens upwards.  True carriage doors which swing outwards would cause us to forfeit several inches of space from each side of the opening due to hinge requirements. This would present us with the problem of not actually being able to park our car in the garage as it would no longer clear the opening, making it somewhat less useful.

It seemed our desire to install period-appropriate carriage doors was to be foiled, or was it?

In my next posting I will share our altered approach to overcoming obstacles and finally realizing our vision.

 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.