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00:00In 1772, a traveler could ride the length of the American colonies and never once eat in a restaurant.
00:07They did not exist. Not one.
00:11Instead, there were taverns, and in Williamsburg, there was one for every 100 people.
00:17You did not order. You ate whatever the fire held that day at a price fixed by law, elbow to
00:24elbow with strangers.
00:25Number 14 was so common that cooks plucked a bird, roasted it, then stitched it back together to fool the
00:32table.
00:33And number 2 was finished with a red-hot iron pulled from the coals.
00:37These 25 meals fed a nation into being, then vanished.
00:43Hit subscribe and let us count down.
00:47Number 25. Rye and Injun Bread
00:50Before a tavern could serve you meat, it served you bread, and in New England, that bread was almost never
00:58white.
00:59Wheat would barely grow in the rocky northern soil, so the tavern cook reached for what she had.
01:06Cornmeal, rye flour, a little wheat if she was lucky, molasses, and water.
01:13There was no oven in most ordinaries, only a hearth.
01:17So she packed the dark, wet dough into a covered tin or a crock, set it in a pot of
01:23simmering water,
01:24and let it steam for hours until it turned into a dense, sweet, almost black loaf.
01:32They called it rye and injun, or thirds bread, or simply brown bread.
01:38It sliced heavy and moist, and stood up to anything you put beside it.
01:44A traveler coming in off a frozen road would tear into a slab of it, slathered with what little butter
01:51there was,
01:52and it would sit in his stomach like ballast.
01:55This was the bread that soaked up the bean pot every Saturday night for 200 years.
02:05Number 24. Peas Porridge
02:08There is a nursery rhyme that most Americans can still half remember.
02:13Peas Porridge Hot, Peas Porridge Cold, Peas Porridge in the Pot, Nine Days Old.
02:20That was not a children's song.
02:22That was a tavern menu.
02:24Dried split peas were the cheapest, most reliable food in the colonial north,
02:29and a good ordinary kept a pot of them going almost constantly,
02:34simmered down with a scrap of salt pork, an onion, and whatever the cook had.
02:38It thickened into a green-gray sludge that looked like nothing at all and tasted like survival,
02:45earthy and salty and warm, and the rhyme was literal.
02:49The pot was rarely emptied and rarely washed.
02:52Fresh peas and water went in on top of yesterday's,
02:56and the whole thing deepened in flavor as the week wore on.
03:01A weary traveler in January did not ask questions.
03:04He ate the porridge, drank his cider, and was grateful the pot was hot and not nine days cold.
03:13Number 23.
03:14Switchel
03:15Long before anyone bottled a sports drink,
03:19tavern keepers and farmhands were mixing switchel,
03:22and it did the same job two centuries earlier.
03:25The recipe was almost nothing.
03:27Cold water, a good pour of molasses or brown sugar,
03:31a splash of cider vinegar,
03:33and a knob of grated fresh ginger.
03:36That was it.
03:37Farmers called it haymaker's punch because you drank it in the fields under a punishing sun,
03:43and the vinegar and sugar and ginger together did something to a body that plain water could not.
03:50It cut the thirst, settled the stomach,
03:53and put a little fire back in a man who had been swinging a scythe since dawn.
04:00Taverns kept it on hand in the warm months,
04:02sometimes spiked with rum,
04:04sometimes served plain.
04:06We spend four dollars on electrolyte water now.
04:09They spent a penny on vinegar and molasses,
04:12and knew exactly what they were doing.
04:16Number 22.
04:17Johnny Cakes
04:18Take cornmeal, add hot water and a pinch of salt,
04:22and drop the batter onto a screaming hot griddle greased with pork fat.
04:27That is a Johnny Cake,
04:29and it may be the most American food ever cooked.
04:32The indigenous peoples of New England
04:35had been making cornmeal cakes on hot stones for centuries
04:39before a single colonist arrived,
04:41and the settlers,
04:43staring at soil that would not grow their beloved wheat,
04:46adopted the recipe the moment they tasted it.
04:50In a tavern,
04:51Johnny Cakes came off the fire fast and hot,
04:55denser than a pancake,
04:57chewy in the middle,
04:59lacy and crisp at the edges where the fat caught them.
05:03A traveler ate them stacked with butter and molasses,
05:07or torn apart to sop up gravy.
05:10The name is likely a worn-down version of Journey Cake,
05:14because they were the perfect thing to carry in a saddlebag.
05:18And when there was nothing else in the tavern larder,
05:21there was always cornmeal,
05:23and there was always the griddle.
05:26Number 21.
05:27Potted Meat
05:28This was how a tavern made a single ham last for weeks,
05:32and how it turned the toughest,
05:34cheapest scraps
05:36into something a gentleman would spread on his bread.
05:39The cook took a chunk of meat,
05:41beef,
05:42ham,
05:43tongue,
05:43sometimes rabbit,
05:45or a brace of small birds,
05:47and boiled or baked it until it fell apart.
05:50Then she pounded it in a mortar,
05:53sometimes for an hour,
05:55until it became a smooth paste.
05:57She worked in butter,
05:59salt,
06:00mace,
06:01nutmeg,
06:01and pepper,
06:02pressed the whole thing into a small crock,
06:05and sealed the top with a thick layer of melted clarified butter.
06:10That fat seal locked the air out completely,
06:14and the potted meat kept for weeks without ice,
06:18on a shelf in the summer heat.
06:20When a hungry traveler came in between meals,
06:24the cook cut the seal,
06:25spread the rich spiced paste on fresh bread,
06:29and had a meal in front of him in one minute.
06:32This was the colonial deli counter,
06:35and it ran on nothing but butter and patience.
06:39Number 20.
06:41Salmagundi.
06:42Here is where a fine city tavern showed off.
06:46Salmagundi was the colonial composed salad,
06:49and it was less a recipe than a work of architecture.
06:52On a wide platter,
06:54the cook arranged concentric rings of chopped ingredients,
06:58each in its own band of color,
07:01shredded cold chicken or turkey,
07:04minced hard-boiled eggs,
07:06chopped anchovies,
07:07chauvies,
07:08pickled onions,
07:10capers,
07:11slivered apples,
07:12watercress,
07:13and whatever bright bits the garden offered.
07:16In the center went a small mound,
07:19sometimes a whole pickled herring standing on its tail,
07:23and the whole thing was dressed with oil, vinegar, and mustard.
07:28It looked like a stained glass window laid flat on the table.
07:32And it was genius,
07:34because it used up a dozen small leftovers
07:37that would otherwise have gone to waste
07:40and turned them into the most impressive dish in the room.
07:43A traveler shown a good Salmagundi
07:46knew he had walked into a tavern that cared.
07:50Number 19.
07:52Succotash.
07:53The word comes from the Narragansett language,
07:56and the dish is older than the country by centuries.
08:00At its simplest,
08:02succotash was corn and beans
08:04cooked together in one pot,
08:06and the two plants completed each other so perfectly
08:09that the indigenous farmers who invented it
08:13had understood something about nutrition
08:15that Europe would not figure out for generations.
08:19In a colonial tavern,
08:21succotash got a little richer.
08:23The cooks simmered dried corn and shell beans
08:27low and slow with a hunk of salt pork,
08:30so the whole pot turned smoky,
08:32and the fat gave the vegetables a depth
08:35they had no right to.
08:36It filled a stomach and cost almost nothing,
08:39because the corn and beans came dried by the sackful
08:43and kept all winter.
08:44It was the meal that sat on the table
08:47when the meat ran short,
08:49which on the frontier was most of the time.
08:52First pattern break.
08:54Here is where you need to understand
08:57what a tavern actually was,
08:59because it was not a restaurant,
09:01and it was not a bar.
09:03It was the whole town crammed into one room.
09:07The tavern was the post office,
09:10where the newspaper was read aloud
09:13to men who could not read.
09:15It was the courthouse,
09:17where a traveling judge held trials between tankards.
09:20It was the stock exchange,
09:23the auction house,
09:24and the stagecoach depot.
09:27It was where you voted,
09:28where you enlisted,
09:30where you heard that war had broken out.
09:33Philadelphia had more than 120 taverns in 1776.
09:38You did not choose a dish.
09:40You sat at a long communal table at a set hour,
09:43the food came out on pewter,
09:45the price was fixed by colonial law,
09:48so no keeper could gouge a stranger,
09:50and you ate what everyone else ate.
09:52You came for the news,
09:54the fire,
09:55and the company.
09:58Number 18.
09:59Beef collops.
10:00When a tavern had beef and no time,
10:03the cook made collops.
10:04She cut the meat into thin slices,
10:07pounded them thinner still with the flat of a cleaver,
10:10and threw them into a screaming hot pan,
10:12slicked with butter or dripping.
10:15Two minutes aside,
10:16no more,
10:17and they were done,
10:18seared brown at the edges,
10:19and still tender within.
10:21Then,
10:22she deglazed the pan with a splash of claret or cider,
10:26scraped up every caramelized scrap,
10:29threw in an anchovy,
10:31or a spoon of pickled walnut liquor for a savory punch,
10:35and poured that dark gravy back over the meat.
10:39The whole dish came together faster than the traveler could pull off his wet boots.
10:44This was fast food in 1750.
10:49Honest fast food,
10:51made from a cut too small to roast,
10:54and a cook too rushed to stew.
10:57Modern cooks call it minute steak now,
11:01and pretend it is a compromise.
11:03The colonial cook knew it was one of the best things she made.
11:09Number 17.
11:11A ragu of cucumbers.
11:14The spelling looks strange,
11:16but say it aloud,
11:16and you will hear the French word ragu hiding underneath,
11:20and that is exactly what it was.
11:23Colonial cooks were mad for anything that smacked of French sophistication,
11:27and a ragu,
11:28a rich made dish of vegetables,
11:31or meat cooked down in a thick,
11:33buttery, spiced sauce,
11:35was the height of it.
11:36The cucumber version sounds bizarre to modern ears,
11:40and tasted wonderful.
11:41The cook peeled and sliced cucumbers,
11:45floured and browned them in butter,
11:47then stewed them down with onion,
11:49a little gravy,
11:50pepper,
11:51and nutmeg,
11:52until they went soft and silky
11:54and lost every trace of their raw crunch.
11:57It rescued a glut of late summer vegetables,
12:01and dressed them up as something worthy of a gentleman's table.
12:05Served alongside a roast,
12:07a ragu told the room
12:09that somewhere back in that smoky kitchen,
12:11a cook was reaching for elegance.
12:15Number 16,
12:17spruce beer and small beer.
12:19No colonial meal was complete without a drink,
12:22and that drink was almost never water,
12:24which brings us to the beer that ran through every tavern like a river.
12:29Small beer was a weak,
12:31lightly fermented brew,
12:32low enough in alcohol that men,
12:35women,
12:35and even children,
12:36drank it all day long.
12:38Spruce beer took it further,
12:41flavored with the young green tips of spruce trees,
12:43boiled with molasses and fermented,
12:46which gave it a piney bite,
12:48and though nobody understood the chemistry,
12:51a dose of vitamin C
12:52that quietly kept scurvy at bay
12:55through long winters.
12:57A keeper brewed his own
12:58in great barrels in the cellar
13:01and drew it by the mug all day.
13:03When a traveler asked for a drink
13:05and did not specify,
13:07this is what landed in front of him.
13:10A foaming mug of homemade beer,
13:13faintly sweet,
13:14faintly bitter,
13:15and completely woven
13:17into the rhythm of the day.
13:20Second pattern break.
13:23So why did everyone drink like that?
13:25Because the water might kill you.
13:28Colonists carried an old
13:29and well-earned European fear
13:31of drinking water.
13:32And then they promptly polluted
13:34every stream
13:36near every settlement,
13:38which made the fear
13:39even more sensible.
13:40But fermented and distilled drinks
13:43did not make you sick.
13:45The alcohol and the boiling
13:47killed what the water carried.
13:49So cider, beer, and rum
13:51became the safe choice,
13:53and they were everywhere.
13:55Most colonists started the day
13:57with a tankard of hard cider
13:58before they had eaten a bite,
14:00and rum was so central,
14:02it was practically currency.
14:05This was not a society
14:06of drunkards, exactly.
14:08It was a society
14:09that had quietly decided
14:11fermented calories
14:12were the sensible way
14:14to hydrate,
14:15and the tavern
14:16was the great engine
14:17that kept every mug
14:19filled from dawn
14:21until the fire burned down.
14:23Number 15.
14:25Cheshire Pork Pie
14:26A pie in colonial America
14:28was not dessert.
14:30A pie was a way
14:31to package a meal,
14:32and the Cheshire Pork Pie
14:34was one of the finest
14:35ever to come out
14:36of a tavern oven.
14:37The cook layered slices
14:39of pork tenderloin
14:40with slices of tart apple,
14:43seasoned the whole thing
14:44with nutmeg,
14:45pepper, and sugar,
14:47poured in a little white wine,
14:49and sealed it all
14:50under a sturdy crust
14:52that could survive
14:53a stagecoach journey.
14:55As it baked,
14:57the pork and the apple
14:59and the wine
14:59melted together
15:00into something
15:01between savory and sweet,
15:03the fruit almost dissolving
15:06into a sauce
15:07that soaked into the meat.
15:09When the crust was broken,
15:11the smell of spiced pork
15:13and cider apples
15:14filled the room.
15:15For a traveler,
15:17a wedge of pork pie
15:18was a complete meal
15:19in one hand,
15:20no plate required.
15:22The English brought the idea,
15:24but the colonial orchards,
15:26heavy with apples,
15:27made it America's own.
15:30Number 14.
15:31Pigeon Pie
15:32Here is the dish
15:34that sounds impossible today.
15:36In colonial America,
15:37the passenger pigeon
15:38was so numerous
15:39that flocks darkened
15:41the sky for hours,
15:42and men knocked them
15:43down with sticks.
15:45They were the cheapest
15:46meat in the country,
15:47and so the tavern pigeon pie
15:49was food for the common man,
15:51not the gentleman.
15:52The cook cleaned
15:53the little birds,
15:55browned them,
15:55and packed them whole
15:56or halved into a deep dish
15:58with hard-boiled eggs,
16:00forcemeat balls,
16:01butter,
16:02and a splash of stock,
16:04then sealed the whole thing
16:06under pastry
16:07and baked it
16:08until the crust
16:09rose golden
16:10and the birds
16:11went fork tender.
16:13And here is the trick
16:14that made a plain pigeon pie
16:17look grand.
16:18Sometimes the cook
16:19left the bird's feet
16:20poking up through the crust,
16:22so a diner knew
16:23exactly what he was getting.
16:25It tasted rich
16:26and dark,
16:27closer to fine game
16:29than to chicken.
16:30We could never make
16:31this pie now.
16:32We hunted the passenger pigeon
16:34to extinction,
16:35the last one dying
16:36in 1914.
16:38A meal that once fed
16:40the poor
16:40is now literally impossible.
16:43Number 13.
16:45Oyster stew.
16:46It is almost impossible
16:48to explain
16:49how many oysters there were.
16:51The bays and rivers
16:52of the colonies
16:53were so thick with them
16:54that they were
16:55poor people's food,
16:56sold by the barrel,
16:58shucked by the bucketful,
16:59and eaten by anyone
17:01who lived near the water.
17:03A tavern near the coast
17:05or a tidal river
17:06kept oysters constantly
17:08and the simplest,
17:10most beloved way
17:11to serve them
17:12was stewed.
17:13The cook heated milk
17:15or cream
17:16with a lump of butter,
17:17dropped in the shucked oysters
17:19with their briny liquor,
17:21and pulled the pot
17:22off the fire
17:23the instant
17:24their edges curled,
17:26no longer,
17:27or they would toughen.
17:28A crack of pepper,
17:30maybe a crushed cracker
17:32to thicken it,
17:33and that was supper.
17:35A bowl of warm cream
17:37studded with plump,
17:39silky oysters
17:40that tasted of the sea.
17:43The idea that oysters
17:44are a luxury
17:45would have made
17:47a colonial tavern keeper
17:48laugh out loud.
17:51number twelve,
17:53scrapple.
17:54In the Pennsylvania
17:55Dutch country,
17:57when a hog was slaughtered,
17:59nothing was wasted,
18:00and the proof
18:01was scrapple.
18:02The cook took
18:03all the scraps left
18:04after the good cuts
18:05were gone,
18:06the trimmings,
18:07the odd bits,
18:08the meat clinging
18:09to the head and bones,
18:11and simmered them
18:12for hours
18:12until everything
18:13fell apart
18:14and gave up
18:15its flavor
18:16to the pot.
18:16Then she stirred
18:18in cornmeal
18:19and buckwheat flour
18:20until the mixture
18:21thickened like porridge,
18:23seasoned it hard
18:24with sage,
18:25thyme,
18:26and black pepper,
18:27and poured it
18:28into loaf pans
18:29to set overnight
18:31into a firm,
18:32gray brick.
18:34The next morning,
18:35she sliced that brick
18:37a half inch thick
18:38and fried it
18:39until each side
18:40turned deep,
18:41mahogany brown
18:42and crackling crisp,
18:44the inside still soft.
18:46Served with fried eggs
18:48and a drizzle
18:49of molasses
18:49or apple butter,
18:51it was thrift
18:52turned into breakfast,
18:53and in the tavern country
18:55of eastern Pennsylvania,
18:56it was as common
18:58as bread.
18:59Number 11.
19:01Fricasseed Chicken.
19:02Chicken was one meat
19:04almost every tavern
19:05could get
19:05because a hen
19:07went from the yard
19:08to the pot
19:09in an afternoon,
19:10and the favorite way
19:11to serve it
19:12was fricasseed.
19:14The cook jointed the bird,
19:16browned the pieces
19:17in butter,
19:18then stewed them
19:19gently in a sauce
19:20built from the pan drippings,
19:23a little flour,
19:24cream,
19:25or wine,
19:26and a shower of herbs
19:28and nutmeg
19:29until the meat
19:29was falling off the bone
19:31and swimming in a rich,
19:33pale gravy.
19:35Done well,
19:36it was one of the most
19:37comforting things
19:38a traveler could be handed
19:40after a long, cold day.
19:42Done badly,
19:43it was memorable
19:44for the wrong reasons.
19:46Sarah Kemble Knight,
19:48riding alone
19:49from Boston to New York
19:51in 1704,
19:53ordered a fricassee
19:55at an ordinary in Rye
19:56and found it so badly bungled
19:59that she wrote in her diary
20:00she went to bed hungry
20:02rather than eat it.
20:04A good fricassee told you
20:05the cook knew her business.
20:08Third pattern break.
20:10Now stop and think
20:11about who was actually
20:12making all of this food
20:14because the history books
20:15usually skip right past them.
20:18The men whose names
20:19hung on the tavern signs,
20:21the jolly hosts
20:22who greeted travelers
20:23at the door,
20:24were rarely the ones cooking.
20:26In the kitchen,
20:28sweating over an open hearth
20:29for 18 hours a day,
20:31were women
20:31and enslaved people.
20:34Colonial law
20:35often granted
20:36tavern licenses
20:37specifically to widows
20:39because a woman
20:40left without a husband
20:41had almost
20:42no other way to survive.
20:44And in tavern after tavern,
20:46especially in the South,
20:48the cooking,
20:49the hauling,
20:49and the serving
20:50were done by
20:51enslaved men and women
20:52whose names appear
20:54in the records
20:54only as property,
20:56listed in an estate inventory
20:58right between the barrels
21:00of rum
21:01and the mahogany tables.
21:03The elegant dishes
21:04on this list
21:06were the work of hands
21:07that were never allowed
21:09to sit at the table
21:10and eat them.
21:12Remember that.
21:13Number 10.
21:14Turtle soup.
21:16Not every tavern
21:17was a rough roadside ordinary.
21:19In the great port cities,
21:21the finest establishments
21:23served the rich,
21:24the powerful,
21:25and the political,
21:26and the dish
21:28that announced
21:28you had arrived
21:30somewhere expensive
21:31was turtle soup.
21:33A live sea turtle
21:35was a costly,
21:36dramatic thing
21:37to buy and butcher,
21:38and the soup
21:39made from it
21:40was a production.
21:41The meat simmered
21:43for hours
21:43into a deep,
21:45rich broth,
21:46thickened,
21:47spiced,
21:48and finished
21:49with a generous pour
21:51of Madeira
21:52or sherry.
21:54Philadelphia's
21:55city tavern,
21:56which John Adams
21:57called the most
21:58genteel tavern
21:59in America,
22:00served a famous version.
22:02And it is entirely possible
22:05George Washington himself
22:07spooned it up there
22:09during the Continental Congress.
22:11It signaled wealth
22:13and power
22:13to everyone else
22:14in the candlelit room.
22:15A frontiersman
22:17would never have seen it.
22:18A delegate to Congress
22:20ate it
22:20while arguing
22:21about the fate
22:22of a nation.
22:24Number 9
22:25Beef a la mode
22:27This was the Sunday showpiece.
22:30The dish
22:31a tavern brought out
22:32when it wanted
22:32to feed a crowd
22:33something grand
22:35from a cut
22:35that was anything but.
22:37The cook took
22:38a large,
22:39tough,
22:39cheap piece of beef,
22:41larded it
22:41by threading strips
22:42of fat
22:43right through the meat
22:44with a special needle
22:45then browned it hard
22:47and set it to braise
22:49low and slow
22:50over a gentle fire
22:51for three or four hours
22:53with onions,
22:54herbs,
22:55wine,
22:56and spices.
22:57Time did the work.
22:59That long,
23:00patient simmer
23:01broke down
23:02the toughest muscle
23:03into something
23:04you could cut
23:05with a spoon
23:05sitting in a dark,
23:07glossy gravy
23:08thick with the flavor
23:10of the drippings
23:11finished with mushrooms
23:12and a sharp bite
23:13of horseradish.
23:15A whole table
23:16full of hungry travelers
23:17could be fed
23:19from one economical joint
23:21and every one of them
23:22would swear
23:23they had eaten
23:24like a lord.
23:25This is the ancestor
23:27of every pot roast
23:29in America.
23:31Number 8
23:32Election Cake
23:34In New England,
23:36Election Day
23:37was not a quiet trip
23:38to a booth.
23:39It was a huge,
23:40crowded,
23:42all-day festival
23:42and men traveled
23:44for hours
23:44to the town center
23:46to vote,
23:47argue,
23:47drink,
23:48and be fed.
23:49The tavern
23:50was the center of it
23:52and the food
23:52that fueled it
23:53was election cake,
23:55a massive,
23:56dense,
23:56boozy cake
23:57built to survive
23:58a muddy carriage ride
24:00and hours
24:01of political shouting.
24:03The cook packed it
24:04with dried fruit,
24:05warming spices
24:06and a heavy hand
24:08of brandy or whiskey
24:09closer to a fruitcake
24:11than anything delicate.
24:13Amelia Simmons
24:14printed a recipe
24:15in 1796
24:16that called
24:17for enough butter,
24:19sugar,
24:20raisins,
24:20and wine
24:21to feed an entire town,
24:23baked to sustain
24:25the men
24:25making the journey
24:26to the polls.
24:27There is something
24:28deeply,
24:29permanently American
24:30about the fact
24:31that one of the country's
24:33earliest voting traditions
24:34was built around
24:36a cake
24:37with liquor
24:38baked
24:38right into it.
24:41Number seven,
24:42spoon bread.
24:44In the southern colonies,
24:45the cornmeal
24:46that fed the north
24:47as coarse porridge
24:48got refined
24:49into something soft,
24:50rich,
24:51and almost elegant,
24:52and they called it
24:53spoon bread.
24:54The cooks
24:55scalded cornmeal
24:57with milk,
24:57beat in eggs
24:59and butter
24:59and baked the batter
25:01until it rose
25:02and set into something
25:03that was not quite a bread
25:05and not quite a pudding
25:06but a soft,
25:08steaming,
25:09savory cloud
25:10you served,
25:11as the name says,
25:12with a spoon.
25:14It could not be sliced.
25:16It had to be scooped,
25:18trembling and hot,
25:19straight from the dish,
25:20and it went beside
25:22roasted meats
25:23and seafood
25:23as the finest side
25:25a tavern could offer.
25:27George Washington
25:29was said to favor
25:30the seafood
25:30and spoon bread suppers
25:32at Christiana Campbell's
25:34Tavern in Williamsburg.
25:35It was proof
25:36of how far
25:37the humble corn kernel
25:39could be pushed,
25:40from survival mush
25:41at the bottom
25:42of the menu
25:43all the way
25:44to a dish fit
25:45for the man
25:46who would become
25:47the first president.
25:49Number six,
25:51New England
25:51boiled dinner.
25:52The Puritans
25:54who settled New England
25:55came from a corner
25:56of England
25:56where boiling
25:57was simply
25:58how you cooked
25:59and they brought
26:00that habit
26:00across the ocean intact.
26:02The boiled dinner
26:04was its purest expression
26:05and it was the definition
26:07of one-pot practicality.
26:10Into a great kettle
26:11over the fire
26:12went a piece
26:13of corned
26:14or salted beef
26:14and around it,
26:16added in the right order
26:17so nothing turned to mush,
26:19went cabbage,
26:20potatoes,
26:21turnips,
26:22carrots,
26:22onions,
26:23and beets.
26:24Everything cooked together
26:25in the same salty,
26:27meaty broth
26:28until the beef
26:29was tender
26:30and the vegetables
26:31were soft
26:32and stained pink
26:33from the beets.
26:35The cook lifted it all
26:37onto one great platter,
26:39sliced the meat
26:40and set it
26:40in the middle
26:41of the table
26:42to share.
26:43It required
26:44almost no skill
26:45and almost no watching,
26:47which is exactly
26:48why a busy tavern
26:50loved it.
26:50One fire,
26:52one pot,
26:52and a whole room
26:53full of cold,
26:54tired travelers
26:55fed a proper hot supper.
26:58The broth left behind
26:59became tomorrow's soup.
27:02Number five,
27:03syllabub.
27:04After the meat
27:05and the pies came,
27:06the moment a tavern
27:07turned charming
27:08and nothing charmed
27:10like a syllabub.
27:11It was somewhere
27:12between a dessert
27:13and a drink
27:13and it looked like magic
27:15in the glass.
27:16The cook whipped
27:17fresh cream with sugar,
27:18lemon and a good pour
27:20of wine, cider or sherry
27:22until it foamed,
27:24then spooned it
27:25into tall glasses
27:26and let it stand.
27:27As it sat,
27:29it separated on its own
27:30into two layers,
27:31a thick, sweet,
27:33alcoholic cloud
27:34of foam floating on top
27:36and a clear,
27:37boozy liquid
27:38pooled below.
27:39You ate the foam
27:40with a spoon,
27:41then drank the wine
27:42underneath.
27:43The most theatrical cooks
27:45milked the cow
27:46directly into the wine
27:48to make the froth.
27:49Samuel Francis,
27:51who ran the famous
27:52Francis Tavern
27:53in New York
27:54where Washington
27:55bade farewell
27:56to his officers,
27:57advertised syllabubs
27:59among his specialties
28:00as early as 1766.
28:03It was frivolous,
28:05it was delightful
28:06and it was exactly
28:08the note a tavern
28:09wanted to end
28:10an evening on.
28:12Fourth pattern break.
28:14So what killed
28:15all of this?
28:16Why did the tavern meal
28:18vanish so completely
28:19that we forgot
28:20it existed?
28:21The answer is
28:22a revolution,
28:23but not the American one.
28:25When the French Revolution
28:27tore apart
28:28the great aristocratic
28:30households of France,
28:32the skilled chefs
28:33who had cooked
28:35for those noble families
28:36suddenly had no employers
28:39and many of them fled,
28:41some of them
28:42all the way to America.
28:44They brought with them
28:45something the colonies
28:47had never had,
28:48the idea of a place
28:50you went purely to eat,
28:51where you chose your dish
28:53from a menu
28:54at your own small table
28:55at your own hour,
28:57cooked to order
28:58by a professional.
28:59That idea was the restaurant
29:01and it was completely different
29:03from the tavern's
29:04shared table
29:05and fixed communal meal.
29:07In 1794,
29:10New York opened
29:11the city hotel
29:12with cloth napkins
29:14and a gong
29:14to call guests
29:16to dinner.
29:17The all-in-one tavern,
29:19with its one pot
29:21and its one price
29:22and its shared bed
29:24upstairs,
29:25began to die
29:26the moment Americans
29:27could afford
29:28something finer.
29:30Number four,
29:33Boston baked beans.
29:34Of everything on this list,
29:36this is the dish
29:37that refused to die
29:39and it was born
29:40from religion
29:41as much as from hunger.
29:44The Puritan Sabbath
29:45forbade all work
29:47from Saturday sundown
29:48to Sunday sundown,
29:50including cooking.
29:52So the New England tavern cook
29:54solved the problem
29:55with beans.
29:56On Saturday,
29:57she filled a heavy pot
29:58with navy beans,
29:59a chunk of salt pork,
30:01a great spoonful of molasses
30:03and a little mustard
30:04and she buried it
30:05in the coals
30:06of the banked hearth
30:07to cook,
30:08slowly,
30:09untended,
30:10all night long
30:11and through the next day.
30:12By the time it was ready,
30:14the beans had drunk up
30:15the molasses
30:16and the pork fat
30:17until they turned
30:18deep brown,
30:19sweet and smoky,
30:21thick enough
30:22to stand a spoon in,
30:24ready to eat
30:25through the entire Sabbath
30:26without anyone
30:27lifting a finger.
30:29Served with a slab
30:30of that steamed brown bread
30:32from number 25,
30:34it became the Saturday night supper
30:36of New England
30:37for 200 years
30:39and it is the reason
30:40Boston is still called Beantown.
30:44Number three,
30:45Indian pudding.
30:47When the English colonists
30:48wanted the sweet boiled puddings
30:50of home
30:51but had no wheat,
30:52they turned once again
30:54to corn
30:54and the result
30:56was Indian pudding,
30:57one of the great comfort foods
30:59of colonial America.
31:01The cook slowly stirred cornmeal
31:03into scalded milk
31:05until it thickened,
31:06then sweetened it
31:07with a heavy pour of molasses
31:09and warmed it
31:10with cinnamon,
31:11ginger,
31:12and nutmeg.
31:13Then,
31:14crucially,
31:15she baked it low
31:16and slow for hours,
31:18sometimes the better part
31:19of a day
31:20until it set into a dark,
31:22dense,
31:23spiced pudding
31:24and the whole tavern
31:25filled with the smell
31:27of molasses
31:27and warm spice.
31:30It came out somewhere
31:31between a custard
31:32and a cake,
31:33served hot
31:34with a pour of cream
31:36melting into the top.
31:38On a bitter New England night,
31:40a bowl of it
31:41was the closest thing
31:42to being wrapped
31:43in a blanket
31:43and it was the sweet ending
31:45that a plain tavern
31:46could actually afford to give.
31:50Number two,
31:52flip.
31:53This was the showstopper,
31:55the drink so central
31:57to tavern life
31:58that it deserves
31:59to be near the top
32:00of any list
32:01of what colonists
32:02actually consumed.
32:04To make a flip,
32:06the tavern keeper
32:06combined strong dark beer,
32:09a good measure of rum,
32:10and a sweetener
32:12of molasses or sugar
32:13in a heavy pewter tankard
32:15sometimes beating in an egg
32:17or a splash of cream
32:19to make it rich.
32:21Then came the part
32:22that made it a spectacle.
32:25He kept a long iron rod
32:27called a loggerhead
32:28sitting directly
32:29in the coals of the fire
32:31until it glowed red hot
32:33and when the drink was mixed
32:35he pulled it out
32:36and plunged it hissing
32:38into the tankard.
32:39The liquid roared
32:41and foamed up
32:42in an instant
32:43and the searing iron
32:45scorched the sugars
32:46into a deep,
32:48toasty,
32:49caramelized flavor
32:50no stovetop
32:51could match.
32:52He poured the frothing brew
32:54back and forth
32:55between two mugs
32:57until it was smooth
32:58and creamy,
33:00dusted it with nutmeg,
33:01and handed it over steaming.
33:04Flip was so beloved
33:05that one Massachusetts tavern
33:08charged more for a mug of it
33:10than for a night's sleep.
33:11Number one,
33:13hasty pudding.
33:14At the top of this list
33:16is the plainest thing imaginable,
33:18a food so humble
33:20and so universal
33:21that it became woven
33:23into the very song
33:24Americans sang about themselves.
33:27Hasty pudding
33:28was nothing but cornmeal
33:29stirred slowly
33:31into boiling water
33:32or milk
33:32until it thickened
33:34into a smooth,
33:35warm porridge,
33:37seasoned with a little salt,
33:38and if the tavern had it,
33:40sweetened with molasses
33:42or maple or butter.
33:44That was all.
33:45It was the first thing
33:46a traveler might eat
33:47at breakfast
33:48and the last thing
33:49served as a quiet supper
33:51before the fire burned down,
33:53mush and molasses
33:54in a wooden bowl.
33:56It cost almost nothing.
33:58It took minutes
33:59and it filled a stomach
34:01when nothing grander
34:02was to be had.
34:03And when a British officer
34:05wanted to mock
34:06the ragged colonial soldiers,
34:07he sang about a bumpkin
34:09named Yankee Doodle.
34:10The Americans took the tune
34:12and made it their own
34:13and one verse
34:14still names this very dish,
34:16father and son
34:17going down to camp,
34:19hasty pudding on the fire.
34:20This was the food
34:22of a people
34:22too busy building a country
34:24to fuss over supper.
34:26Plain, warm, corn-fed
34:29and stubbornly,
34:31permanently American.
34:33Here is your challenge.
34:34Make one of these
34:35this week, just one.
34:37The hasty pudding,
34:39the baked beans,
34:40the Johnny Cakes.
34:41Then sit down
34:43and eat it slow
34:44and imagine the fire,
34:46the wet boots by the door,
34:48the stranger across the table
34:50arguing about a king
34:513,000 miles away.
34:54Drop the one you are going to try
34:56in the comments.
34:57I want to know
34:59if the flip gets more love
35:01than the syllabub.
35:03And whether anyone's family
35:04still bakes brown bread
35:06on a Saturday.
35:08Because these were never just meals.
35:11They were the table
35:13a whole nation was born around.
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