Witch’s Brew

Why Witches Look the Way They Do

Fall is here, which means it’s time for all things creepy, kooky, mysterious, and spooky!

I have always loved this time of year. As a kid, it was the best because you got to dress up in costumes and eat way too much candy. As an adult, it remains the best because you get to dress up in costumes, eat way too much candy, AND drink fantastic beer!* 

It is a truly magical time. 

With that in mind, we are going to talk about the secret history of witches and beer. 

This post has to do with witch imagery in Anglo culture, starting in about the 15th century, the modern representations of witches in that culture, and their intrinsic tie to medieval beer brewing.  Other parts of the world also have fascinating histories of powerful, mystical women that you can read about here, here, and here (among other places.) 

Now, then… 

In medieval England, beer brewing was initially done in the house and was seen as one of many domestic tasks for which women were solely responsible. During the late medieval evil period, women began to share the brewing, making large batches of ale and selling it.  

Then in the tail end of the 14th century, following the first round of The Black Death, the world began to change. Grain became cheaper, people began living closer together in urban settings, quality of life increased. With these changes came an increase in beer brewing ability and the rise of the alehouse. And the people of medieval England sure did drink. Some estimates are up to a gallon of ale per person per day.  

While, yeah, that is a lot, it isn’t quite as bad as it sounds. There were practical reasons why medieval Brits drank so much ale. 

Beer also provided many vital nutrients, including carbs, to help keep people working throughout the day. At the time beer was also less alcoholic than today’s brews, coming in at closer to 3% alcohol. While this meant you didn’t get as much of a buzz and it didn’t last as long, The fermentation process also killed bacteria that lived in the water. Not a bad thing when you are working your way in and out of plague outbreaks…

While there were male brewers, the profession particularly appealed to women. Brewing and selling beer (a trade known as tippling or tapping) allowed women to work in a well-paid profession. Medieval England had a lot of restrictions on what professional work women were and were not allowed to do. Brewing provided many with enough income that they could support themselves. By 1400 the women who worked in these professions began to be known as Alewives. 

Ale Wife

Witch costume from Amazon.com

You may notice some similarities between the above picture and our imagery of witches.  

Hats: Alewives and tipplers wore tall hats, sometimes pointed, sometimes flat. The reason was simple: marketing. It marked alewives for their profession and made it easier to find the barkeep and order the next pint of ale. This style of hat also went on to become incredibly popular. Hennin hats were wildly trendy by the 14th and 15th centuries, and in the 16th and 17th capotain and Phrygian hats became popular. Both look remarkably similar to those depicted on witches. In fairness, there were a lot of tall hats being worn at the time.

“Witches hat”

Cats: This one is pretty simple. Cats eat mice. Mice eat grain. You can’t make beer without grain. It was not uncommon for brewers to keep cats around to keep the mice at bay and protect their grain. Over the centuries, many pets have been linked to accused witches as “familiars” but the cat remains the most popular image. 

Caldrons: To make a batch of beer, you have to make a large pot of wort. In the 15th century and until reasonably recently, large pots of anything were made in heavy cauldrons set over a fire. 

Brooms: To signal a batch of ale was complete, alewives would hang an alestake or ale pole out the window. Depending on what source you look at, the alestake was either a typical broom to symbolize domestic work or a branch with a bush or garland attached to the end. Either way, it doesn't take a lot of imagination to understand how that simply became a “broom” after hundreds of years.

Ale pole signaling ale is ready

Alewives had a pretty good deal, especially for being women in a horribly patriarchal society with limited knowledge of personal hygiene. But then, greedy men had to come and ruin it. The powerful men were unhappy that these women had found a way to make a life and name for themselves outside of their society's strict confines. 

The Church was unhappy that women began to hold jobs—jobs that provided alcohol. Depictions of alewives started to take on sinister imagery with horns and nakedness. Between the Church and government, rumors spread of alewives as thieves and tricksters, swindling men out of their money, deceiving their clients. At the same time, male only brewing guilds were formed. Men began opening taverns of their own. Despite being men being just as deceptive in business as women, only women got a bad reputation.   

As time went on, many alewives were accused of witchcraft and persecuted. Unfortunately, there was a grain (pun intended) of truth to this that allowed the hysteria to take hold. A fungus called Ergot was common on barley grain. It was so common that it was assumed the black kernels that replaced portions of the grain were just part of the plant. However, Ergot is hallucinogenic, similar to LSD. But as Sarah Loman put, it "only gives you a bad trip." This could account for the idea of flying specters and men claiming to have been “enchanted” by women.  

Ergot infested rye

Women continued to brew beer despite being literally murdered for it. (But what weren’t they going to be murdered for? Honestly.) Still, by the 1600s, men had become the primary brewers, and the image that once represented an alewife became synonymous with evil witches.

There is still debate among historians on whether witches' eventual imagery is the direct result of the Church's smear campaign on alewives, or nearly coincidence. To me, the evidence is overwhelming. And one thing is sure, the modern-day witch certainly does look like the strong brewing witches of old. 

Happy haunting, everybody!

Recipe 

1 bottle of beer

Chilled drinking glass or mug

Instructions:

1.     Pour beer into a chilled glass or mug

2.     Drink

Follow me on Instagram and Facebook for more great recipes like this one. 

*In fairness, I don’t really like beer but I love October, and I’ve been assured that there is a lot of good beer to be had during Octoberfest…or at least that after long enough no one cares. 

Dye Hard: a History of Red Velvet Cake

Part 1: The Victorian era - 1930

Red velvet cake is the stuff of legends. Whispered tales and conflicting accounts follow it wherever it goes.  Today’s incarnation of red velvet cake, an electric red substance that may or may not have a subtle hint of cocoa and slathered with a thick cream cheese frosting barely resembles its humble beginnings as a chocolate cake. So how did it get to be this Franken-color hybrid? For that, we have to take a trip in our Wayback Machine to the origins of velvet cake. (Note that a color wasn’t associated with it yet.)

Velvet Cake

Velvet cake dates back to the Victorian era. According to multiple sources, a velvet cake is simply a cake that has a light, airy, delicate, velvety crumb. “Velvet cakes, without the coloring, are older than Fannie Farmer. Cooks in the 1800s used almond flour, cocoa or cornstarch to soften the protein in flour and make finer-textured cakes that were then, with a Victorian flair, named velvet.” (New York Times) In his 1873 book Dr. Chase Allen Woods describes the newfangled velvet cake:  “There is quite a tendency of late to have nice and smooth names applied to things as well as to have nice things hence we have Velvet Cake.” This description sounds just like…well…cake. But back in the Victorian era, not all cake was created equal.

While there were forms of cake that got their lightness from whipping air into eggs (pound, genoise, sponge), the only way to chemically leaven a cake was through yeast.  Pre-19th century, the line between cake and bread was blurry. Typically, cakes were distinguished from bread because they were sweeter and included richer aspects like butter and eggs. Additional ingredients such as nuts and dried fruits were included to give cakes an added sweetness and to make them a treat. However, as we see today, the distinctions between cakes and breads were flexible. Today, we may classify desserts such as panettone or brioche as a bread, whereas a traditional fruitcake is a cake. In the 19th century, all of these could have been cake.

Yeast raising made these cakes incredibly labor-intensive, frequently taking more than a day to get through all of the proofing. Additionally, yeast did not come in little packets as it does today. In fact, it wasn’t until 1861 that microbiologist Louis Pasteur published his discovery of yeast. (Fun Fact: His work on killing unwanted organisms in wine also led to the creation of pasteurization.) Bakers needed a mother yeast strand, typically in the form of uncooked starter from a previous baking project or from the yeast taken from beer and other fermented drink or risk the flavor of a wild yeast strain. (Wild yeast is gathered simply by making a wet dough or batter from water and flour and leaving it sit to allow the wild yeast to find the space to grow. Environmental factors are important; it can't be too hot, too cold, or too dry or the wild yeast won't be available or won't prosper. And the flavor is highly variable.) Bakers were desperate for a way to replace yeast rising with something faster and more consistent.

The first attempt at a leavening substitution was potash (AKA pottasche, pearlash, potassium carbonate, salt of tartar, or carbonate of potash). Potash is a product made by pressing water through wood ash to create lye and then evaporating the water out. At first, it seemed to be a good substitute. However, it was known to leave an often-undesirable smoky flavor. Potash also didn't interact well in foods with a high-fat ratio (such as cake) as it would leave behind a soapy taste. As the Spruce Eats points out, this is unsurprising, as the two main ingredients in soap are lye and fat—a fact I learned from Fight Club.

In 1846, baking soda happened. Baking soda, when combined with an acid, such as vinegar, produces carbon dioxide. When used in a batter, you get a cake that has instant leavening with no soapy or ashy aftertaste; it was an immediate hit. We still use baking soda today for baking, cleaning, and science projects. It is a wonderful ingredient! The only drawback is that for it to create its bubbles, you need a reliable source of acid. While today store-bought buttermilk and vinegar are consistent in their acidity, it was hard to be sure in the mid-19th century just how acidic your buttermilk was, or how strong a reaction you would get.

Enter baking powder. In 1856 the first viable baking powder was patented in the US. Made from an extracted acid compound and baking soda mixed together, baking powder was truly a “just add water” product. When incorporated into any liquid, the baking soda and the acid in the powder would react with each other, causing carbonation. 

These products gave rise (pun intended) to the then entirely new genre of velvet cake.

When velvet cakes first came on the scene, they still contained many of the added flavors and ingredients of the bready cakes of yore. They would include things such as nuts and dried fruit for sweetness.  They were baked in long pans that we would now consider loaf bread tins.

Gradually, however, added sugar, sweet frostings, and fillings that we consider traditional to other forms of the different popular types of cake began to take over as the main sweetening agents. One of the first, and still most popular additions, was chocolate. Chocolate was very expensive, so initially, “chocolate cake” meant a yellow cake that had chocolate frosting or filling.

Good House Keeping chocolate cake recipe 1894

 The Red Color

Chocolate began being fully incorporated into cake as early as 1781 (Brave Tart) but didn't start to become really popular until 1893 when the April issue of Table Talk published a recipe for a fully chocolate "Devils Cake!" This was a moist, decadent cake consisting of a paste made from chocolate and boiled milk, and people began to incorporate chocolate into their cakes. Chocolate was still expensive, however, and as time went on, substitutions for the cheaper cocoa powder began to be made.

In 1911, the first recipe for “Velvet Cocoa Cake” with a thick boiled brown sugar frosting appeared in the Ohio Telegram.

1911 Velvet Cocoa Cake

Just a few years later, in 1914, the same recipe started showing up in newspapers across the US, and a craze had started. Through the nineteen-teens and twenties, the chocolate cake craze only continued to spread. And people began to comment on the red-brown color these cakes sometimes turned. But not all the chocolate cakes turned red. Recipes spread, and the tale of red cakes grew in popularity through the 1920s. People all across the United States wanted to try their hand at making not just a chocolate cake, but a red cake.  And at this point in the research, so did I.

The Re-Creation

The red or "devils" moniker came from a combination of using red sugar (brown sugar), and the red-brown hue the cake would take on when the chocolate and acid combination interacted. Chocolate, particularly raw cocoa powder, naturally contains red anthocyanin in it. When combined with an acid, it intensifies the anthocyanin notable red coloring. Coincidentally, this level of acid either from vinegar or buttermilk, was also necessary for baking soda to activate. This meant that cocoa cakes that used vinegar and baking soda as opposed to baking powder had a more noticeable red color.

Since names such as red cake, cocoa velvet, devil cake, and devil’s food, began to be used interchangeably, It is important to set up the distinction between a devil's food cake, red velvet cake, and other varieties. While the styles are all similar, there are important distinctions.

For this purpose, a devil’s food cake is a cake that traditionally involves brown sugar and chocolate, giving a deep black color. By contrast, a red velvet cake must be made with cocoa powder, an acid liquid such as buttermilk, and baking soda as the leavener, all reacting to give the cake a rich red-brown color. 

This important distinction helped in sifting through the old recipes and figuring out which ones count as “red velvet” and which are simply chocolate cakes.

I searched through several recipes, including one recipe from 1915 actually calls for fermenting the baking powder leavened cake overnight to produce a genuinely red color. 

Fermented Red Velvet Cake

This recipe from 1924 mentions the chemical interaction that gives its cake a red color.

York Red Cake

I settled on a 1927 recipe, first appearing in the Richmond Item, for “Red Devil’s Food.”

1927 Red Devils food

While its title is that of devil's food cake, it carries all the hallmarks of red velvet. The recipe uses a buttermilk and baking soda base and gives the baker the option of cocoa powder and chocolate. It even calls for topping it with a traditional ermine (boiled milk) buttercream frosting. The recipe also had some of the most specific instructions for baking, actually giving a baking time and temperature, a true luxury when you work with old recipes.

I opted to use cocoa powder when making this recipe. I used raw cocoa powder, as it has the highest amount of anthocyanin. I was lucky and actually managed to find a large bag of raw cocoa at Costco. Still, Costco giveth, and it taketh away; you never know if they’ll have a product the next time you come to the store. If you are at the grocery store, a basic cocoa powder such as Hershey’s will do; it just won’t result in as deep a red color. But be sure your cocoa powder isn’t a Dutch or ‘special dark’ cocoa powder. There are important differences between the raw, processed, and Dutch. Raw cocoa powder is made from the raw, unroasted beans that have been crushed and had the cocoa butter removed. Heat has never been applied to it, which is why it retains the most anthocyanin. A typical processed cocoa powder, such as Hershey’s, has been roasted during the process, removing some of the anthocyanin and the resulting less red color than raw cocoa but leaving most. Dutch press, or ‘special dark’ cocoa, has gone through an alkalizing process, which gives the cocoa powder a much darker tone and prevents it from reacting with the baking soda because it has already been alkalized, so it will give a cake little to no red color. 

Raw vs Dutch Cocoa

While the recipe I used is for a layer cake, I had my one-year-old son's birthday coming up, so I opted to make them as cupcakes and serve them at the party. The recipe transferred beautifully to cupcakes, and the cake was incredibly good. For…ahem…research purposes, I also made a batch of straight chocolate cupcakes. When placed next to each other, the red color is starkly noticeable. 

Red Velvet on left, chocolate cupcake on right

These red velvet cupcakes were tender and definitely had a velvety crumb. They also had a noticeably more chocolate flavor to them than a modern red velvet cake. While this cake contains 1 cup of cocoa powder, many modern red velvet cakes contain as little as 2 tablespoons of cocoa powder. That is more of a cocoa “blessing” than a cocoa flavor, in my opinion. The cocoa flavor is replaced by a truly exorbitant amount of red food dye. More on that in Part 2.

I topped my cupcakes with the recommended ermine frosting. I had never made it before, and it was absolutely delicious. It was lighter and less sweet than its American counterpart, more consistent with that of meringue buttercream. And while it is similarly labor and time-intensive to make, it is significantly less finicky, so I was able to do other things while making it. These cupcakes and frosting were a big hit, and I would definitely make them again.

Join us next time, for red velvet 1930-modern day featuring artificial coloring craze, racism in America, and corporate takeover. Red Velvet – Dye Harder

1927 Red Velvet Cake

A soft tender crumbed cake adapted from a 1927 recipe for “Red Devils Food.” This cake pairs well with an ermine frosting.

Servings: 24 cupcakes

Cook time: 10 min prep, 20-30 bake

Ingredients:

1 cup room temperature butter

2 cups of sugar

4 eggs

3 cups flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup buttermilk

1 cup boiling water

1 cup of cocoa

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 teaspoons vanilla

Instructions:

1.     Cream butter and sugar together.

2.     Add eggs.

3.     Mix flour, baking powder, and salt. (three times as per the incredibly specific recipe)

4.     Alternate adding the flour mixture and buttermilk to the creamed butter and sugar.

5.     Pour boiling water and cocoa together. Mix quickly.

6.     Add baking soda and mix until thick.

7.     Cool slightly, then add to cake.

8.     Mix thoroughly and add vanilla.

9.     Bake at 350 for 30 min as layer cake and 20 min for cup cakes.

Stay Puffed My Friends Part 3: America

The history

In the late 1800s, marshmallow root began being phased out of the recipe altogether and was completely replaced with gum arabic. The marshmallow root had a distinctive flavor that not everyone enjoyed; substituting the more neutral-flavored gum arabic for it led to a cleaner sweet taste (Eléments de Pharmacie théorique et pratique). Additionally, gum arabic produced a similar medicinal effect when it came to treating ailments like a sore throat or cough because it also had mucilage in it. Between the gum arabic and the starch mold mogul marshmallows were almost the perfect confection. There was just one problem: gum arabic was still an expensive product.

Initially, there were no viable alternatives to gum arabic. Gelatin was very popular in cooking due to its nutritional value, especially for the French during the Napoleonic wars (What’s Cooking America).   However, during this time, it was a very laborious process to extract gelatin, as it required a lot of boiling and waiting, not unlike the process of extracting the sap from marshmallow root. Gelatin also had a very distinct flavor profile, making it unsuitable for desserts at the time (What’s Cooking America).

This all began to change in 1845 when two different companies developed patents for powdered gelatin. The J and G Company in Edinburgh, Scotland, patented a pre-packaged, unflavored dried gelatin, while American Peter Cooper patented a ‘portable gelatin’ powder (What’s Cooking America). These ready-made—just add water—gelatins were not an initial hit. It took until the end of the century for people to begin using these gelatins and realize their value for desserts.

It wasn’t until 1894 when yet another refined gelatin product was on the market that things finally changed. Charles Knox, of what would become Knox Gelatin, developed refined flavorless gelatin that was produced in sheets (What's Cooking America). This resulted in a superior product, and the use of dessert gelatins began to take off.

In the late 19th century, the concept of “marshmallow” began to be associated with meringue, not the marshmallow plant. By this point, no marshmallow root was involved in the production of the marshmallow candy. Recipes for marshmallow cream, marshmallow frosting, and other such desserts began to show up in cookbooks by the late 1800s, such as this 1895 recipe for marshmallow cake:

(Table Talk)

Here we can see “marshmallow” is more a reference to the food’s fluffy white appearance and texture than a reference to the root of the marshmallow plant. These recipes are, at their base, meringues.

At this time, marshmallows were being made with less and less marshmallow root, especially in America. By the early 20th century, it was not uncommon to see marshmallows with no actual marshmallow in it at all. Once it was discovered that you could replace the distinctively (and, some would say, offensively flavored) marshmallow root with a flavorless alternative that was also less labor-intensive and expensive to produce, the marshmallow plant was completely pushed aside, and the sweet marshmallow-less confection began its climb into the heart of America.

Marshmallows were reportedly first mass-produced in America by Joseph B. Demerath, founder of the Rochester Marshmallow Company. The Rochester Marshmallow Company began in 1895, pre-dating the marshmallow craze of the 20th century. While it is impossible to say whether this factory was the root cause of the sweet's popularity, it was definitely a contributor. The factory's production, using the starch mogul method, allowed marshmallows to be mass-produced and distributed all over the region, making marshmallows cheaper, and more easily accessible (The Nibble). By the turn of the century, copycat companies were popping up, and marshmallows were being sold as penny candy all over the country. This was one of the first times the confection was being sold exclusively as candy, and not as a medicine.

Americans loved the softy, chewy confection.  And once the marshmallow began to gain popularity in the 20th century, their love, which some might deem excessive, began to show through. This was when things began to get weird. The marshmallow started to transform from a food in its own right to an ingredient in other foods, with some genuinely disgusting results, showing up in some distinct recipes that might give modern-day consumers pause.

In a 1913 edition of Table Talk, a cooking magazine, an article by Eva Alice Miller, appeared titled, "Marshmallow Mixtures." The article was about the incredibly versatile things you can do with marshmallows. These ranged from the sweet recipes that almost make sense—marshmallow on half shell (a pear dessert), marshmallow fruit salad, marshmallow almond whip, and the classic toasted marshmallow—to the truly repulsive marshmallow omelet, which as the name describes, is an egg-based sweet omelet (gross).

In 1924, Mary Chambers published Breakfasts, Luncheons and Dinners: How to Plan Them, How to Serve Them, How to Behave at Them—a Book for School and Home.  Within the text was a recipe for a shepherd’s pie with a marshmallow crust (even worse). While I have not eaten meat in nearly two decades, I just cannot imagine this was a pleasant combination.

The travesties of cooking didn’t end there. In 1927 with the rise in popularity of marshmallows, the California Lima Bean Council decided to hop on the “disgusting marshmallow recipe” boat. The Council ran ads featuring a dish of baked lima beans topped with bacon and marshmallow, with the promise that “you’ll like them even better served these tempting ways” (seriously, who thought this was a good idea). This was truly a troubled times time for marshmallows and cooking in America.

It wasn’t all bad, though. The same year a marshmallow cultural icon was born. The 1927 book, Tramping and Trailing with the Girl Scouts, featured the first recorded recipe for the “some more,” so named because it leaves the eater wanting some more. The classic recipe of graham crackers, chocolate, and a toasted marshmallow is still a staple in Scouting events, camping trips, and summer campfire gatherings.

The 1930s also saw the rise of another modern-day seasonal American favorite, the sweet potato casserole.

“Marshmallow eventually graduated to the main course. Sweet potato with marshmallow topping still makes annual appearances on thanksgiving across the land. In a 1930s variant, the clever hostess would surround a marshmallow center with a mashed sweet potato patty, roll in crushed cereal flakes, and bake. ”

— Candy: A Century of Panic and Pleasure 149

While this sweet main dish claimed a spot on many American tables, today's version is usually more of a casserole-style. It typically includes cubed, or lightly smashed sweet potato, sometimes with the addition of cinnamon sugar, maple syrup, or nuts, and topped with marshmallows and baked until the marshmallows are soft and golden.

The next great marshmallow manufacturing innovation came in 1948 with the invention of the marshmallow extrusion process. In this process, marshmallow is forced through a tube in the desired form and cut into pieces. The individual treats are usually still coated in starch to allow them to set better and to decrease stickiness. This process allowed production to become even more efficient and is what gives contemporary cylindrical marshmallows their shape. This is the same process companies such as Jett-Puff still use today (Campfire Marshmallows), providing the inexpensive, sweet treat to people across the USA.

Some might define Americans’ obsession with marshmallows excessive. In fact, the 2014 edition of the Oxford Companion to Food does just that.

“[marshmallow] is a versatile substance, which displayed its versatility to maximum (some would say excessive) extent in the USA in the 1930s to 1960s, when it occurred surprisingly often in recipe books, for example as an ingredient for salads, in fillings and toppings for cakes and desserts, and as toasted marshmallows, crisp outside and melting soft within. ”

— The Oxford Companion to Food 497

It is true that Americans’ obsession with the sweet treat is astounding. On average, Americans consume 90 million pounds of marshmallows each year (National Confectioners Association). The town of Ligonier, Indiana even hosts an annual festival entirely centered around marshmallows. The marshmallow is also a treat loved and consumed throughout history and across different parts of the globe. While the confection today is different from its predecessors, its sweet, sticky hold on people all over the world will never cease.

The Recreation

I had lofty aspirations for this recreation. I am vegetarian, and I had dreams of finding a simple, few ingredient recipes for vegan marshmallows, which I could share in triumph with the masses.

That is not what happened.

The modern marshmallow is noticeably different from its predecessors, both in look and texture.

Honey Marshmallow, Pate de Guimauve, Gelatin Marshmallow

While the honey marshmallow candy is dense with just a little chew, pâte de guimuave is noticeably lighter and fluffier. It does, however, retain a bit of its wetness. It pulls apart, and even when coated with powdered sugar, can still be sticky (were I to make it again, I would pipe them individually to allow a skin to form on each piece). It does not hold its form, and when cut can slump. All this in comparison with the modern, gelatin marshmallow-free marshmallow. They are fluffy, yes, but also firm. They squish but break when pulled apart.

I tried many techniques to achieve this. One was to use the pâte de guimuave ingredients but a modern marshmallow technique (pouring the hot sugar over the egg whites in a stand mixer.) I subbed out marshmallow extract, for powdered marshmallow root. It worked really well and took less time. But you end up with a pate de guimauve style marshmallow, not a modern one. And spending $13 on gum Arabic for each batch is cost-prohibitive.

I next played around with modern marshmallow recipes, subbing in Agar-Agar, to no avail. The agar-agar simply does not have enough hold.

I tried subbing in aquafaba for egg whites and doing a meringue-based marshmallow. Again, it kind of works, but you end up with a dense marshmallow and still need additional stabilizers.

Finally, I was forced to admit it. There is no easy vegan substitute for the marshmallow. Gelatin is the perfect binder. It is a stabilizer and a protein. It takes the place of the egg whites and the gum and does the job better. Unflavored gelatin is truly a marvel of modern food technology. And it is cost-effective. A pack with enough gelatin for two batches of marshmallow only cost two dollars.

That being said, working with gelatin, something that as a vegetarian I have literally never done before and doubt I will ever again, felt more like a science experiment than cooking. When you use gelatin powder, you have to "bloom" it. Soaking it in water to activate it. It takes only a few minutes, and the entire thing turns to a hard gelatinize mass. This is what gives you the base for your marshmallow. I found that when cooking it, I noticed a smell (my meat-eating husband did not). And the mixture before it cooled, seemed unnatural almost like a shaving foam. It was, however, straightforward to work with.

A basic marshmallow is very easy and only contains three ingredients:

• Sugar

• Water

• Gelatin

A pinch of salt and vanilla extract helps round out the flavor as well but isn't strictly necessary.

Once you bloom your gelatin, you mix it and your water and sugar in a pan, bring the contents to a boil on medium heat and cook until your liquid reaches hard-ball stage or until when a spoon is dipped in, a long thread comes out. I thought this part would be more finicky than it actually was. Mine technically never reached hard-ball stage but turned just fine. And I saw many people who barely took theirs to soft-ball and also turned out okay. The forgiving nature of gelatin.

Pour the entire contents into a stand mixer and beat for about 10 min. Pour onto your surface, or into a pan. It will be stiff, so I put a little oil on my hands and patted it down to form a more even hunk.

That's it. That is modern marshmallows. Quick. Easy and relatively painless, though not vegetarian or vegan.

I did find a great recipe for vegan marshmallows, though.

Here is what you do. You go to Trader Joe’s. Go to the packaged goods section. You buy their marshmallows and use those instead. That’s it.

Are there recipes for vegan recipes online? Yeah. Of course. And some are good. But the number of ingredients you need just isn't worth it. Buy the Trader Joe’s ones.

Or make these all sugar gelatin filled marshmallows.

Leaning tower of marshmallow

All sugar marshmallow

This is a simple, easy marshmallow recipe. You will get light, fluffy marshmallows each time.

Cook time: 20 min active, 3 hours cooling

Servings: 24-30 marshmallows

Ingredients

• ½ cup water + 2 tablespoons Gelatin

• ½ cup water

• 2 cups of sugar

Optional:

• Pinch salt

• ½ teaspoon flavoring extract

And/or

• 2 Tablespoons Cocoa powder

Instructions

1.     Prepare a marble slab or baking sheet by sprinkling it with powdered sugar or starch. If using a pan, coating with oil first helps to coat the sides with powder.

2.     Combine ½ cup water and gelatin in a small container.

3.     In a medium pot, mix sugar and, if using, cocoa powder. Pour in gelatin mixture.  Then add an additional ½ cup water. Bring mixture to a rolling boil over medium heat.

4.     Boil until the mixture reaches hard-ball stage.

5.      Once the mixture reaches hard-ball stage, pour contents into the stand mixer. Beat on low for 2-3 min, then turn up to high heat until mixture has at least doubled. About 10 min.

6.     Using a ruby spatula, transfer contents to starch covered surface or pan. If large peaks form and do not level out, put a little oil in your hand, and gently press down to create an even surface.

7.     Allow the marshmallow to set for at least 3 hours. Then cut and toss with additional starch or powdered sugar and save in airtight containers.

Stay Puffed My Friends Part 2: France and Pâte De Guimauve

In the Middle Ages, marshmallows continued to be used throughout North Africa, Europe, and Asia. As mentioned in the last post, the marshmallow was used as an ingredient in halva. It was also steeped in water to make a tea and continued to be used for a variety of medicinal purposes. In medieval Europe, the root of the marshmallow was candied and eaten. This treat would have been similar in texture to candied ginger root. While this is undoubtedly a sweet treat, it is not a marshmallow.

The true precursor to the modern marshmallow started in France as a confection known as pâte de guimauve. It arrived on the scene between the late 1700s and early 1800s. The oldest recipe I found dates back to 1757. Pâte de guimauve is a French confection said to have originally been comprised of sugar, egg whites, and marshmallow root extract. The mixture was functionally an unbaked meringue left to harden.  The addition of marshmallow root gives it a somewhat soft and chewy texture. Often other flavors, such rosewater, would be added to the mixture. Rosewater was an incredibly popular flavoring because at the time it was a by-product of making rose petal perfume. Likewise, orange blossom water (which I will be using my recreation) was a byproduct of making orange blossom essential oils. Our ancestors did not like to waste things.

Perhaps unsurprisingly given its medicinal history, pâte de guimauve was originally developed as a health lozenge, with many recipes showing up in books of medicine and giving instructions as to when to take them (Eléments de Pharmacie théorique et pratique). This early French marshmallow was used to relieve throat aches, as well as being ‘pectoral,’ or related to chest or lung disease (A Cyclopædia of Several Thousand Practical Receipts), the same medicinal purposes for which it had been used for thousands of years. And, just like in previous eras, the marshmallow became a popular confection.

This 19th-century popularity caused the demand for the marshmallow to skyrocket. There were only two problems: it was time-consuming, and expensive to make. The process of extracting the marshmallow sap, as we know, takes 12 hours. By the late 1700s, this hasn't changed. Instructions for making marshmallow candies still include 12 hours of soaking and prepping the extract. 

At this point the meringue still has to be made by hand-beating egg whites, adding a hot sugar marshmallow syrup, and then continuing to beat the mixture to incorporate and keep the meringue light. Again, this was all done by hand. The mixture would then take at least another six hours to properly set. AND THEN the pâte de guimauve would still need to be cut and shaped. At this point, pâte de guimauve became a two-day long endeavor for confectioners. If anything were to go wrong during this process, it would result in the entire batch being ruined, and the potential of up to two days of wasted efforts.

Confectioners were under pressure to produce a fluffy gummy treat for the masses. This led to the addition of gum arabic, a product made from acacia tree sap, into the mix. Adding the gum provided much more stability, giving it body, and more bounce than just the marshmallow root could provide. Additionally, the preparation of gum arabic did not take nearly as much time as the marshmallow root.

Most sources claim that the original pâte de guimauve consisted of exclusively marshmallow (root), sugar, egg whites, and flavoring. I disagree. All the recipes I have found, even those dating back to the 18th century (which I'd like to note is earlier than many sources even think pâte de guimauve existed) include gum arabic. Is it possible that there were versions without this additive? Sure. But it seems the most common and documented way to make pâte de guimauve was with gum Arabic.  

While the addition of gum arabic made the recipe faster, easier, and more reliable, this ingredient came at a price. Literally. Gum arabic was incredibly expensive and had to be imported from Southern Arabia and Western Asia. And while it did ease the reliance on marshmallow root to form the confection, confectioners continued to use the root, which meant the process still took two days to complete.

With the price and production time crushing on confectioners, it became harder and harder for them to keep up with public demand. Almost a century after the introduction of pâte de guimauve, the late 1800s saw the invention of the Starch Mogul system of candy production. The system was used by coating candy molds with a layer of starch powder, such as corn or potato. This allowed a more liquid substance to be poured into the candy molds, and once set, extracted without the substance sticking to the mold and falling apart. This method gave confectioners the ability to create larger volumes of marshmallows as they no longer had to cut and individually shape each piece. This in turn made marshmallow far more accessible to the general public.

The Re-Creation

Luckily for me, there is not a lot of guesswork that goes into a classic recipe for pâte de guimauve. Unluckily, they are mostly in French. Luckily for me again, my mother majored in history and French in college, and currently works as a technical writer! What more could I ask for?

The following recipe is the one my mother kindly translated for me. Everyone say thank you to mama Nichols! (And if you have complaints on the translation, please bring them up with her.)

Original French Recipe

I found a variety of recipes that I could have chosen to make the marshmallow. I chose this one, because of all the recipes it seemed to contain the most detailed instructions. For example, this recipe still relies on the traditional meringue method of mixing your egg whites into the sugar syrup bit by bit. Other recipes were not as clear, some would simply say “make a meringue” and leave it at that. Since we are going for a true reproduction, I wanted as much instruction as possible.

That being said, I did end up making a few modifications to the recipe.

For this attempt, I used dried marshmallow root, not fresh. As I did this in January in Pittsburgh, fresh marshmallow root could not be found. In order to rectify this, I needed to find out what the weight difference between dried marshmallow root and fresh was. If I did a straight weight to weight substitution I could end up with way more marshmallow than I intended. I finally settled on using the weight of dried vs fresh ginger as a comparison, as they are similar roots. I found the weight difference is that of 1 to 4, dried to fresh, so I quartered the amount of marshmallow, giving me 31.25 grams.

Next, I only had access to powdered gum arabic, not chunked. I thought this would be more of a problem than it was. Powdered gum arabic is just the chunks that have then been crushed into powder form. It dissolves faster and easier than its whole form. So yes, in a way I am taking the easy way out by using this, but also it is a straight weight to weight equivalent, and since 19th century France is ahead of 21st century America when it comes to cooking and their ingredients are in weight (not volume) it was an easy conversion.

My next question when approaching the recipe was about the sugar. While France is known for their excellent use of sugar, there is a bit of a complicated history when it comes to France’s sugar source. The brief explanation is that during the reign of Napoléon the British stopped the import of sugar into France. Sugar cane became too expensive and difficult to acquire, leaving France without a key ingredient for their baked goods. Then, in the early 1800s, Napoléon was presented with sugar made from sugar beets. He was so impressed he had thousands of acres planted with sugar beets, and sugar was back on the shelves and more attainable than ever. However, after his death sugar cane once again became available for purchase, and after a peak in the 1830s sugar beet production went back down. As this recipe is from 1847, it could have been made with beet sugar or cane sugar. I am using cane sugar as the sugar is the prominent ingredient and flavor. However, either will work and either will give you a traditional white marshmallow.

Additionally, the instructions are very clear about using fresh eggs, and whipping enough, so as to get a pristine white confection. That snowy characteristic was seen as what one should strive for with marshmallows.

The final ingredient is orange water for flavor.  I personally like rosewater but no one else in the house does. So I went with orange blossom flower. I did have a bit of trouble finding it but eventually found it in the cocktail section of my grocery store. It can also be ordered online.  The marshmallow then tasted like soap. So I also made an unflavored batch. This also let me tell if the offending marshmallow root flavor would show through.

Once I had gathered all the ingredients, it was time to start the recipe.

First, I made a batch of the marshmallow extract, starting it the night before so it would be ready to go the following morning. One of the big differences here is that the instructions also say to boil the marshmallow root with the gum Arabic before straining it the entire mixture. The instructions were a little vague, but after consulting other recipes (and messing up two prior batches) it appears you should not strain the root out until you have dissolved the gum arabic. While cold infusion extracts mostly mucilage, cooking it also extracts the starches as well, which helped the marshmallow set properly.

Cook this mixture for about 30 minutes.

Next, use a cheesecloth or mesh sieve to strain out any lumps and the marshmallow root. And then cook to what we translated as “syrup.” I interpreted this as to mean hardball stage. It is going to look like a syrup the whole time, but you need it to be able to hold its form once cooked.

Once the liquid is at hardball stage, you use the whisk to beat in your eggs (already whipped to soft peaks) into the liquid and keep whipping the marshmallow and egg mixture. I found it easier to do with a handheld beater. But if you want to do it with a whisk, more power to you. Now, despite what the instructions say, do not drop it on the back of your own hand. It will hurt, you will get a burn, and you will think about it every time you see your hand.  Trust me on this one.

mmmm….marshmallow….

Another way I would describe the right consistency is to cook it until it holds its form and begins to leave a trail as the beaters move through it. You can also drop a little onto your marble/baking sheet to see how it holds up.

Once the pâte de guimauve has reached the proper consistency, the directions say to pour it onto a powdered marble slab. You can purchase this item at most kitchen stores or online, but I’m going to be honest, that is a waste of money. You can usually get a scrap piece of marble or granite at a lot of building materials recycling center, or contact a local countertop manufacturer. I found one for a mere $7 as opposed to $60 slabs found at boutique cooking stores. This will get you a thicker piece, for a lower price. The reason you use marble or granite is that it remains cool and helps the mixture set quickly.

Finally, pour the marshmallow onto a slab that has been coated in powdered starch or powdered sugar. Top it with more starch and let cool on the slab for at least six hours. The large hunk should then be cut into squares and served. Alternately, you can pipe individual pieces onto or marble slab, or onto parchment paper, though the parchment paper will take more time to cool. 

Finally, pour the marshmallow onto a slab that has been coated in powdered starch or powdered sugar. Top it with more starch and let cool on the slab for at least six hours. The large hunk should then be cut into squares and served. Alternately, you can pipe individual pieces onto or marble slab, or onto parchment paper, though the parchment paper will take more time to cool. 

You will then have your 19th-century French marshmallows! Pate de guimauve will not remind you very much of a modern marshmallow in texture. It is noticeably softer and malleable, and does not hold its shape after being cut. I would recommend piping individual pieces instead of one large sheet so a skin forms on them for easier consumption. The flavor is much more similar to a modern marshmallow, however in the batches I made without an added flavor, It was noticeably earthy.  I enjoyed it, but I can see how others might not.

EDIT: Pâte de guimauve can also be translated as Pâté de guimuave. This changes the name meaning from “dough of marshmallow” to “paste of Marshmallow” and the pronunciation from ‘pat’ to ‘pat-ey’. Pâte de uimauve, or “dough of marshmallow” seems to be the correct translation, although arguably either is an accurate description.

Classic Pâte de Guimauve (Gelatin Free Marshmallow)

Translation of a French Pate De Guimuave recipe from the 1800s. Lovingly translated by Mama Nichols. It creates a light fluffy confection almost exactly like a modern marshmallow. Additionally, this recipe contains no gelatin, making it suitable for vegetarians, though not vegans as it contains eggs.  If you don’t like orange water you can omit, or sub for a different flavor.

This is the original recipe, translated. Any added instructions are italicized.

Cook time: Way too long

Servings: Way too many (We recommend halving the recipe), I recommend halving or quartering the recipe

Ingredients

·       125 grams marshmallow root (cleaned of all dirt) (or 31.25 grams dried)

·       1000 grams gum Arabic (very white)

·       1000 grams white sugar

·       2000 grams filtered water

·       12 egg whites

·       90 grams orange flower water

Instructions

1.     Soak the clean marshmallow root in water for 12 hours. Do not squeeze the roots. Drain the soaking water into a medium saucepan.

2.     Warm the soaking water. Break the gum Arabic into small pieces and melt them in the warmed liquid. Bring the gum arabic and marshmallow liquid to a low boil. It will take about 10-15 to dissolve all of the gum arabic. Stir consistently.

3.     Place sugar into a large, wide saucepan. Strain the gum arabic liquid through fine cheesecloth into the pan.

4.     Whip the egg whites to soft peaks with a wire whisk. Add the orange flower water.

5.     Simmer gently over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spatula, until the liquid is reduced to the consistency of extract (syrup?). Bring to a simmer, and cook until hardball stage is reached.

6.     Using the whisk, in portions, add the whipped egg whites to the liquid. Continue to mix with rapid strokes until all the egg whites are incorporated and the mixture forms a paste that no longer clings to the wooden spatula and when a bit is dropped on the back of the hand, it doesn’t stick. I recommend using an electric hand beater to keep beating once all egg whites have been added.

7.     Remove from the heat.

8.     Dust a flat marble surface with a layer of powdered starch. Pour the marshmallow paste onto the starch-covered marble. Cover with more powdered starch or powdered sugar.

Notes from the recipe:

·       The whiteness of the candy depends on the freshness of the eggs, the quantity of air introduced during the whipping (“introduced by the accelerated movement of a wicker broom,” which I interpret to be a wire whisk), and by sustaining rapid whipping until the time that the paste/batter no longer clings to the whisk.

·       Almost always, to have the whitest candy, “we remove the marshmallow root and dissolve the gum Arabic and sugar in pure water.”