In my last post, I traced the culinary transformation of the
sea turtle: from sailor’s scurvy-fighting aid into high society’s chicest
luxury food. But this does not explain why the British obsession
with turtle spread over the 1750s and 1760s. “A Turtle-feast is equally relished at both Ends of the
Town,” a satirist observed in 1756; the mere invitation was understood as a
gateway to power and prestige. Rumors
abounded of clandestine turtle-orgies, where overzealous eaters would gorge
themselves to the death. Why did
the sea turtle become the 18th century’s greatest culinary
sensation?
A local politician does the post-turtle-feast "walk of shame" c 1770 |
Let’s count the ways.
The turtle eaters' capture of this Spanish Galleon was a national triumph |
First, Britons regarded turtle as a quasi-patriotic treat,
as it testified to the limitless possibilities offered by the expanding Empire.[i] No longer need connoisseurs rely on cullises, puptons
and frivolous little “kickshaws” prepared by overpaid French cooks. In the Englishman’s eyes, dainty,
over-seasoned fare of this sort could barely sustain a weak-chested woman. Turtle, by contrast, was a hearty and
masculine repast that got the job done. One thirty-pound turtle,
so the cookbooks claimed, could create five to six different dishes and feed a
large family. Others were rumored
to feed 100 men.[ii] It was the epitome of head-to-tail
cooking.
Well … easier said than done. When it came to cooking a turtle, England had no
pre-established culinary traditions.
Contemporary recipes –– which are about 3x lengthier than those
regarding other large haunches of meat –– make clear that turtle-cookery was no
easy feat. And even then, as the
gentlemen of White’s Chocolate House discovered, the oven just might not be big
enough.
But therein laid the appeal; turtle-eating catered to a love
of novelty, fashion and exoticism so intrinsic to 18th century
consumer behavior.[iii] It also engendered a new language of
culinary expertise; one must distinguish the “calipash” –– the large upper
shell that took longer to cook –– from the “calipee,” or the bottom shell. And
every true connoisseur knew that the turtle’s green fat –– described as having
the “consistence of butter” –– was the tastiest part.[iv] By the 19th century, cookery
writers had established rigid aesthetic guidelines for serving turtle.[v] Small wonder that one so rarely reads
about turtle dinners: only of turtle feasts.
By 1770, turtle was a permanent fixture in the British
cookery book. But as I rifled
through a sampling of contemporary cookbooks, I found that the recipes listed
were nearly identical, copied word for word. Was it possible that
the cookbook authors simply plagiarized
each other’s recipes … without ever tinkering around with the dish
themselves? I suspected there was
a good chance that many cookery authors never even tasted turtle; its
astronomical price tag –– commanding as much as 4 shillings and 6 pence a pound
–– suggests that the English cultural imagination profited from turtle meat more
than the English stomach. It was
not uncommon to see auction notices and “wanted ads” appear in London
newspapers, showing that demand consistently outstripped supply.
Historians often describe the mid 18th century as
a period of state building, a time when more and more people began to
collectively think of themselves as Britons.[vi]
But turtle eating threw a wrench
to any pretensions of a so-called ‘common taste.’ The unlikely reptile even threatened to usurp the roast beef
of old England at the feasting table, substituting Creole luxury for English
hospitality. This raised more than
a few eyebrows, for in spite of its delectable flavor, no one had studied the
long-term effects of unregulated turtle-feasting upon a nation.
[i] See my last
post –– “How Turtle Became Haute Cuisine” –– for a more complete discussion of
George Anson’s role in connecting turtle to patriotism.
[ii] Newspaper
accounts often boast about the number of people sated by a single animal. See, for example, the London Evening
Post, Oct 5-Oct 8, 1754 (London, England)
Issue 4198.
[iii] Many
excellent books have been published on the consumer revolution in 18th
century Britain. My favorites are
Maxine Berg’s Luxury and Pleasure in 18th Century Britain, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005) and
Plumb, Brewer and McKendrick, Birth of a Consumer Society: The
Commercialization of 18th Century England (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982). But little has been published about the
meaning of changing food fashions, especially turtles. For a great piece on how Englishmen
understood food trends in a cosmopolitan context, see Troy Bickham’s “Eating
the Empire: Intersections of Food, Cookery and Imperialism in 18th
Century Britain” in Past and Present
(2008) vol. 198, no. 1, pp. 71-109.
[iv] ibid. London
Evening Post, issue 4198. Hannah Glasse describes the coveted
green fat by a new term –– the “monsieur” –– although I haven’t run across this
term in other contexts. Elizabeth
Clifton Cookery Book, (1775) – the recipe for how to dress a turtle is a page
and a half long. 3 hours for
callepash to cook for 30 pound turtle, 2 hours for calipee.
[v] Britons
enjoyed symmetry, and cookbooks generally instruct the server to set one turtle
shell at each end of the table, and arranging the other dishes in between. See, for example, John Farley, The
London Art of Cookery, and Housekeepers Complete Assistant (London, 1800) and Elizabeth Clifton, The
Cook Maid’s Assistant, or art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (London, 1775).
[vi] Linda
Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation 1707-1837 (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1992).
No comments:
Post a Comment