Christmas Merriment in 1734

Who knew that ECCO could contain such a wealth of 18th century musings on Christmas?

 "Round about the Cole Fire, or, Christmas Entertainments"
By Dick Merryman, 1734

Old customs might fade during periods of social and economic change, but one can usually still find traces of them rigidly adhered to in songs, children's games, and holiday traditions.  So I wasn't completely surprised to find that 18th century commentators, many of whom lived in such a rapidly transforming environment, liked to wax nostalgic about Christmas and the demise of old Holy Day customs.  You must understand, good People, one 1734 commentator tells us, that the manner of celebrating this great Course of Holydays is vastly different now to what it was in former Days.

How so?

Well, he tell us, an English Gentleman at the opening of this great Day, had all his Tenants and Neighbors enter'd his Hall by Day-break, the Strong-Beer was broach'd, and the Black-Jacks went plentifully about with Toast, Sugar, Nutmeg, and good Cheshire Cheese.

Toast? Sugar? Nutmeg?  Not too different from the challah French toast enjoyed nowadays.  There was no Christmas tree (that was a 19th century German import) but the decor was distinctly festive nonetheless:

The Rooms were embower'd with Holly, Ivy, Cypress, Bays, Laurel, and Mistleto, and a bouncing Christmas Log in the Chimney glowing like the Cheeks of a Country Milk-maid.

This surely put everyone in a celebratory mood, and our commentator assures us that the Lasses were as blithe and buxom as the Maids in good Queen Bess's Days, when they eat Sir-Loins of Roast Beef for Breakfast.   People are busy in the welcoming of guests, the man-servants were scuttling about preparing for the feast: drinking, carousing, womanizing.  Yes, all is happy in the household.

Minc'd Pye: Always a Favorite

After the toast and nutmeg, what else was consumed?  Dick Merryman, our Christmas expert, informs us that: every one in the Country where a Gentleman resided, possessed at least a Day of Pleasure in the Christmas Holydays; the Tables were all spread from the first to the last, the Sir-Loyns of beef, the Minc'd Pies, the Plumb Porridge, the Capons, Turkeys, Geese, and Plumb-Puddings, were all brought upon the board; and all those who had sharp Stomaches and sharp Knives eat heartily and were welcome...


Indeed, he makes quite a fuss about this Holy Day being an occasion for the landed gentry to revel in the spirit of generosity, and it is quite possible that this –– the slow but ceaseless erosion of old class hierarchies –– is what he is really complaining about when he longingly speaks of the old traditions.

For Love and Hunger

It is an unfortunate truth, good readers, that all good meals must inevitably come to an end.  In the last few days, having been compelled to leave the comforts of Clerkenwell, I have been navigating far less amiable gastronomic waters.  So instead of lamenting the lack of good coffee and efficient, reasonably priced lunch around Guildhall, I will today acquaint my readers with a recent expedition to Kentish Town, where I was able to Tom-Sawyer some unwitting friends into accompanying me to a theatre production of Henry Fielding's 1749 novel Tom Jones. 

Henry Fielding, from an engraving by
a portrait by Joshua Reynolds

Volumes upon volumes have been published about T.J., which the humble Lady of Quality has neither the space nor the sufficient literary expertise to fully explicate for her worthily time-constrained readers.  However, Tom Jones addresses, at length, two of her favorite subjects –– food and sex –– upon which she might deign to say a word or two.  

The Author –– a character in of himself –– introduces himself as the maitre’d, likening his story to a ‘Bill of Fare to the Feast.”  Yet this is hardly your Lord Mayors Banquet of the previous post, where select invitees pretty much have to eat what's put on the table in front of them.  Nope, this is more like a public tavern, or "ordinary," where anyone is welcome to stay and eat (or walk out, if it's not to your taste) ... as long as you're willing to pay the bill.  

Appetites –– both sexual and gustatory –– are major themes in the novel.  While well-meaning Tom never wavers in his affection for his childhood sweetheart, he is constantly finding himself in the beds of other women.


In that vein, feel free to watch a cinematic testament to the arts of seduction from the 1963 movie version. 

But what about Tom's first love interest, the lovely Sophia Western?  Surely she, at least, must have been a paragon of feminine fastidiousness.  After all, melodramatically losing your appetite (and wasting away) over matters of the heart was all the rage in the 18th century.  Think Clarissa Harlowe: the quintessential Lifetime heroine of the 1740s.  


But Sophia?  Not so much.  Throughout the novel, we are constantly reminded of her fondness for "dainties."  At one point she's locked up in her room and refuses to eat, but when her servant mentions that there are eggs stuffed inside of it, she promptly gives up on the hunger strike and "began to dissect the fowl."  Indeed, the Author reports: "The eggs of pullets, partridges, pheasants, etc, were.... the favorite dainties of Sophia."  She doesn't have the will-power to resist.   

And that's just it, dear readers.  Sometimes we're just too hungry to care about our lofty ideals.  Check out some of these mediocre Guildhall lunches.  A pullet stuffed with eggs is suddenly sounding pretty good.... 

This mystery dish claims to be a jacket potato (2.50)

 "Classic Pork" Bahn-mi with insufficient pork  (3.95)