Category Archives: Records, Documents and Notes

tsp to smbc: Culinary Vernacular and the Evolution of Language in Personal Recipes

By KC Hysmith

Brillat-Savarin might be able to tell you about yourself based on the food you eat, but I bet I can tell you even more by how you abbreviate the word “teaspoon” when writing out a recipe. No matter how you learned to shorten it, the way you write “teaspoon” reveals ample information about your culinary influences. Looking at a larger body of work, such as someone’s personal recipe collection, provides even more details.  

Personal recipe collections contain countless semiotic clues about their authors, but they also hold linguistic tells of shared experiences and community, revealing historical, social, and economical insights about all the people and places that made each recipe possible. Through the lens of measurement abbreviations, this post considers the importance of a shared culinary vernacular and how it passes between recipe collections (from one generation to the next; from one demographic to another) in the nineteenth- and twentieth-century American world, and analyzes the evolution of language, especially in regards to transcription and the shift from analog to digital.

Food scholars Amy L. Tigner and Allison Carruth argue that recipe writing serves as a kind of literary vernacular practice with “quotidian modes of writing that develop within specific historical contexts and that intermix rhetorical and aesthetic craft with the dissemination of applied knowledge that is variously empirical, sensory, instructive, interactive, and intergenerational.”[i] The deliberate use of the concept of vernacular versus “jargon,” “dialect,” or “code” highlights the particularity of recipe language and its functional design (which Tigner and Carruth align with the word’s “Latin root vernaculus, meaning domestic”).

There’s no official abbreviation, as each major publication from published cookbooks to legacy media outlets has their own preference, but common versions include: “tsp.” (with period), “tsp” (sans period), a lowercase “t,” “ts,” and “tspn”. It’s never a capital “T,” because that is typically saved for denoting tablespoons (unless you’re German or Dutch, then you’ll likely use a capital “TL” for Teelöffel or Theelepel, which translates to “teaspoon,” respectively). All of these variations came about thanks to numerous colliding forces including culinary literacy, generational trends, cooking methods, and technologies ranging from writing implements to autocorrect (and now, AI).

While personal recipes might start as strictly private, ephemeral texts, they sometimes become shared semi-public artefacts. Countless personal recipes have been shared in community and church cookbooks (often with myriad culinary vernacular stylings)). My departed mother’s recipe for pan de campo (she also uses “tsp,” but funnily does not abbreviate “cup”) sits framed on my office wall. And my personal recipe for cornbread (I use the little “t” notation, when I’m not dealing in metric), has been passed through many hands, in both written and digital forms. Even celebrity chefs with professionally published cookbooks sometimes find their personal recipes in the public eye; consider Julia Child’s handwritten recipe for pain de mie (she uses “tsp” and “c.”) which was pulled from her personal collection and is now on display at the National Museum of American History.

Sharing culinary information is part of our society’s cultural tradition, a custom that blurs the relationship between private recipe text and public artefact.

A scanned image of a page with cake recipes from The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, 1896.
Fig. 1. Recipes for cake, The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, Fannie Farmer, 1896, Feeding America: The Historic American Cookbook Project.

 

The ubiquitous use of standardized measurements—using a “tsp” versus the more obscure “spoonful”—transformed the world of recipe writing. Until the early twentieth century, recipes were incredibly imprecise, according to food historian Helen Zoe Veit, owing to the lack of oven thermometers, timepieces, and “scant tools available to ordinary people to tell exactly how much of an ingredient they were adding.”[ii] Though many contributed to this shift, domestic scientist and culinary lead of the famous nineteenth-century Boston Cooking School, Fannie Farmer, is widely considered the “mother of level measurements” in the United States. Farmer’s methods—along with several other recipe writing “best practices” such as ingredient lists and ordinal instructions—were quickly adopted along with a nationwide trend towards the scientific standardization of all spaces in the age of industrialization.

But recipes are more than their measured ingredients. How we name recipes (or don’t) plays a part in this vernacular, too, with longer titles losing adjectives along the way. When we write recipes for ourselves, we often write instructions as truncated actions, generously detailed instructions, or some combination. And then there are the recipes that are mere lists of ingredient ratios that expect the reader to know how to combine them, a shift from early historical recipes that were mostly instructions with a few non-standard measurements sprinkled in (if you were lucky).

A folded over lined notebook, messy with ingredient smudges and drips, lists ingredients in metric measurements for a banana and tahini baked good.
Fig. 2. Recipe for Banana Tahini Muffins by Oona O’Toole, baker at While You’re Up Bakery in Carrboro, NC, texted to the author without instructions.
A scanned image of a manuscript page full of sprawling handwriting explaining a 17th century gingerbread recipe.
Fig. 3. A recipe for gingerbread, “A collection of medical receipts and prescriptions,” MS502, 1650, Royal College of Physicians catalogue

 

The advent and exponential use of the Internet in the aughts and 2010s created additional influences on the recipe vernacular, for as the amount of information available grew, our attention spans shrunk even as recipe titles grew longer (ex: Briny, Garlicky, Lemony Green Beans with Quick-Pickled Red Onions). The acronyms and abbreviated words of Internetspeak (LOL) were already well worn linguistic territory of recipe writing. Linguist Gretchen McCulloch argues that “Internet acronyms are a perfect example of the intersection between writing and informality.”[iii] Then came social media. At first there were character limits, 140 characters for X (formerly Twitter) and 2200 for Instagram. Early Twitter users relied on code-like workarounds—slashes, no spaces, symbols—to fit full recipes into the character container.

A screenshot of a Twitter (X) post by Maureen Evans (@cookbook) featuring a recipe for Pumpkin Pie.
Fig. 4. A screenshot of a Twitter (X) post by Maureen Evans (@cookbook) featuring a recipe for Pumpkin Pie.

 

A screenshot of the results of a query in the Instagram app for the hashtag #smbc. Results include nine preview square images of various cakes, upclose frosting shots, and a woman holding a massive bowl of buttercream.
Fig. 5. A screenshot of the results of a query in the Instagram app for the hashtag #smbc. Results include nine preview square images of various cakes, upclose frosting shots, and a woman holding a massive bowl of buttercream.

 

On Instagram, where hashtags once helped drive more traffic to your post, bakers would use the tag #smbc to share a recipe for Swiss Meringue Buttercream Frosting. With far more characters to work with but even shorter user attention spans, Instagram recipes take on many abbreviated forms using bullet points, articleless phrases, and the ample use of symbolic emoji.

A screenshot of an Instagram post by @natashas_baking featuring a recipe for Funfetti sourdough. An image of a jar of sprinkled, rising dough is on the left and a caption with the emoji-sprinkled recipe is on the right.
Fig. 6. A screenshot of an Instagram post by @natashas_baking.

 

A screenshot of an Instagram post by @philkhoury featuring a recipe for SMBC. The recipe is listed in detail in the caption and as an ingredient list in the image.
Fig. 7. A screenshot of an Instagram post by @philkhoury.

 

Even with more technology than ever before, the way we share recipes still tends to rely on a shared culinary vernacular. And while McCulloch argues that “writing systems are greatly affected by the tools available to make them,”[iv] our collective understanding of “tsp” (or “TL” for German speakers) remains. However we abbreviate or piece together our instructions, recipe writers both professional and personal recognize one another by our shared understanding and appreciation of the small—but important—details of recipe writing.

 

[i] Amy Tigner and Allison Carruth, Literature and Food Studies (London: Routledge, 2017), 3.

[ii] Helen Zoe Veit, “The Making of the Modern American Recipe,Smithsonian Magazine, 19 September 2017.

[iii] Gretchen McCulloch, Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language (New York: Penguin, 2019), 11.

[iv] McCulloch, Because Internet, 13.


KC Hysmith, PhD, is a food scholar and writer who focuses on the intersections of food history, gender, and digital media. She is the co-author and co-editor of several books on food culture including When Southern Women Cook (America’s Test Kitchen) and An American Girl Anthology. She holds a PhD in food studies from the University of North Carolina and an MLA in Gastronomy. See more of her work at kchysmith.com.

The Poet’s Table: Recipes of the Sandburg Family

By Madi Duran

When it comes to the eating habits of poet Carl Sandburg’s family, we know that they generally enjoyed hearty meals made from simple, homegrown ingredients. Fresh baked bread, hearty stews, and plenty of products made from Mrs. Lilian Sandburg’s prized Chikaming Dairy goats’ milk were the norm for the family at Connemara, their home in Flat Rock, North Carolina. We have few recipes written by the family in the collection, with most of our knowledge about their eating habits coming from oral histories with the daughters and grandchildren after Carl Sandburg’s death in 1967. However, scanned copies of recipe cards provided by his daughter, Helga Sandburg Crile, and granddaughter, Paula Steichen Polega, for the reference files at the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site show how Mrs. Lilian Sandburg integrated recipes learned from her Luxembourgian parents and ones honoring her husband Carl’s Swedish heritage into their lives. There are also instructions written by Mrs. Sandburg herself for making goat cheeses in various styles, like a simple cooked cheese and a nut Neufchâtel, and her well-used copy of The Settlement Cookbook (1901).

Fig. 1. Recipes for Oma’s grape wine and a dandelion wine, copied for the Park reference files by Helga Sandburg Crile in May 1991.

A recipe for dandelion wine points back to Mrs. Sandburg’s European immigrant parents, the Steichens. Dandelions were brought by European colonists in the 1600s, both as a source of edible greens and as a means to make a cheaper alternative to grape wine.[i] A grape wine recipe, passed down by “Oma,” the German word for grandmother and used by the Steichens to refer to Mrs. Sandburg’s mother, is accompanied by a note urging the recipient to “keep this in verry [sic] save [sic] place as it is verry [sic] good resepie [sic].” Another recipe for cold borscht is specifically labeled as coming from the Steichens, and a pound cake is also accompanied by “Oma” in parentheses.

Fig. 2. A collection of Swedish Christmas cookies copied at an unknown time, likely by Helga Sandburg Crile.
Fig. 3. A recipe for Mrs. Sandburg’s favorite German pfeffernüsse cookies, typed for the Park by her granddaughter Paula Steichen Polega in 1979.

When it comes to holiday fare, a variety of Swedish cookie recipes have been saved, an homage to Carl Sandburg’s Swedish heritage: Swedish butter cookies, spritsar, and one recipe card simply labeled “Swedish Christmas Cookies” that call for warming spices and molasses, like a gingerbread but without any ginger. However, Mrs. Sandburg’s heritage is evident in a much-beloved recipe for pfeffernüsse that her granddaughter, Paula Steichen Polega, passed on to the park with the remark that it was “Mrs. Sandburg’s favorite.” It seems only fitting that the family made efforts to reconnect with their heritage during the holidays, a time for celebration, togetherness, and remembrance.

Fig. 4. A recipe for “Connemara Custard” copied for the Park reference files by Helga Sandburg Crile in May 1991.

The recipes documenting various uses for goat milk reflect Mrs. Sandburg’s dedication to bettering the dairy goat industry, including her own award-winning Chikaming Dairy herd, and desire to make goat milk a mainstream alternative for traditional dairy products. Even in basic recipes one can find evidence of her family’s flavor profile — anise and nutmeg appear in almost every cookie recipe, and anise makes an appearance in the recipe for cooked cheese written by Mrs. Sandburg. A custard recipe is modified into “Connemara Custard” by substituting goat milk for condensed milk. The recipe for a nut Neufchâtel, a cheese believed to date back to sixth-century Normandy,[ii] is also reimagined as a goat dairy product by Mrs. Sandburg from their days in Harbert, Michigan.

Fig. 5. A recipe for Nut Neufchatel goat cheese created by Mrs. Sandburg pre-1945 and distributed as part of her dairy goat operation, Chikaming Goat Farm, copied for the Park reference files by Helga Sandburg Crile in May 1991.

While we do not have many written recipes for the Sandburg family, what we do have illustrates how Mrs. Sandburg blended hers and her husband’s cultural backgrounds into memorable foods for her family and her ability to adapt recipes for her own health and benefit with goat dairy products. Some additional recipes used by the family can be found on a park webpage that references Lizzie Black Kander’s The Settlement Cookbook,[iii] a staple in the Sandburg home that can be seen in the kitchen in the historic house museum. Originally created for immigrants in Milwaukee, Kander’s work combined traditional Eastern European and American recipes.[iv] The use of this book also points to both the Sandburg and Steichen families’ lived experiences as European immigrants settling in the American Midwest — though they were in Illinois and Michigan, respectively, rather than Wisconsin. The use of The Settlement Cookbook, further exemplifies the efforts Mrs. Sandburg made to honor her and her husband’s European heritage and their lived experiences as first-generation Americans.

Figs. 6 and 7. Photographs of the Sandburgs’ copy of The Settlement Cookbook on display in their kitchen at Connemara.

At the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site, we have a varied collection that shows a life well-lived. As the final home of an illustrious author, Connemara includes thousands of books on display and a large archival collection in our repository, but also, uniquely, the evidence of the Sandburgs’ mundane daily life, which sets it apart from other collections. Half-smoked cigars, tens of thousands of annotated bookmarks, and unfinished knitting projects are just some of the artifacts left behind by the Sandburg family. Recipes, too, tell a part of their story. Though the original recipe cards remain in the hands of descendants, the scanned copies in our reference files and the copy of The Settlement Cookbook reveal staples of the family’s diet as well as foods chosen for special occasions like Christmas, showcasing their values and heritage through their diet.


[i] Kate Dingwall, “Summery, Sweet and Refreshing: Get to Know Dandelion Wine,” Wine Enthusiast, May 17, 2024.

[ii] Ma. Luisa De Guzman, “Neufchatel Cheese,” What Cheese, March 5, 2024.

[iii] Leah Koenig, “As American as Pot Roast and Potato Salad,” Tablet Magazine, April 20, 2016.

[iv] Leah Koenig, “As American as Pot Roast and Potato Salad,” Tablet Magazine, April 20, 2016.


Madi Duran is a Museum Technician at the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site in Flat Rock, North Carolina. She has had a love of museums ever since she was a child and has been volunteering and working at museums since she was in high school. In 2020 she graduated from St Olaf College with a degree in Art History, and went on to complete her master’s in Museum Studies through the University of Oklahoma’s online program in 2024. She started as an intern at the Carl Sandburg Home NHS in 2021 and began working as a National Park Service employee in 2024. She loves sharing information about the collection and Sandburg family with the public through the park’s official social media pages, speaking to visitors, assisting researchers, and sharing information through publications like this one!

Culinary Literacy in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century British Personal Recipe Collections

By Elizabeth M. Schmidt

When I graduated from college in 2011, my cousin Aurora gave me a cookbook she had compiled. Titled “Everything but the Kitchen Sink,” it was a binder filled with her favorite recipes: some she wrote herself and others she collected from friends online. Over the years, I added to the binder, slipping magazine cutouts between the pages and taping in small pieces of note paper on which I had scribbled instructions. The cookbook Aurora gave me is part of a long tradition of personal recipe collections created by, and for, women. These collections can be found in kitchens, attics, drawers, libraries, and archives around the world. As readers of The Recipes Project will know, historians have found recipes useful for thinking about how and what households ate, and they are often prized for their access to women’s voices and perspectives.

The varied nature of these collections make them tricky to catalog, and the lack of information on the compilers is often perplexing. An eighteenth-century recipe collection by Elizabeth Michel, currently housed at the Wellcome Library, was initially catalogued by someone around 1931 who referred to Michel as “illiterate,” even though the book was clearly written by someone familiar with the written word and educated to some degree. In 2010, literary historian Wendy Wall used this cookbook and catalog entry as the impetus for an essay that confronted the question of literacy in relation to what she called “the domestic arts,” specifically pointing out the ways that literacy is often unfairly gendered.[1]

What I want to make clear is that the people building these recipe collections were both compilers and authors. Women like Michel were acting as compilers by collecting recipes from various sources, but also as writers by modifying the recipes they collected and creating the books themselves. This became evident when I initially began researching personal recipe collections and wanted to find evidence of real-world use of published cookbooks from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Like many, I have shelves of cookbooks that I have collected but rarely cooked from. I wanted to know if this was the case centuries earlier: if eighteenth- and nineteenth-century texts were also collector pieces rather than used on a regular basis. In two nineteenth-century manuscripts I found explicit evidence of engagement with a published book. In the cookbook collection at Texas Woman’s University’s Blagg-Huey Library was a recipe book by Mrs. E. A. Foord, an author who copied out a “Claret Cup” recipe from Isabella Beeton’s 1865 book The Dictionary of Every-Day Cookery. Then, at the Huntington Library, I found a recipe collection written by Susannah Judith Blencowe which included the following note: “For Oyster Sauce refer to Miss Rundell page 320 Calves foot jelly Mrs. Glasse page 295 Carrot Soup Cobbet’s 131,” referencing Maria Rundell’s A New System of Domestic Cookery (1842), Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (1784), and Anne Cobbett’s The English Housekeeper: or, Manual of Domestic Management (1840).

These were certainly classic examples of literacy, but what I found in the rest of the pages of Foord and Blencowe’s collections, as well as in countless other manuscripts I examined, were examples of a larger “culinary literacy.” Culinary literacy includes the ability to read published cookbooks and competently write out recipes, but it also entails engagement with information networks, friends and family sharing recipes amongst themselves, as well as the ability to modify recipes based on experience, knowledge of how to find appropriate ingredients, and practical skills.

For example, in addition to Beeton’s “Claret Cup,” Mrs. Foord’s recipe collection had attributions to at least forty-nine different people, including a recipe for “Curry” attributed to Abraham Cook, one for “Mango Pickle” she received from Mrs. Norfor while Foord was living in Cuddalore, and a recipe for “Little Cakes” from a butler working for a family named Caldwell. Michel’s book, which instigated Wall’s initial inquiry into literacy, also includes attributions, such as “To Make Plum Cakes My Lady Nowell’s Way,” “My Lady Lucas’s Receipt to Pickle Wallnuts,” and “Sugar Cakes Mrs. Carter’s Way.” The networks accessed by Foord and Michel, evidenced by these examples, crossed international boundaries within the British empire, as well as class boundaries. Michel’s distinction between Lady Nowell and Mrs. Carter indicates that she was sharing recipes with women in the nobility as well as the middling classes.

Fig. 1. Page from Elizabeth Michel’s recipe book. Image courtesy of the Wellcome Library, London.

Beyond published cookbooks and acquaintances, culinary literacy includes engagement with other sources. Foord included clippings from newspapers in her recipe collection, such as three recipes for marmalades and five “tea-time” recipes for using marrow (a squash similar to a zucchini), and recipes cut from an advertising pamphlet created by a commercial flour company, Paisley.

Fig. 2. Page from Mrs. E. A. Foord’s recipe book. Photo taken by author, permission from TWU

Beyond just incorporating the recipes into their collections, our compilers also often made changes to them. Michel felt it necessary to include the caveat “my own way” on a recipe for cakes, implying that while this particular recipe was something she had invented, any other unattributed recipes in her collection were likely copied from books; by writing “my own way” she claimed authorship and exhibited pride in that fact. On a clipping for “A Breakfast Preserve,” an M. J. Foord added notes modifying the recipe to utilize the natural pectin in the orange seeds but avoid leaving them in the finished product. This example of “kitchen literacy” is key in understanding how these personal recipe collections are products of a larger culinary literacy that encompassed engagement with published texts, exchange of information within social networks, and a body of knowledge gained through experience. Incidentally, Elizabeth Michel’s entry at the Wellcome Library still describes the recipe book as being written in an “illiterate hand,” which showcases the need for resources to re-evaluate catalog descriptions across all archives and adjust them to reflect this idea of culinary literacy.

Fig. 3. Page from Mrs. E. A. Foord’s recipe book. Photo taken by author, permission from TWU

[1] Wendy Wall, “Literacy and the Domestic Arts,” Huntington Library Quarterly, 73:3 (September 2010), 384. https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/10.1525/hlq.2010.73.3.383.pdf

 


Elizabeth M. Schmidt is a recent PhD from the University of California Santa Barbara specializing in British Atlantic foodways of the eighteenth century. From roast beef to turtle soup, she researches the intersection of eating and identity during the Age of Revolutions and imperial turmoil. Using microhistories of figures like sailors, military generals, merchants, and housewives, she explores the impact of foodways on discussions of identity, belonging, inclusion, and exclusions. Elizabeth also enjoys cooking historical manuscript recipes, translating eighteenth and nineteenth century instructions, measurements, and tools into their modern equivalent to learn what she can about culinary knowledge and labor.

Recipe for an Unfinished Book: Helen Witty’s America Preserved

By Melina Moe

From the Helen Witty Papers, Columbia University Rare Book & Manuscript Library

Yield: One comprehensive book on sweet preserving, “complete enough to be the last word for the next 50 years (or until nuclear winter, whichever comes first).”   

Prep time: At least twelve years (1974–1986), possibly longer.

Status: Unsealed.

Ingredients

  • 1 typed proposal to Sally Kovalchick at Workman Publishing, dated September 30, 1986
  • 1 working list of raw ingredients, “far from complete,” with more than 200 entries
  • 1 food safety testing sheet, annotated in red and black ink
  • Clippings, in quantity, from newspapers and magazines
  • Recipes borrowed, adapted, and attributed from sources spanning centuries
  • Handwritten marginalia, to taste

Method

Among the working papers of food writer Helen Witty (1921–2023), now held at Columbia University’s Rare Book & Manuscript Library, sits a project that never became a book. Witty was a two-time James Beard Award winner, editor at Cuisine and Food & Wine, and author of Better Than Store-Bought (1979) and Fancy Pantry (1986). Her archive documents a career that ranged from editor and recipe developer to authority on American home cooking at a time when the food-writing world was still a small and largely male professional scene.[i] She called one of those unfinished projects America Preserved, and in a 1986 proposal to her publisher described it as “the book on sweet preserving in America.”[ii]

Fig. 1. The food safety testing sheet or the AMERPRE planning page. Image courtesy of author.

It was, in other words, an ambitious book. But perhaps one appropriately scaled to its subject, since preserving is as broad and deep a cooking technique as one could imagine. Evidence of deliberate food drying in the Middle East stretches back to roughly 12,000 B.C.E. The ancient Greeks packed quince in honey; the Romans cooked the two together to produce the ancestor of marmalade.[iii] For most of human history, salting, smoking, fermenting, and sugaring were not cooking techniques so much as serious strategies for addressing the challenge of food logistics– that is, how not to starve between harvests, through long voyages, or on military campaigns. In much of the world, preserving remains an economic necessity. But in the U.S., and likely for Witty’s audience, preserving had undergone a gradual shift toward the enthusiastic hobbyist or serious foodie looking to capture the flavor notes of a season for the less verdant times of year. As the National Center for Home Food Preservation puts it, we have moved “from ‘preserve because we have to’ to ‘preserve because we like to.’”   

Fig. 2. “New Mexico. Mrs. Fidel Romero Proudly Exhibits Her Canned Food” (1946), NARA via Wikimedia Commons.

Preserving has attracted an idiosyncratic cast of historical devotees. Nostradamus, before he was a prophet, was an apothecary who published his Treatise on Cosmetics and Jams in 1555. It was a bestseller featuring cherry jelly “fit to set before a King,” alongside love potions and plague remedies. In the summer of 1898, Marie Curie put up fourteen pots of gooseberry jelly and discovered polonium.[iv]

Witty’s America Preserved intended to carry on this lineage of serious, obsessive preservers. In the archive, we can find her proposed table of contents, which runs several pages: jams, jellies, conserves, fruit butters, marmalades, syrups, fruit pastes, curds, nectars, leathers, spoon sweets, fruits preserved in alcohol, and candied peels. A hand-written annotation suggests she was considering whether sweet-pickled fruits counted as preserves or relishes. Her working list of raw ingredients ran to more than 200 entries. She wanted to cover not just recipes but the science of pectin, the question of sugar substitutes, the uses of a pressure cooker, and the history behind it all: “lore, history, old art, old recipes,” updated for modern cooks in what she called “post-nostalgia” versions.

Fig. 3. “Canning by the cold pack method.” Image courtesy of the Library of Congress.

Like all archives worth their shelf space, though, what her papers illustrate most vividly is how Witty worked. The neatly-labeled folders (“S” for “spoon sweets”) are stuffed with clippings from newspapers and magazines, recipes gathered from other cooks, notes from conversations with food scientists at Cornell and extension agents on Long Island. A food safety testing sheet lists recipes she sent to the Suffolk County Cooperative Extension test kitchen and is annotated “okay” in red ink or flagged for further checking. Those recipes she sent for the students to verify include baked cranberry preserves with orange and cardamom, Bing cherries in a sweet nine-day pickle, Escoffier’s condiment of sweet peppers. Witty’s “personal” recipe collection was archival. She was a collector who tested, tasted, selected, innovated, annotated, and eventually shared her recipes in cookbooks. This is appropriate for a book that winkingly aspired to be “complete enough to be the last word for the next 50 years (or until nuclear winter, whichever comes first),” since the long history has always contained such borrowing and inheritance, with recipes across fences and through generations, each cook adjusting the sugar, swapping the spice, making it theirs. Witty’s book didn’t come to fruition, though it is preserved in her archive, which, like a garden in September, shows she may have had too many good things on her hands at once.

 

[i] Helen S. Witty Papers, MS#2106, Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Columbia University. The guide to the boxes was compiled by Anne E. Witty, September 2022.

[ii] Helen Witty to Sally Kovalchick, September 30, 1986, Helen S. Witty Papers, MS#2106, Box 7.

[iii] For a lively overview, see Sue Shephard, Pickled, Potted, and Canned: How the Art and Science of Food Preserving Changed the World (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2001).

[iv] Susan Quinn, Marie Curie: A Life (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995). See also Rebecca Rupp, “Jam: Chemistry and Cool in a Jar,” National Geographic, 2021.


Melina Moe is the Curator of Literature at Columbia’s Rare Book & Manuscript Library, where the Helen S. Witty papers are held.