Tag: history
Egg Creams Are No Yolk
What has no eggs and no cream, but is specifically named for them? Despite the misleading moniker, the classic egg cream formula has never contained either. Born in New York in the late 1800’s, it relied on whole milk for creaminess, seltzer for a bit of fizz, and chocolate syrup for that beloved cocoa flavor. Though they fell out of favor along with the demise of soda fountains, I’d like to think this nostalgic treat is primed for making a comeback.
Fizzy Fun
Far lighter than the decadence of a frosty milkshake but with the same sort of flavor, it’s hard to describe the appeal of the egg cream without experiencing it for yourself. Carbonated milk would be a tough sell, even for the most adventurous gastronomes, and yet that’s basically the result. Frothy and creamy, sweet but not cloying, it seems to fall perfectly in step with the seltzer trend still sweeping the nation. In fact, you could happily swap in hard seltzer for a more adult drink.
What’s In A Name?
Given the clear omission of the two headlining ingredients, it’s a bit of a mystery as to how the egg cream ever got such a name. Leading theories include…
- The Yiddish Twist: Some believe the name comes from a Yiddish wordplay. “Echt” means “genuine” or “real,” while “keem” translates to “cream.” So, “egg cream” could be a playful way of saying “real cream,” even though the drink never actually contained cream.
- Lost in Translation: Another theory suggests the name stems from a miscommunication. The drink might have been inspired by a Parisian beverage called “chocolat et crème,” and in a Brooklyn accent, “et crème” could have been mispronounced as “egg cream.”
- The Frothy Connection: Others suggest the name might simply be due to the drink’s appearance. The frothy head created by the seltzer water resembles the texture of beaten egg whites, hence the “egg” in the name.
Essential Ingredients
What we do know for sure is that the actual ingredients are simple and accessible. Naturally, any non-dairy milk is welcome here, based on your personal preference. Oat milk is booming for its velvety texture, making it a top recommendation for this application too.
- Chocolate Syrup: Rich and decadent, it provides the base flavor.
- Milk: Adds body and a creamy texture.
- Seltzer Water: Creates the signature frothy head and delightful fizz.
Note: Chocolate isn’t the only option, though it is the most popular. Any sort of syrup, from peppermint to strawberry, can be added or substituted at will. The only limit is your imagination.
DO Try This At Home
Such a simple concept doesn’t need a formal recipe. There’s no need to measure, but if you want someone to hold your hand through it, here’s what I do. Mix 2 – 3 tablespoons chocolate syrup and 1/4 cup non-dairy milk vigorously in the bottom of a glass, then top it off with seltzer water.
The preparation is as much a part of the experience as the drink itself. Traditionally, soda jerks would expertly pour the ingredients into a tall glass, creating a cascading effect. Then, with a flourish, they’d stir it vigorously with a long spoon, creating a frothy crown of bubbles.
A Bid To Bring Back The Egg Cream
The egg cream endures, hanging on by a thread, poised for renewed mainstream success. It’s a symbol of a bygone era, a time when community gatherings and social interaction centered around shared experiences. In every sip, you can taste the enduring joy of a good, frothy beverage. It’s not just a drink, it’s a piece of our shared history, waiting to bubble up once again.
Feeding Hungry Ghosts
What do ghosts eat? It feels like a silly question to consider, but at the same time, deadly serious. Presenting such offerings to the dearly departed shows respect, and more importantly, our lasting love. Like living people, I’d imagine that ghosts have diverse tastes, unique to every individual spirit. Whatever might have brought them comfort during their lives would undoubtedly be the best gift. Perhaps it’s sort of a test to keep their memory alive; if you hold dear such comparatively trivial details, surely you could maintain a better picture of the person as a whole.
In any event, what you feed the deceased varies depending on their culture, though I’ve heard that particular dishes are more auspicious than others. For example, did you know that the Chinese originally set out soft tofu for spirits, since it was believed that ghosts have long lost their chins and jaws, making it difficult for them to chew hard or crunchy foods. If there’s anyone I’d trust with this practice, it’s them; tofu first appeared in China around 220 BCE. If that’s not a proven track record, I don’t know what is.
As a person with terrible teeth, I can relate. Besides, once our ancestors have had their fill, the living are meant to enjoy the leftovers, so we should consider making something that everyone would enjoy. That’s why mapo tofu bao are ideal for celebrating the Hungry Ghost Festival.
Also known as the Zhongyuan Festival in Taoism and the Yulanpen Festival in Buddhism, it’s essentially the Chinese version of Día de los Muertos, when family and friends who have left this world come back to visit. To treat our guests of honor, I’d like to suggest these fiery little snacks that are pungent enough to lift the spirits, no matter what state they’re in.
Soft cubes of tender tofu luxuriate in a spicy sea of black garlic, fermented bean paste, and plenty of mala Sichuan peppercorns. Wrapped in a pillowy shell of steamed white bread, each bite practically melts in your mouth, exploding into fireworks of flavor. I wish I could lay claim to such a brilliant culinary innovation, but I’m just as happy to share Chez Jorge‘s brilliant formula, already fine-tuned and perfected.
It takes some time and effort to prepare, but considering the fact that your guests of honor have been waiting all year to drop in, I think it’s worth your time. Besides, the ghosts are fairly generous when it comes to sharing; you’ll be grateful for all the extras when the party’s over.
A Bridgerton Too Far
Like most people burrowing in at home during the pandemic, I’ve done my fair share of binge watching, devouring shows with a bottomless appetite. Not even discerning the finer fare from downright junk food, I’ll swallow them all whole in one sitting, pausing perhaps for a breath of air, but not a crumb will be left when the day is done. As a respite from reality, even the worst programs are still tolerable. When it just so happens that I dig into an actual delicacy, however, it’s a treat that transcends the most substantial meal. It satisfies my creative hunger, while often eliciting a greater craving for creativity.
Dear reader, please don’t judge me, but I fell hard for Bridgerton on Netflix. If you’re not familiar, the basic premise centers around one affluent family during the Regency Era in London, full of love, scandal, and strife. If it were a book, you might even call it a bodice-ripper at points, and yet… Of course, I find myself most captivated by the food. Particularly, the elaborate feasts, huge spreads set for even the most mundane weekday meals. The singular dish that I simply can’t shake from mind, despite the fact that it flashed on the screen for not even a full second, barely even coming into focus, was the most magnificent asparagus pastry I ever laid eyes on.
(Please don’t sue me for the screen shot, Netflix.)
Tireless internet trawling yielded only a few scant scraps. Promising leads, but nothing substantive; certainly not enough to fill up on. Hungry for answers, I decided to write my own script for this savory plot twist.
Raised pastry crusts were very popular at this time, often decorated lavishly by the impressions of fancy copper molds. Lacking such specialized equipment, my crust is made in the same spirit, but as a simpler springform affair. Contrary to delicate doughs that yield a tender yet flaky texture, recipes dating back to this time were sturdy, utilitarian foundations built upon lard and high-gluten flour. Staying true to the spirit of the task while attempting a more edible base, I’ve employed coconut oil alongside softer white whole wheat flour.
More importantly but also more mysteriously, the filling posed a unique challenge. Of course, asparagus should be the primary ingredient, but what else? How did they stay so pert and erect after roasting, and what anchored them in place? Most dinner pies, and most foods on affluent British tables in general, contained meat, and lots of it. Mincemeat was a perennial staple across all classes, but for such a special event, only the best would do. Thus, it’s rational to imagine a hidden pool of luxurious pate holding those spears upright. Rich and buttery, perhaps a touch gamey, duck or pheasant liver might be a good choice. For me, though, canned green beans are the new foie gras. Believe it or not, the once off-putting tinned taste is the very thing that gives this spread the same distinctive notes of iron, along with a satisfying dose of protein. Bolstered with savory herbs and spices, tasting, more than seeing, is believing in this case.
Pert and perky straight out of the oven, my stalks did admittedly begin to droop after the rigors of shooting under hot lights. Next time, I might suggest cutting the spears a bit shorter, to put less strain on the crust and keep them standing tall. My vision was simply too grand to live beyond the specter of a Hollywood set.
It takes a bit of doing to prepare, but a royal feast demands the utmost of care to pull off. With a bit of planning and patience, even those who aren’t lucky enough to be born into high society can partake in this grand, celebratory pastry.
