Fresh Eggs in California

San Francisco, 
1853

In late 1852, the clipper Golden Eagle embarked on her maiden voyage from Boston to California.1 While rounding Cape Horn during the typically calm Antarctic summer, the ship encountered rough seas that damaged her bow, necessitating a month of repairs in Rio before continuing. By the time she reached the Golden Gate in the spring of 1853, she sailed past the newly built lighthouse on Alcatraz Island, still awaiting its revolving lantern from France. Finally, the great clipper docked in a bustling multinational city of 40,000 inhabitants, all seeking their fortunes.

Dining at a Love Hotel in the Gilded Age

New York City
ca. 1892

Women were a popular motif on cigar boxes in the late nineteenth century, often depicted as angels, warriors, or voluptuous goddesses. However, labels featuring female nudes were rare, as these cigar boxes were seemingly intended for brothels. The Victorians, known for their duplicity, were adept at concealing their deviations from a strict moral code. Consequently, material evidence of this aspect of their lives is scarce. A case in point is a menu from the Palette, an obscure hotel in New York during the Gilded Age. Catering to upper-class guests leading double lives, the hotel remains shrouded in mystery, as it was never mentioned in contemporary newspapers or magazines.

Christmas at the Winter Resorts

Florida, Georgia & New Jersey 
1885 

After the Civil War, much of the country’s wealth was used to expand the railroads and build hotels for the tourist trade. In mid-June each year, these hotels opened for the summer season in wilderness areas like the Green Mountains of Vermont, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and the Adirondacks. There were also numerous resorts dotting the coastline from Maine to New Jersey. Church groups flocked to the campgrounds on Martha’s Vineyard and Ocean Grove, while high society packed their trunks, heading to their watering holes in Bar Harbor, Newport, and Saratoga Springs. By the mid-1880s, with over 100,000 miles of railroad track crisscrossing the country, well-to-do easterners began to venture farther afield. Some took escorted “excursions” to the far West, while others headed south in winter to escape the cold weather. 

Thanksgiving Confusion

1939-41 

In 1939, President Franklin Roosevelt declared that Thanksgiving would be held on the third Thursday of November, instead of the fourth, in order to extend the Christmas shopping season. The polls showed that sixty percent of Americans were opposed to idea since company holidays, school vacations, and college football games were already scheduled. Since the presidential declaration was not legally binding, twenty-three states refused to change the date. Colorado and Texas decided to officially celebrate on both days. A store owner in Kokomo, Indiana hung a sign in his window that read: “Do your shopping now. Who knows, tomorrow may be Christmas.” Menus from the period show that the conflict continued until 1941. 

Election Night

New York City, 
1906 

After walking through Herald Square on election night in 1907, artist John Sloan noted in his diary that the cheerful crowd was “so dense in places that it was impossible to control one’s movement.” The square on Sixth Avenue and 34th Street, then bounded to the east by the elevated train, was one of the traditional places where New Yorkers gathered in the years before radio to hear the election results. Although this was a period of social activism and political reform, the citizenry was mostly out to have a good time. Filling the squares and circles of the city, the large gatherings were generally peaceful, except for the shouting and blaring of horns, and the feather ticklers that the celebrants wiggled under the noses of passers-by. Within a week, Sloan painted the scene he witnessed, masterfully capturing the excitement of urban life.1 

Eleven Madison Park Revisited

New York City, 
2012
 

Eleven Madison Park is currently ranked as the tenth best restaurant in the world.1 Despite this achievement, it remains a work in progress, restlessly changing its format.2 While maintaining the level of its fine cuisine, distinguished by reductions, foams, and creative combinations, it continues to introduce different themes, taking the narrative in new directions. Perhaps believing that it gets in the way, the restaurant has deconstructed the traditional menu in an experiment yielding mixed results.

Chauncey Depew’s Big Day

New York City,
1890 

Chauncey Depew was very busy on Monday, February 17, 1890. In addition to being the president of a railroad, Depew headed the World’s Fair Committee, charged with securing the upcoming Colombian Exposition for New York. It had been four months since the city's aristocrats had discussed the matter over dinner at Delmonico’s and time was running out; Congress was expected to make a decision by the end of the week. And yet, even at this late date, the state’s political leaders were still divided as to whether they wanted to host this massive event—the municipality was difficult enough to manage without the added burden of millions of visitors. Depew was now making one last effort to align the warring political factions. While the newspapers seemingly reported his every move, two menus provide additional information about his exact whereabouts on a day marked by striking contrasts.

William Waldorf Astor’s World’s Fair Dinner

This article was first published in the 2010 summer issue of Gastronomica. It is posted here as a prelude to the essay titled “Chauncey Depew’s Big Day.”

New York City,
1889

William Waldorf Astor

At grand dinners of the Gilded Age, canvasback duck was an upper-class autumnal dish, much appreciated for its subtle flavor of celery. In the fall of 1889, however, the species was suddenly scarce. There were reports from Havre de Grace, Maryland, a small town at the mouth of the Susquehanna River, that storms had driven mud over the wild celery upon which the canvasbacks liked to feed.1 Some feared the ducks had been overhunted.1 Whatever the trouble, Charles Ranhofer, Delmonico’s longtime chef, could not get his hands on them—not even for someone the New York Times would shortly proclaim “the wealthiest man in the world.”2

The Class of 1888

West Point,
1884-1887

When the Class of 1888 graduated from the U.S. Military Academy in June of that year, there were so few cadets that the New York Daily Graphic could easily publish their portraits on a two-page spread.1 Five rare menus transport us back to West Point in the 1880s. In addition to providing a glimpse of the food customs, some of the menus convey a deeper meaning about the long cycle of mourning caused by a sudden death, adding a poignant dimension to these minor historic documents.

The Russians Are Coming!

New York City
1863

In the 1966 comedy The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming, a Soviet submarine accidentally runs aground near a small New England town during the Cold War, sparking fear and chaos throughout the community. However, when the Russian navy actually arrived in force a hundred years earlier, it was greeted with open arms. That naval call, presumably an act of friendship during the American Civil War, was orchestrated by the Russian government. In reality it was a ploy, feigning an alliance with the Northern states to discourage the European powers from intervening in the Polish Rebellion which the Russians were brutally crushing. Still, Russia’s ulterior motives were of little interest to those caught up in the struggle to preserve the Union, as shown by menus from lavish entertainments during their visit.