skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Flint, Michigan
1882-1887
The American custom of having afternoon tea is often traced back to the late nineteenth century when the upper classes in New York began adopting their version of the British ritual. However, long before this, average women were using the term “five o’clock tea” to describe some of their get-togethers. This is evidenced by a surprising discovery of nine enigmatic menus from the mid-1880s—a rare find, as menus were seldom printed for meals in private homes. These mementos were apparently saved by a woman who belonged to a small circle of friends. Although the menus contained the names of the participants, the use of nicknames and initials made it difficult to determine where the social events had taken place. Nevertheless, through trial and error, it was eventually determined that the women lived in Flint, Michigan, then a town of about 9,000 people. The menus offer a glimpse into the everyday social life of middle-class Midwesterners, with one in particular highlighting the entrepreneurial spirit that would soon drive the nation forward.
San Francisco,
1923
When menus are printed for a small get-together, they often reflect the underlying values of an individual or group, such as this charming menu from a dinner in June 1923 hosted by Camille Mailhebuau, Jr., eldest son of the famed restaurateur. His father had recently returned to San Francisco, opening his eponymous eatery on Pine Street, shown in the previous essay “A Moment in Time.” Although Camille Jr. describes this event as the “first dinner given to my friends,” as if he were marking a rite of passage in his epicurean family, the party was probably organized by his parents to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. It appears that his father planned this bill of fare and arranged to have the menus printed; the illustration is surprisingly old-fashioned for a youthful gathering during the Jazz Age. The image suggests a longing for the past, harkening back to the joyful time before Prohibition, when Champagne could be legally served in American restaurants, or perhaps even sipped while flying your “aeroplane.”
San Francisco,
1920-1923
When I first saw this photograph, there was something intriguing about the scene that I couldn’t put my finger on. The inscription in the lower right-hand corner provided some information about the event—Camille and Eugenie Mailhebuau celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary at this dinner party on February 9, 1920. Camille was a French-born restaurateur who operated the venerable Old Poodle Dog in San Francisco. Camille and Eugenie can be seen at the middle of the long table, just behind the pretty cake. While the couple appears to be happy, some of guests look as if something is bothering them. Of course, it was entirely possible that the underlying anxiety that I perceived was a figment of my imagination. However, when a menu surfaced a few years later, showing where the dinner had been held and who was there, I realized what may have been on their minds that day, for the photograph marked a pivotal moment in the history of American restaurants.
The White House
1961-1963
Flashbulbs popped on the night of the Pre-Inaugural Gala as Jacqueline Kennedy emerged from a townhouse in Georgetown into the swirling snow. She was dressed in a shimmering, winter-white satin gown designed by Oleg Cassini, marking the country’s first glimpse of Jackie in her role as First Lady. Her appearance revealed the grace, elegance, and unique style that she would bring to the White House.
Mississippi River,
1857
This Currier & Ives print titled “Wooding up on the Mississippi” depicts the steamboat Princess taking on firewood for its engines. Scenes like this painted a romanticized picture of life along the Mississippi River that continues to endure. However, the reality was far from idyllic. By the mid-19th century, over 4,000 people had died on riverboats due to boiler explosions alone. Beyond such hazards, the institution of slavery permeated everyday life in the South. The Antebellum South, having “erected its economic edifice...on the shifting sands of opportunism and moral brigandage,” was an unpleasant and hellish society for most of those who lived it.1 An 1857 menu from the Princess provides unwitting historical evidence about this part of the American past.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
