Easter is nearly upon us, and with that, many young ones will be looking for a bunny with a basket filled with the most perfect of foods–the egg. I am passionate about eggs and chickens.

When I was a little girl growing up in England during the war (WWII), I had a pet chicken named Lucy. I would take her for rides in a pram (baby carriage for you Americans). She’d look around in all directions from her captive spot, like a tourist, not wanting to miss anything. Perhaps, she welcomed the distraction from her most important task–to lay an egg.

Remarkably when we mention that another has laid an egg, we titter and snicker and think Thank God, Not I! Yet, a well-laid egg cannot be matched. Its shape, its flavor… My favorite breakfast is a soft-boiled egg, toast and tea.

There has arisen a recent urban craze to raise chickens for eggs. A chicken farmer is one food job that one cannot sleep through.

Here are a few words to live by when it comes to thinking about eggs–the very symbol of fertility.

“Love and eggs are best then they are fresh.” –Russian Proverb

“An egg is always an adventure; the next one may be different.” — Oscar Wilde

“Eggs are very much like small boys. If you overheat them or over beat them, they will turn on you, and no amount of future love will right the wrong.”  — Anonymous.

Food being ‘prepared’ on Downton Abby

Food historians uncover, record, and reproduce recipes. Their words invite readers to sit together at tables of long ago kitchens. They help us see, hear and smell the aromas of the food bubbling in the pots, frying in the pans, roasting or baking in the ovens.

Historians forage for unique nuggets of knowledge in ancient cookbooks, literary texts, and treasured diaries. They examine records of the daily diets and the culinary customs of our near and distant ancestors. They enable us to get a clearer picture of what the average person, not just the wealthy and privileged, ate at any given time and place.

Food historians are sleuths. They study everything from ancient cave carvings to manor house kitchen inventories. They explore the origins of labor-saving inventions. They delve into trade and taxation records; and analyze hotel and restaurant menus to gain greater understanding of changing fads and trends.

And then, they look around for ways to use their knowledge. Their information may be combined with a job in travel, teaching, writing — even food styling.

Culinary libraries need the help of historians to answer questions, undertake research for special projects, and curate culinary exhibits. Their writings are published in  academic journals and the popular press. Their expertise is sought by modern movie makers and producers of TV series.

Directors must make sure characters, whether they are: gladiators, The Titanic ocean liner passengers, even When Harry Met Sally are provided with the authentic food of their time in history.

 Some Sources To Check Out For Inspiration:

Drinking History: Fifteen Turning Points in the Making of American Beverages (Arts and Traditions of the Table: Perspectives on Culinary History) by Andrew F. Smith

The Literary Gourmet: Menus from Masterpieces by Linda Wolfe

Food Stylist: The Art of Preparing Food for the Camera by Dolores Custer

Culinary Historians of New York

Did you know that many pumpkin pies are not filled with pumpkins but rather with squash?

I’ve never understood Americans’ love for pumpkins or pumpkin pie for that matter, though my children always seemed to insist on it at Thanksgiving when they were little. And I would give in, or be grateful when someone else offered  to bring it for the Thanksgiving feast.

Instead of grumbling against tradition, let me share this poem by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1982) on:

Oh, greenly and fair in the land of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold,
Like that which o’er Nineveh’s prophet once grew,
While he waited to know that his warning was true,
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain.

On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden
Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden;
And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold
Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold;
Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North,
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth,
Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines,
And the sun of September melts down on his vines.

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest,
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board
The old broken links of affection restored,
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before,
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye?
What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie?

Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling,
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling!
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!
When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune,
Our chair a broad pumpkin,–our lantern the moon,
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam,
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team!

Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better
E’er smoked from an oven or circled a platter!
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine,
Brighter eyes never watched o’er it baking, than thine!
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express,
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less,
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below,
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow,
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky
Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie!