Abraham Lincoln in the Kitchen

by Rae Katherine Eighmey

  Mary Todd and her friend Julia Jayne, both ardent Whigs, submitted a “Rebecca” letter of their own continuing the ridicule as the backwoods woman. In the letter Rebecca even offered to marry Shields. He became the laughingstock of Springfield. His friends took to teasing him about it. Shields quickly demanded to know the identity of the letters’ author.

  Protecting Mary and her friend, Lincoln claimed authorship of the letters and hoped that would resolve the issue. In response, Shields escalated the incident. He demanded more than an apology; he challenged Lincoln to a duel. Such satisfaction was illegal in Illinois and so the men and their seconds agreed to meet on “Blood Island,” a neutral territory on the Mississippi River near Alton, Illinois. As the one who was challenged, Lincoln had the right to choose the weapon. He selected broadswords, later saying, “I did not want to kill Shields, and felt certain that I could disarm him …; and furthermore, I didn’t want the d—d fellow to kill me, which I rather think he would have done if we had selected pistols.”

  Once on the island, the men came to their senses and called off the duel. As Mary wrote to Josiah Holland in 1865, “the foolish and uncalled for rencontre, with … Shields … when Mr. Lincoln thought he had some right to assume to be my champion.… Mr L & myself mutually agreed never to refer to it & except in an occasional light manner, between us, it never was mentioned.”

  Mary and Abraham continued to meet in secret at the Francis home and made their plans to marry. Their decision to marry was so secret and sudden that it bordered on an in-town elopement. They would simply go to the minister’s home and exchange their vows. Even Mr. and Mrs. Francis were kept in the dark until the morning of the wedding. When Ninian and Elizabeth Edwards learned on the day of the wedding that the couple planned to marry at the home of the minister, they hurriedly insisted that the marriage take place up on the hill. They also insisted that the wedding take place a day later and then scrambled to prepare for the event.

  Three years after they met, Mary and Abraham did have a wedding cake, but it was not a fancy two-day-cooking version. Mary’s other sister Frances Todd Wallace described the wedding-day flurry. “It was a hurly-burly day. How we hustled! I had a whole boiled ham which I took over for the wedding supper, and made the bride’s and groom’s cake. It was a very pretty and gay wedding. After the ceremony, congratulations, and the wedding supper, we danced until midnight.” None of the thirty or so guests described what kind of cake was served. Some did recall that when it was brought out at the end of the ceremony, it was too warm for icing.

  A week after the wedding, Lincoln wrote to a friend describing the event with an apt terseness of language that was the hallmark of his oratory. “Nothing new here except my marrying, which, to me, is a matter of profound wonder.”

  And so the Lincolns’ marriage began.

  FRENCH ALMOND CAKE

  There are several Lincoln-era versions of this white almond cake. This adaptation is from an 1828 recipe, which advises the cook to allot two days to make the cake as the almonds need to be blanched, peeled, and pounded into a paste the day before baking. With modern kitchen equipment and ingredients, this cake is ready in an hour or so. The original recipe called for both sweet and bitter almonds. The former are the almonds we buy today. Poisonous bitter almonds are no longer sold. However, pure almond extract is made from those nuts, treated to be safe.

  4 large eggs, separated

  ½ cup granulated sugar, pulverized

  ¾ teaspoon pure almond extract

  ¼ teaspoon pure lemon extract

  3 ounces blanched slivered almonds, finely crushed or chopped into 1/16-inch pieces

  ¼ cup unbleached all-purpose flour, sifted 3 times

  Preheat oven to 350°F. In a deep, large (3-quart) bowl beat egg whites until they stand in stiff peaks, then set aside. In a second large bowl, using an electric mixer, beat egg yolks until they are thick and have turned into a light yellow color. This could take as long as 5 minutes. With the mixer running, begin adding the sugar about a tablespoon at a time. Continue beating until the sugar is fully incorporated and the batter is thick. Stir in the almond and lemon extracts and then the almonds. Stir in the flour. With a flexible rubber spatula, fold about one-third of the beaten egg whites into the egg yolk batter to lighten it up. Then gently fold this lightened batter into the remaining egg whites. Pour the batter into an ungreased tube pan. Bake until the cake is firm and lightly browned on top, about 25 to 30 minutes. Invert the pan over a bottle to cool completely before removing the cake from the pan.

  TIPS FOR SUCCESS: There are a few tricks to making this cake successfully. Nineteenth-century white sugar came in a compressed cone. Cooks snipped off what they needed with sugar shears and then pulverized it into fine crystals. For the French almond cake recipe, I put the ½ cup of granulated sugar in a plastic bag and pulverized it by pressing my rolling pin over it a few times. The resulting finer sugar blends more easily with the egg yolks. Stiffly beaten egg whites provide structure for this cake. It is lightest when baked until light brown in an ungreased angel food cake pan, then turned upside down until it is completely cool. I have also baked it in an antique tube pan with fluted sides. To get it out successfully, I greased just the bottom of the pan (top of cake), turned it upside down to cool completely, and then gently pressed against the cake, pulling it away from the sides. You can grease and flour the sides of the baking pan and cool the cake right side up. But the resulting cake, while delicious, will not be nearly as light.

  Makes one 10-inch-diameter cake to serve 8 to 10

  ADAPTED FROM “FRENCH ALMOND CAKE,” MISS ELIZA LESLIE, SEVENTY-FIVE RECEIPTS FOR PASTRY, CAKES, AND SWEETMEATS,1828.

  ALMOND POUND CAKE

  The same rich lemon-almond flavors infuse this cake as in the French Almond Cake. Both cakes are delicious. The pound cake structure is sturdier and some people like the buttery richness more than the light angel-food style.

  ½ cup (1 stick) salted butter, at room temperature

  ½ cup sugar

  3 large eggs

  ¼ teaspoon ground mace

  ¼ teaspoon pure almond extract

  1 teaspoon grated lemon zest

  1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice

  4 ounces blanched slivered almonds, finely crushed or chopped into 1/16-inch pieces

  1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

  ½ cup white wine

  Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease and flour an 8½ × 4½–inch loaf pan. Cream the butter and sugar. Add the eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in the mace, almond extract, lemon zest and juice, and almonds. Stir in ½ cup of the flour, followed by the wine and then the remaining ½ cup flour, mixing well after each addition. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan. Bake until the cake is lightly browned and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean, about 40 to 50 minutes.

  Makes 1 pound cake, for 10 to 12 slices

  ADAPTED FROM “ALMOND POUND CAKE,” MRS. LETTICE BRYAN, THE KENTUCKY HOUSEWIFE, 1839.

  EATING UP ILLINOIS POLITICS

  BARBECUE, BISCUITS, AND BURGOO

  Barbecue has long been the bread and butter of American politics. Today a political handshake or information often comes from a tweet over a smartphone, rather than a meeting over a plate of ribs or a hot dog. But picnic grounds and meeting halls can still pack in activists when the cause is important or the politician of interest.

  Abraham Lincoln went to a lot of barbecues, picnics, and rallies during his thirty-five years in public life. He campaigned for the state legislature, his seat in congress, on behalf of other candidates, in the Lincoln-Douglas debates, and in 1859 as he began to think about running for the presidency. Many who saw him at these events and heard him address the crowds wrote about it. As I looked back at those long-ago gatherings, I found a clear understanding of the power of Lincoln’s presentations and a not-so-clear explanation of the foods. It is a lot easier to get a feel for how Lincoln served up his ideas than it
is to get a taste for the food that the crowd chewed.

  Lincoln’s good friend Joshua Speed attended many of his early speeches and wrote of their impact. He admired how Lincoln could present an idea and then support it when attacked by the opposition. “I have never heard a more effective speaker. He had all the party weapons of offense, and defense seemed to be entirely under his control. The large crowd seemed to be swayed by him as he pleased.”

  Lincoln’s speeches often contained anecdotes in which “his own enjoyment was so genuine, his realization of a situation was so keen, that it exercised a power almost hypnotic over his hearers. Even the dullest saw the scene as he did. While describing it, his expressive face showing every emotion in turn. Then when the climax was reached he would lead the laughter with a heartiness that seemed to convulse his whole body.”

  Journalist Jonathan Birch described Lincoln’s attire in 1858, the summer of cross-Illinois campaigning including the seven debates with Douglas. “He usually wore … a linen coat, generally without any vest, a hat much the worse for wear and carried with him a faded cotton umbrella which became almost as famous … as Lincoln himself.”

  A newspaper reported his speaking style at Cooper Union in New York. Lincoln began his speech in a high-pitched tone which lowered as he warmed to his topic, tossing his head with “vim this way and that.” William Herndon, who witnessed many of Lincoln’s speeches, said that although Lincoln stood still on the speaker’s platform, not moving about or making broad gestures, as did most other orators of the day, “his little gray eyes flashed in a face aglow with the fire of his profound thoughts.”

  And, much to my delight, one man described what Lincoln ate at a pre-speech barbecue on September 24, 1858, during the Urbana, Illinois, agricultural fair. That fall was in the middle of the seven debates between Lincoln and Douglas held across the length of Illinois, and three months after he delivered his “House Divided” address accepting the Illinois Republican nomination to run for the U.S. Senate.

  Years after Lincoln’s assassination, James O. Cunningham, a well-known Urbana attorney, recalled the event:

  At the entrance to the grounds [Lincoln] was met by a committee of ladies and escorted to a seat at the head of the table supporting an abundance of barbecued food at which particular seat had been placed the best of the spread for the use of the honored guest. He took the seat prepared for him while the long tables were being assailed by his followers, and began eating his dinner. Looking around, he saw an old woman standing not far away looking intently at him. He at once recognized her as a waiter and dishwasher at the hotel in Urbana whom everybody knew as Granny. He said to her. “Why Granny, have you no place? You must have some dinner. Here, take my place.” The old lady answered, “No, Mr. Lincoln, I just wanted to see you. I don’t want any dinner.” In spite of her protestations, Lincoln rose from his seat at the head of the table and compelled her to take his place and have her dinner, while he took his turkey leg and biscuit and seating himself at the foot of a nearby tree ate his dinner apparently with the greatest satisfaction; meanwhile Granny Hutchinson filled the place at the head of the table and ate her dinner as he had insisted she do.

  I am somewhat skeptical of the whole story, but I’ll accept the food detail. People of all classes did mingle at outdoor public celebrations and political events. The Fourth of July in particular was a day when Lincoln celebrated with the joyful, hungry hordes.

  In 1839 Lincoln was the assistant marshal for the Springfield parade that ended at the newly completed State House. The Globe Tavern accommodated a hundred people at a noon dinner. Six years later the 1845 celebrations began with “reveille sounded from the state house cupola followed by a 13 gun salute at 3 in the morning.” Lincoln delivered the oration of the day at two o’clock in the afternoon. Later he spoke to a Sunday school picnic. “The fire-pit in which the sheep and the ‘young ox, tender and good’ were roasting was uncovered, and the contents served by ready and willing hands to the children and adults seated in long rows on the grassy slopes that were made cool by the shadows of the trees and the gentle breezes that played among the leaves.”

  Very few reports provide even as much of a menu as did the Sunday school picnic article. However, in the scattering of images and narratives, memories and reports, one phrase keeps repeating, “an old fashioned Kentucky barbecue” or simply “an old fashioned barbecue.” I hadn’t given the topic much thought until I read a modern book in which the author extended the leap made in an 1870s newspaper article suggesting that the food served at these various 1850s events was burgoo, a mixed-meat-and-vegetable, single-pot meal. Depending on the cook and the region, burgoo can be the consistency of a good, rich stew, or thick enough to stand the cooking spoon upright. I simply could not figure out how such an inherently untidy dish could be fed to crowds of ladies and gents before the era of paper napkins and disposable plates, so I started following the crumbs.

  The barbecue celebrating the Kentucky wedding of Lincoln’s parents, Nancy Hanks and Thomas Lincoln, on June 12, 1806, in Henderson sounded like quite a party. Hosted by Thomas Lincoln’s family and John H. Parrott, who signed the marriage certificate as Nancy’s guardian, although he may have just been the witness, it was described by former neighbor Dr. C. C. Graham in a letter written after Lincoln’s death. The menu is long on meat and whiskey. “We had bear meat, venison, wild turkey and ducks, eggs wild and tame (so common that you could buy them at two bits a bushel), maple sugar strung on a string to bite off for coffee and whiskey, syrup in big goards [sic], peach-and-honey, a sheep that the two families barbequed whole over coals of wood burned in a pit and covered with green boughs to keep the juices in and a race for the whiskey bottle.”

  Graham’s detail of the pit at the Lincoln nuptials, coupled with the Sunday school picnic article, turned on the light bulb and focused my thinking. I didn’t see any mention of the huge cast-iron burgoo-cooking cauldrons, nor did it make a lot of practical sense to prepare a dish that must be stirred constantly or it will scorch. Of course! Those “old fashioned barbecues” were not the high-heat charcoal-briquette or gas-fired grilling we all do in our backyards. They would have been the slow, dug-deep-in-the-earth pit barbecue, where logs burn all night, transforming into a bed of long-lasting, consistent embers. The meat is slow roasted all the next day under some kind of wet, protective greenery to keep it from drying out as it cooks to slow, tender perfection. Pit barbecues involve a fair amount of set up, but then they cook themselves.

  Even though I understood what it was, replicating it is another story. There are three major obstacles to a re-creation of these dishes: kind of meat, size of meat, and most important, cooking medium. The key question: How close to the experience can we get? There are pit barbecues and reenactments from time to time around the country where whole sheep or sides of beef are cooked all day in a simple pit. But I wanted to find a way to make this a more common experience. These events were things of legend, and the food might just be legendary, too.

  It has been some time since I’ve cooked over a Girl Scout or Boy Scout campfire, but I still remember those experiences. These recipes and methods would work for folks who go camping and are experienced cooking over a long-burning wood fire. There is a huge difference between the kind of heat produced from flaming logs and that from well-established embers. Embers hold a gentle, yet significant, heat for long periods of time, as anyone who has cleaned out a fireplace twenty-four hours after a weekend-long Yule-log fire knows … when he or she foolishly shovels the ash into a paper grocery sack.

  I’ve done a lot of inventive backyard cooking over the years. I’ve built small wood fires in my Weber kettle and grilled over aromatic cherry, hickory, and apple branches. I’ve tantalized neighbors with the smells coming from pork, beef, chicken, and turkey cooked in a simple upright charcoal-fueled smoker. (I did share.) But Lincoln’s barbecued meats were not smoked. Clear coals produce heat and maybe a bit of smoke caused by fat dripping into the fire. This is
not the same as aromatic smoke made by damp wood or wood chips.

  Not even I am adventuresome enough to dig a pit in the backyard to test these recipes, but I did the next best thing—dig into the period cookbooks. As providence would have it, Mrs. Lettice Bryan wrote how “to barbeque a shoat or beef” in The Kentucky Housewife. What better source for a Kentucky barbecue could I find? Even better, her method suits the home cook because it doesn’t require digging a pit. Mrs. Bryan calls for cooking the meat slowly for several hours “on a large gridiron over a bed of clear coals.”

  The straightforward recipe looked simple, but I still had questions: the first, how big a piece of meat to barbecue? Here, too, The Kentucky Housewife differs from the period picnic descriptions of the “whole young ox” or “sheep.” Mrs. Bryan called for a “shoat.” A shoat is a pig on the way to becoming a hog, and it can be a fairly large animal. In one period source, examining the economics of fattening pork on corn, the farmer started with “a small-sized shoat weighing 92 pounds.” Two months later the animal weighed 146 pounds and dressed out to 118 pounds of meat.

  The other meat Mrs. Bryan mentioned in the recipe title—beef—is really vague. I can imagine anything from a five-pound rump roast to half a calf. Her cooking process does, however, give a few hints to the meat’s size. She tells us to rub the meat with salt, pepper, and molasses, let it stand, and then rinse it off. She also has the cook baste the meat with only salted water and turn it as it “cooks slowly for several hours.” The meat is cooked over coals on the ground, so the side not on the heat would cool while the other side is over the coals. A bed of coals would not retain heat like the walls of a pit. The only way I can think this method would be an effective way to cook would be to have some sort of flat piece of meat. A split carcass would work, especially if the cook had help with the basting and turning.