It stands to reason that if you bring a jar of pickled limes made as faithfully to Little Women's pickled limes as possible, your fellow Alcott scholars can be cajoled into taste testing them.
And so they were! Thanks friends.
In fact, both the sweet and sugar-free versions were such a hit I went home with motivation to make them again! So it's likely these will pop up in my future. But for now, let's review how this batch was made.
As with my first experiment, the limes were washed and then jarred with salt water using a 1tbs:2c salt:water ratio. They stayed in the salt water for 1 week, then were boiled twice in plain unsalted water. Changing out the water and repeating the process helps draw salt from the limes - it can be done many times, but I stopped at the second because I'm impatient.
The limes went from bright green-yellow to a dull yellow-brown after 6 days in the brine. This color change is actually very similar to the first batch, which I thought was interesting! (Also, I'll be pulling in screenshots from my Instagram story on lime pickling for this, because I apparently forgot to save any of the process photos I was taking. Oops.)
After boiling, the limes were divided in half and put into their jars while I got the vinegar mixtures ready. For the unsweetened mix, I used the same recipe as my first experiment, which comes from The Boston Cooking-School Magazine vol. 17 (1912):
Make a brine strong enough to float an
egg and in quantity to cover a dozen limes. Let stand six days stirring the
brine each day. Drain and set to boil in two quarts of boiling water. Let boil
fifteen minutes. Let drain and become cold. Scald one quart of vinegar half an
ounce of cloves half an ounce of mace half an ounce of ginger root half an
ounce of horse radish and one ounce o f white mustard seed and pour over the
limes disposed in fruit jars. Close securely. These are best after keeping some
months.
This recipe is half a century later than our target decade, but aligns pretty closely to the spices described in plum pickle and lemon pickle recipes I have from 1869. So I think it's a decent guess at what might have been used. I also ended up throwing in a couple of cardamom pods because I had them, and I like cardamom. But that was a personal addition!
The second batch was the sweet pickled lime recipe I found in another volume of the same Boston Cooking-School Magazine (vol 16, also 1912). While period descriptions of pickled limes eaten in Boston explicitly say they are not sweet, I also have tariff records from 1824 listing "limes preserved in sugar" as an import. In fact, there's a number of sources referencing limes preserved in sugar or syrup throughout the 19th century. So while these aren't the limes Amy March was sucking on, I think it's possible she could have encountered them (maybe when on tour with Aunt March in Europe)...and I wanted to try them.
The recipe is much plainer than the spiced vinegar brine:
[After boiling saltwater limes] Make a thick syrup of sugar and water using a half cup of vinegar to a quart of water. Cook the syrup until it is as thick as molasses, let it get cold. Prick each lime two or three times with a silver fork. When they and the syrup are cold put them together and let them stand over night. The syrup will then be thinned by the juice of the limes. If it is too watery boil it over again. Put the limes in jars and pour the cold syrup over them. They will keep indefinitely if nobody knows they are in the store closet.
I ended up using the leftover spiced vinegar from the unsweetened limes, but otherwise followed this exactly. When I make them again, I'll use less liquid though. The syrup took forever to thicken (there was a lot of water to boil out!) and I didn't have that many limes to cover. And as the instructions mention, I did have to re-boil a couple of days later after the juice loosened the syrup.
It was hard to capture in photos, but you could actually see shimmery swirls of lime juice/lime oil floating in the syrup as the limes released into the sugar. After canning, both jars sat in a dark cupboard for about 6 weeks before we cracked them open for tasting.
In the end, the limes made all the difference. Both of these versions were delicious! The unsweetened limes I think are best described as zesty, which I'd mostly attribute to the ginger and peppercorns in the brine. The cider vinegar zing was pretty mild, and the acid from the limes was also mellow. There was still a little bit of lime or citrus flavor, but it definitely didn't taste like a normal raw lime. The syrup limes were sweet (obviously), but had a more pronounced acid bite at the end which I think provided some balance and prevented the sugar from punching you in the teeth.
As long-time readers of this blog will know, I love historical foods. The more weird and surprising, the better. So I was always going to be excited about pickled limes. For me, the true triumph was the exclamations of "oh! this is actually pretty good!" from the most doubtful observers in the group.
Jamie, pickled lime doubter, taste testing on mic for Let Genius Burn
So on that note, we close the book on pickled limes (for now). If anyone else makes their own, please let me know how they turn out! Cheers to delightful, surprising, and memorable historical food experiments.
(Not really, obviously. I just posted about sewing and there's more sewing coming up. But the flood gates are open and I will not apologize for the pickled lime content.)
When I embarked on the Pickled Limes Project of 2020, I started a post about the type of lime that would have been used for the pickled limes eaten by Amy March in Little Women. But I sort of lost steam on it, partially because I couldn't get anything but a few large limes (Persian/Bearss limes, I think) at the grocery store. (It was 2020, after all. I was honestly thrilled that I found some decent limes of any kind at all.) So I went about my experiments with what I could get, and this particular thread of the research has been tugging on my brain ever since.
This spring when I was invited to a gathering of Alcott friends, I decided it was the perfect excuse to try making pickled limes again. This time with the correct lime variety! And (spoiler alert): it turns out the limes make all the difference.
map of the West Indies c.1860
As I mentioned in my previous research write-ups, a lot of remaining documentation about pickled limes as they were eaten in New England comes from trade commission reports and import tax lists. This isn't very helpful in knowing what pickled limes taste like, but it's useful for understanding where they came from and how they got to Boston. So let's start with that process. The journey from the lime tree to Amy March's hand in 1862 would likely have been:
1. Limes are picked on a plantation in the Leeward Islands - likely Dominica or Montserrat - between June and September.
2. Ripe limes are placed in casks, which are then filled with seawater. The seawater is changed frequently until the limes are "properly pickled".
3. The casks of limes in saltwater brine are sealed and shipped to Boston.
4? The pickled limes are purchased in Boston by grocers, who move them from the saltwater into vinegar.
5? The grocers sell the limes individually for a penny each*.
The big question mark on those last points is because I do have references that describe pickled limes being brined in vinegar, so I'm not positive if there was a step after shipment to Boston where the saltwater-brined limes were put into vinegar. But references to "preparing" pickled limes for sale does lead me to think this kind of preparation by the grocer makes sense. These references come from grocers' manuals such as The Grocer's Companion and Merchant's Handbook by the New England Grocer Office (Boston; 1883):
"LIME -- A fruit resembling a miniature lemon. It is best known to commerce when prepared and sold as 'pickled limes'."
That "prepared and sold as" bit is what makes me think at least sometimes the limes did go into vinegar (or sugar!). I also do have references explicitly to pickled limes being sold in vinegar. For example, this description of pickled limes comes from The Housekeeper's Guide to Preserved Meats, Fruits, Vegetables, etc. (London; 1889):
"LIMES WEST INDIA PICKLED
West India limes can be obtained pickled in vinegar in bottles. They are very similar to pickled lemons and of course are somewhat acid. ...[In Germany] they are sometimes eaten at the commencement of dinner as an appetiser in the same way as pickled gherkins cucumbers etc.
LIMES IN SYRUP Limes when premixed served in syrup form a very delicious sweet. They are also very wholesome when fresh fruit cannot be obtained. In long sea voyages they form an excellent dessert dish and they also possess considerable cooling properties."
But we've already discussed steps 2 - 4 in previous posts. Today is about step one: the limes and the picking of them.
The West Indies and Lime Plantations in 1862
In the mid-19th century, Great Britain occupied much of the Caribbean. To understand the region I'm going to focus on Montserrat, one of the two islands mentioned as a major lime exporter in period records, because I could find the most documentation on the lime trade there. Beginning in the late 1600s, enslaved Africans were brought to Montserrat and other islands in the region by British and French companies to work sugar and indigo plantations. By 1810, there were reportedly 7,000 enslaved people living on the island. In 1834, the Abolition of Slavery Act abolished slavery in Montserrat (although we should note that it did not abolish slavery everywhere in the British empire, and the people on Montserrat were still living under Imperial rule)**. As sugar plantations became less profitable, many companies abandoned their properties on the island.
Fast forward to the founding of the Sturge Montserrat Company in 1857. The Montserrat Company purchased abandoned plantations and then turned the land around for profit - some of the land they subdivided and sold to settlers, while other plots were kept whole and used as farmland for lime cultivation. Mrs. John Edward Sturge, the director's wife, described this land as:
"No lovelier sight could be seen than these orchards when the trees are laden with their bright fruit, the air being pervaded with the fragrance of the blossom."
The Montserrat Company later used the same practices to cultivate and export limes from the island of Dominica as well. From the two islands, their exports included "green limes" (whole fruits packaged in paper, like oranges), casked pickled limes, lime essential oil, and raw and concentrated lime juice. While limes are used in some Caribbean dishes, Montserrat Company reports say that "there are no local buyers in any of these islands"; instead, everything grown was shipped to America or England.
Illustrations of lime cultivation and harvesting in Montserrat (via)
West Indian Limes
While lime plantations were aimed at export, the trees they cultivated were native to the Caribbean. In period sources they are described as small, round, and yellow. These, I am pretty sure, are West Indian limes, or citrus aurantifolia, now more commonly known as Mexican limes or Key limes. The same type of lime appears to have been found in all of these countries at the time, based on descriptions of fruit imports to New York written by the Montserrat Company. So it makes sense to me that what I now call a Key lime is the same fruit being cultivated for export in the Caribbean at the time.
A later Montserrat Company report from 1913 also describes the flavor and popularity of these limes:
"It is generally conceded by all who have become accustomed to the flavour of the lime that this fruit far surpasses the lemon in the delicacy of its flavour, and it is well known that when these fruits are grown together for household purposes as often happens in the West Indies the lemon is only used when there are no limes on the trees."
So if West Indian (aka Key) Limes are small and mildly flavored, it stands to reason that they'd be much easier to eat whole when pickled - or for a schoolroom of girls to surreptitiously suck on.
And as I mentioned at the beginning, they do indeed make much better pickled limes. I think this is a combined result of a sweeter fruit and a thinner, more delicate skin.
And don't worry - since tasting has already happened, you'll be hearing more about the process and the final results in great detail.
Notes:
*Why a penny? That's my best guess based on the money Meg gives Amy for her lime debt (25 cents) and how many limes she buys (25). Here's the passage:
"'Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can’t pay them, you know, till I have money...'
'How much will pay them off and restore your credit?' asked Meg, taking out her purse.
'A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for a treat for you. Don’t you like limes?'
'Not much. You may have my share. Here’s the money. Make it last as long as you can, for it isn’t very plenty, you know.'
...Next day Amy was rather late at school, but could not resist the temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paper parcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty-four delicious limes (she ate one on the way) and was going to treat"
In the midst of preparing to brine my 3 tests of pickled limes that are soaked in saltwater, I decided I wanted the salinity of my brine to roughly resemble seawater, since that's what my research suggests limes would have been preserved in on their way to Boston. Which is about when the rabbit hole opened up next to me and I jumped on in.
One of the first articles I saw when I went looking for information on seawater was that seawater composition shifts over time, and a lot of those shifts are due to environmental changes (hello again, global warming). So then I wondered: how much has seawater changed since the mid-19th century?
It turns out, there's actually a wealth of information on ocean temperature, salinity, etc. at multiple depths. Scientists wrote and published about both the makeup of the earth and the ocean throughout the middle of the century, but the records of ocean information that continue to today began in roughly 1870 when the H.M.S. Challenger set sail.
Considered the start of modern oceanography, the Challenger voyage from 1872-1876 was specifically intended to collect data on features of the ocean--the first mission of its kind. During the five year voyage, the crew of the Challenger collected data on ocean currents, sea floor topography, marine life, and components of the water (e.g. temperature, chemical composition) at various depths. Over its 4-year voyage, the 6 scientists aboard discovered over 4,000 new species and many new elements of the ocean floor--including the Marianas Trench.
Most helpful to me, the team eventually published their findings: the 50-volume, 29,500-page report was finally finished 23 years after the expedition. Part of what took so long was that the scientific members of the crew brought many samples back to England, and over the time after their return worked with experts on a variety of additional research to better understand what they had collected.
As you might imagine, there's a lot of data in the Challenger report. And much of it has been digitized, which is really cool! In fact, NOAA (the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) has documentation of ocean data from 1870 through today, including for the Challenger expedition. But as you also might imagine, not being a chemist it was kind of difficult to just find the one number I wanted.
Sir C. Wyville Thompson, one of the zoologists aboard the Challenger and authors of the Challenger Report on ocean chemistry
After a lot of searching, I landed on two helpful sources: The Earth: Its Physical Condition and Most Remarkable Phenomena by W. Mullinger Higgins (published 1858); and Report on the Scientific Results of the Voyage of H.M.S. Challenger during the years 1873-1876, Physics and Chemistry - vol 1 (published 1884). The latter had a lot of discussed on how the amount of salt in the water was determined (letting the water evaporate and weighing the leftover salt was the main method while at sea!), many inscrutable charts of chemical breakdowns of various samples, and some description of average salt content per kilo of water. With that last part, I was able to determine that a ration of 34.751 grams of salt to 1 kilo of water was generally what I wanted. From the former, I learned that northern oceans were generally considered to have a higher salinity than southern oceans (within a narrow range). Since the pickled limes being imported to Boston during the 1860s were coming from the West Indies, a slightly lower salinity would make sense. According to Higgins, northern ocean salinity ranged from 3.27%-3.91%. Since my 34 grams per kilo falls within that range (and vaguely on the lower side), I felt pretty confident going with it.
One last internet search to figure out how many cups of water and salt I would need for that ratio (and a little rounding later), I settled on 4.5 cups of water to 2 tablespoons of salt. And I was off!
illustration for Little Women chapter 7: Amy's Valley of Humiliation
"Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do it too. It's nothing but limes now, for everyone is sucking them in their desks in schooltime, and trading them off for pencils, bead rings, paper dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girl likes another, she gives her a lime. If she's mad with her, she eats one before her face, and doesn't offer even a suck. They treat by turns, and I've had ever so many but haven't returned them, and I ought for they are debts of honor, you know." -from "Amy's Valley of Humiliation", Little Women
Pickled limes have long held the fascination of modern readers of Little Women, because they're not a thing most 21st-century people are familiar with. I love food history, and I love literary history, and I work at the Little Women museum...so it should come as no surprise that pickled limes are often on my mind. Many many years ago I made them with a group of campers during a museum summer program, and let's just say that it was not particularly successful. Surprisingly, it went way worse than the time we tried to get 7-10 year olds to make pulled toffee (although I probably wouldn't eaten much of that either), likely because they were way less excited about the prospect of hot vinegar and salt than hot sugar. But I've always wanted to try again, and just never quite gotten around to it.
the kitchen at Orchard House--this is not where I had campers make treats though ;)
Then the new Little Women movie came out, and (in addition to all of the general movie hype being a lot of fun) I ended up spending some extra time with friends who also work at the historic site. We were talking about things from the book that have stuck with us, and that brought pickled limes back to the front of my brain. But I was feeling a little scarred from the first time, and so rather than just attempting a random internet recipe (of which there are many!), I went back to period sources. And eventually, I made some! Or rather, I've started the process. But more on that in a bit--there's research to discuss first!
What were pickled limes, and why were they popular?
When I was in elementary school (aka "Amy's age"), everybody wanted snap bracelets--pieces of warped plastic with patterns and textures on top that would curl around your wrist when you whacked the taught plastic against your arm. Why??? Kids are weird, and I think that's pretty much always been true. And while no amount of research can explain weird kid fads, it's still worth noting that much of the information available about pickled limes comes from import tariff documentation, as pickled limes were being imported from the West Indies (what we would now call the Caribbean). These congressional committee transcripts date both from the early and mid 19th century (where there are long accounts of what was imported and how much the taxes were), and from late 19th and early 20th centuries (when there were changes in import tariffs and a lot of debate over how much pickled limes should be taxed). Other sources include fictional works (such as Little Women) that mention pickled limes, and a few recipes...but there really aren't that many recipes. My hypothesis for this is that pickled limes weren't something typically made at home during the 1860s; as Amy mentions, pickled limes could be purchased individually in general stores.
It's also worth noting that in several of the sources I read, pickled limes are noted as a food only popular among New England women and children. Other sources mention that they require developing a taste to enjoy them. As described by William Brennan, a Boston importer: "this commodity has but a very limited sale and confined almost exclusively to a few New England states. After limes are immersed in sea water for twenty four hours it causes such a physical change that they are of no commercial value whatever other than as a pickled lime...in this form they are consumed mostly by women and children of this section of the country who have acquired the taste for them" (1; emphasis mine). I think it's safe to say that pickled limes were not wildly popular nationwide, and appear to primarily have been imported to New England. I think this is important, because I have seen a lot of recipes for "Amy's pickled limes" that start with some variation on "school children everywhere in the 1860s loved pickled limes!" and I don't think this is accurate--I think it's more likely that pickled limes, like many other moments in Little Women, help to root the book in the peculiar yankee culture Louisa May Alcott knew (and often satirized) so well.
Engraving of Boston Common looking towards the State House, 1860 (via)
What did pickled limes taste like? Let's get this out of the way first: I'm about as sure as I can be based on the sources available that pickled limes as eaten by Amy March were unsweetened. The earliest set of import records I found that mention pickled limes come from about 1803, but they appear to gain popularity later in the century. By the 1820s there are 3 kinds of imported lime products documented: "Limes: -juice of, -pickled, -preserved in sugar or brandy" (4). Note that here pickled limes are separate from sweet preserved limes, which do exist as their own thing.
My favorite descriptor of pickled limes (and how they might have tasted in the 1860s) comes from a different fictional work published in Godey's Magazine in 1859. In The Embroidered Handkerchief: Or, How a Piccolo-Maniac was Cured, author Mary Janvrin describes pickled limes as "that choice acidulated 'goody' of which schoolgirls are so fond" (2; emphasis mine). I love this description! For me it calls to mind something sour and addictive even if you aren't sure why you keep eating it. I actually feel this way about some pickles, which might be why it speaks to me so much. Later, Dora (one of the schoolgirls who are the main characters in the story) says "'I always keep a supply on hand, and am going to tease papa to import a cargo of them for my own especial appropriation. George says I'm always eating them; and if I go on, he shall call me 'Lady Weazenface;' they pucker up one's mouth so, you know" (2; emphasis mine). Additionally, a later 1890 description of pickled limes specifically notes that they are unsweetened: "pickled limes are an East India delicacy popular in New England and in Great Britain. They are made of the fresh limes pickled in their own juices and spiced without adding sugar. This pickle is popular with men who used to lived in the tropics or have acquired the taste" (6; emphasis mine). While this description (from a CA farmers' newspaper) doesn't match the brined limes that would have been seen in Boston, I do think the limes Amy ate were unsweetened as well. As Dora describes, they were sour enough to make your face pucker! Additionally, salt amplifies flavor; it's entirely likely that a lime soaked in saltwater would taste more intensely lime-y than salty. Finally, I think perhaps one of the key elements here is that the limes used to make pickled limes in the 1860s probably weren't the green limes I can easily buy in the grocery store, but a small, sweeter variety: fully ripened key limes. I say this because every description I found for how limes were harvested and pickled referred to using ripe yellow limes, and the key lime (Citrus aurantifolia) is also known as the West Indian lime or Mexican lime. I might do a separate blog post about limes, but for now I'll just note that "a ripe lime will be sweeter, less acidic, and juicier than an underripe one" (7). So I think we can likely say that pickled limes were sour but pleasant, and I would be curious to see what elements of the lime's flavor are emphasized by an extended saltwater soak! (Unfortunately, I couldn't find any yellow key limes in my local grocery store mid-pandemic. So I used green Bearss limes for this set of experiments.)
During my research, I have come up with 5 different methods for making pickled limes, all from mid 19th or early 20th century sources. However, I think the most likely version of pickled limes to be accurate to what Amy actually eats is just whole limes barreled (or jarred) in saltwater.
The numerous tariff hearings discussing the import of "pickled limes, or limes in brine" (1, 3) provide some indication that pickled limes were, as stated, pickled by being soaked in saltwater--specifically, seawater. A description from the 1880s describing the lime trade in this region notes the method of "selecting good sound ripe limes and placing them in casks over which is poured salt water or strong brine. The cask is then made perfectly tight and exported. Limes preserved in this manner are invariably sent to Boston. The brine has to be changed frequently during the process before the fruit is properly pickled. The quantity exported in this manner is very small and, like the export of green limes, is not increasing" (5; emphasis mine). (It's interesting to note here that the author makes a distinction between the yellow limes that get pickled and the green limes that are exported as plain fruit.) A second description of the same process from the same period (but focused on the Florida fruit trade) describes "limes for pickling for shipping to distant markets. They should be a bright yellow when picked...Place in tight barrels on the same day they are picked and cover at once with a brine as salted only as sea water then head up tight. Change water two or three times. Limes prepared in this way are ready for use at any time either as pickles or by first freshening in clear water and then other recipes" (8). Based on these descriptions and the hearing transcripts, brined in saltwater seems to be a pretty clear winner for what constitutes a pickled lime in Boston in the 1860s. However, I do think it's interesting to note the line about using pickled limes in other recipes--as I mentioned, I found several other recipes for pickled limes. Most of them start with a saltwater brine, but then you wash or boil the limes before re-preserving them using vinegar, sugar, or both. So while Amy was sucking on plain saltwater-brined limes, I think there's room to hypothesize that grownups might have also done more with them. (Or maybe I'm over-interpreting, but I'm going to try all the recipes anyways.)
Again, the saltwater brine method is important as a uniquely Boston thing--all of the recipes I found describing salt covering or salt packing methods are from other places, while all of the brined recipes I found are from Boston. While of course it's possible other people in non-New England places made pickled limes with brine, the taste for saltwater-preserved limes seems to have arrived from West Indian trade and stuck around more observably in Boston than in other places. For example, both British and Hawaiian sources describe leaving limes in a warm dry place while coated with salt for several days before putting them into jars, where they cure in the salt and their own juice (9, 10).
Attempting pickled limes Let's get into what I did! I started by breaking the recipes down into two groups: salt and juice brines, and saltwater brines. (As stated above, I believe the saltwater brines are correct for a Little Women pickled lime, but I also wanted to try all the things.) I had a half dozen limes from the grocery store (green Bearss limes, as noted above), so I decided I wanted to try 4-5 approaches and broke the limes up accordingly (I need more limes, but might wait and try a second batch with more correct limes). I used 3 ingredients: pickling salt, limes, and water.
For the "slit and shove in salt" version, I made 4 shallow vertical slits down the lengths of 2 of the limes, as described in a few recipes (9,10, 11), and filled each cut with pickling salt. Rather than leaving them in the sun, I decided to jar these as described in an 1869 fruit pickling and preserving manual and more modern recipes (12, 13, 14). I will press these down each day to help release juice, then leave them to sit once enough juice is released. Then these will get brined in vinegar.
day 0
For the rest of the recipes, I put whole limes into a saltwater mixture (more on that later). I found I could only comfortably fit 2 limes into my jars, so I filled each jar with water, added salt, and shook. Once the salt was dissolved and no granules were visible in the water, I opened the jars back up and added the limes. These will sit in the pantry (but may move to the fridge because it's supposed to be HOT the next few days) for 3-4 weeks before I do anything else.
All of this means that next month things will get interesting. My plans for the limes are:
1. Salt packed: once cured in salt and their own juice, brine in vinegar and spices as described in 11 & 14. Pretty straightforward, just not what I think was mostly seen in Boston.
2. Salt brine (plain): whole limes soaked in salt brine and eaten plain--likely what Amy March would have had, based on the description Dora gives in (2), that she's asking her father to import a barrel for her. This implies to me that kids were eating limes straight out of the saltwater brine, and I can't find any mention of new brine or other preservation of the limes once arriving in Boston.
3. Salt brine, then vinegar brine: whole limes soaked in salt brine, boiled/de-salted, and re-pickled in vinegar as in 15 & 16. This seems possible as an at-home use of imported pickled limes when purchased by adults.
4. Salt brine, then vinegar/sugar: whole limes soaked in salt brine, boiled/de-salted, and re-pickled in vinegar and sugar as in 15b. Given all of these recipes are from Boston and mimic imported limes by first brining in salt water, I think it's possible something like this was originally done with imported pickled limes and then adapted when those were less common to get than the plain fruit. I also have a reference in an 1892 article on CA fruit mentioning that it's best with "yellow sugar" in the brine, so I wonder if sugar started getting added when the variety of limes changed too.
5. Salt brine, then sugar syrup: whole limes soaked in salt brine, boiled/de-salted, and soaked in sugar syrup. One of the articles from Boston Cooking School (17) mentioned this method, and it sounds delicious so I wanted to try it. I also noticed a couple of similar recipes in Peterson's Preserving, Pickling, & Canning Fruit Manual (18), which puts the method as early as the 1860s. Whether it was ever done to pickled limes I don't know...but I'm trying it anyway. For science, of course.
References:
1: United States Congress transcripts for the Committee on Ways and Means, 1908-1909
2: The Embroidered Handkerchief: Or, How a Piccolo-Maniac was Cured, by Mary Janvrin. Godey's Magazine, 1859 3: Tariff hearings, from Miscellaneous documents of the House of Representatives, 1892-1893 4: Rates of Duty on goods, wares, and merchandise imported into the United States; Amendment to the Tariff of 1824, June 1828 5: Limes and Lime Trees in the Leeward Islands,Report by Vice-Consul Galbraith of Antigua,1893 6: Domestic Economy, column, Pacific Rural Press (California) 1890 7: "This is why you should quit passing over yellow limes at the supermarket", The Kitchn, April 24, 2016 8: Florida Fruits and How to Raise Them,1886
Reference Recipes:
9: Pickled Limes (Chinese Method), From Bulletin 49,Hawaii Agricultural Experiment Station 1921 Needed: Limes, Coarse salt, Granulated sugar, Large glass jars fitted with air tight caps. Wash limes thoroughly expose them to sun for two or three hours to dry out surplus water, rub salt into limes while they are warm from the sunning and again once or twice each day for the next four or five days after they have been exposed to the sun. At the end of that time place salted limes in large glass Jars having air tight caps. Sprinkle surface with coarse salt before placing the cap. Expose the jars of pickling limes to the sunlight for two or more months to cure limes thoroughly before opening Jars. When properly cured pickled limes vary in color from light brown to dark mahogany. When serving remove the number of limes desired, sprinkle with granulated sugar one half teaspoonful of sugar to each pickled lime, and then partly mash. They may be served with meat, rice, and the like. 10: "The Lucknow Receipt for Pickling Limes or Lemons", A New System of Domestic Cookery: Founded upon Principles of Economy, London 1842 Bruise the limes or lemons on a stone then throw them into water and place them afterwards in an earthen vessel covered with salt for two or three days. Shaking the vessel frequently take out the limes when they are soft spread them on a cloth and let them dry. The open air is sufficient in India but in England they must be placed at the side of a stove. When dry add vinegar and the juice which came from them when in the earthen vessel. 11: Pickled Limes, Florida Fruits and How to Raise Them, 1886
Pickled Limes are prepared exactly according to recipe given for pickled lemons and are equally good...Pickled Lemons. Cut the lemons in quarters not entirely apart and put a teaspoonful of salt in each one. Put them where they will dry either in the hot sun or by the stove when they are dried so that they are black and look good for nothing. Prepare the vinegar with cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger root, onion, and a little mustard seed and pour it boiling hot over the lemons. Keep a year before using. They are quite equal to the West India limes. They require more vinegar than other pickles as the lemons will swell out to their natural size. 12: Amy March's Pickled Limes, The Joy of Pickling by Linda Ziedrich
13: "What to do with preserved limes, your latest kitchen experiment", Bon Appetite Magazine, August 23, 2016
14: Mrs. C’s Lemon Pickles, Peterson's Preserving, Pickling, & Canning Fruit Manual 1869 They should be small, and with thick rind. Rub them with a piece of flannel; then slit them half down in four quarters, but not through to the pulp ; fill the slits with salt hard pressed in ; set them upright in a pan for four or five days, until the salt melts ; turn them thrice a day in their own liquid, until tender; make enough pickle to cover them, of vinegar, the brine of the lemons, Jamaica pepper and ginger; boil and skim it; when cold, put it to the lemons, with two ounces of mustard-seed, and two cloves of garlic to six lemons. When the lemons are used, the pickle will be useful in fish or other sauces. 15: "Pickled Limes", The Boston Cooking-School Magazine, volume 10, 1910
The limes must first be steeped salted water to remove bitterness cook in water until tender drain in jars with whole spices-a tablespoonful to a quart then cover hot vinegar. Seal as in canning. Without experience the exact of salt needed in the brine and time required for steeping cannot definitely stated. Probably a cup salt to a gallon of water and steeping twelve to twenty four hours would about right.
15b: Sweet Pickled Limes, from the same article as a variation
To a gallon of limes steeped in salted take a gallon of vinegar, three of sugar, one fourth a pound of cinnamon, three ounces of cloves, one ounce of mace. Boil the limes very tender, drain, cover with the liquid and spices heated together then as above.
16: "1901 Recipe for Pickling Limes," The Boston Cooking-School Magazine, volume 17, 1912
Make a brine strong enough to float an egg and in quantity to cover a dozen limes. Let stand six days stirring the brine each day. Drain and set to boil in two quarts of boiling water. Let boil fifteen minutes. Let drain and become cold. Scald one quart of vinegar, half an ounce of cloves, half an ounce of mace, half an ounce of ginger root, half an ounce of horse radish, and one ounce of white mustard seed and pour over the limes disposed in fruit jars. Close securely. These are best after keeping some months.
17: "Sweet-pickled limes [variation on pickled limes, similar to recipe above from vol 17]," The Boston Cooking School Magazine of Culinary Science and Domestic Economics, volume 16, 1912
Put the [salt-brined] limes in cold water and let it come to a boil. Cook ten minutes and throw the water away. Repeat the process as long as patience or the kitchen fire holds out. The water should be changed four times at least. Skim them out and put them in a big bowl to cool. Make a thick syrup of sugar and water using a half cup of vinegar to a quart of water. Cook the syrup until it is as thick as molasses. Let it get cold. Prick each lime two or three times with a silver fork. When they and the syrup are cold put them together and let them stand over night. The syrup will then be thinned by the juice of the limes. If it is too watery boil it over again. Put the limes in jars and pour the cold syrup over them. They will keep indefinitely if nobody knows they are in the store closet.
18. Plum Pickles,Peterson's Preserving, Pickling, & Canning Fruit Manual 1869 To every quart of plums, allow one-half pound of sugar, and one pint of best cider vinegar. Melt the sugar in the vinegar, and put spices of all sorts in a fine muslin bag, and boil up with the sugar and vinegar. When the sugar and spiced vinegar boils up, put in the plums, and give them one good boil. If you wish to keep the plums whole, prick them with a needle.
Happy holidays, readers! Today seemed like a perfect time to continue our exploration of dance in Little Women by venturing to a Christmas ball in Paris.
a society ball in Paris, 1868, from Lunivers Illustre
While abroad, the hotel where Amy and Aunt Carrol* are living is also home to several other Americans, and so the venue hosts a Christmas ball for the ex-pats. I'll let Alcott set the scene:
"she loved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ball-room, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girls first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. ...With the first burst of the band, Amy's color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently; for she danced well, and wanted Laurie to know it."
Quadrille, or Cotillon "The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amy was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillon, feeling all the while as if she could dance the Tarantula with a relish."
Amy and Laurie dance the first dance of the ball together (the aforementioned cotillon) while Amy is fit to bursting to do something more complicated where she can show off (we'll come back to that "tarantula" in a bit). That description leads me to believe that the cotillon Amy finds herself in is what I would refer to as a quadrille: a dance for 4 couples which includes multiple sections, is typically performed by walking through patterns, and was immensely popular throughout the 19th century. Here's a bit of the Prince Imperial quadrille as an example--the clip begins at the start of figure 3 of the dance, and ends at about 1:04 (and a ballroom, the figure would be repeated 3 more times).
Howe explains the terminology of cotillon vs. quadrille in his 1858 manual:
"Cotillions or cotillons are of English origin, Noah Webster** spells the word both ways. The word Cotillion was derived from the English, and the word Cotillon from the French. And were first danced by four persons standing as the first four now do, in the set; two more couples were afterwards added and formed the side couples; thus the English Cotillion and the French Quadrilles are now formed precisely alike, and it is equally proper to call the dance by either name."
I am used to the term quadrille, so that's what we're going with. Let's break it down!
By the 1860s (and I think it's safe to say that Amy is in Europe between 1867-1870), a quadrille is done by 4 couples together in a square with 4 sides (so two couples face each other)-- this is called the set. Then within each set the couples are numbered 1-4, which determines the order in which you dance different figures:
quadrille arrangement diagram, from Howe (1862). The first couple is always closest to the head of the hall, typically where the band is located.
Often you dance with your partner as a couple, interacting with other couples. But sometimes you also dance as individuals: for example, ladies and gentlemen might do different things, or couples might split and dance with the person across the set from them. This second arrangement is also common, and is called "pairs":
numbered pairs for quadrilles, Howe (1862)
The two couples marked "first couple" and "second couple" are the "head couples" and dance first, and then usually whatever they do is repeated by the sides (so the same thing is done multiple times and everybody gets a turn). Here's another quadrille, called the French Quadrille or sometimes just The Quadrille. This was one of the foundational dances in this genre, and is often referenced in dance manuals (e.g., do X "as in the French quadrille"). In this performance we performed in the French style (used specifically for this quadrille), meaning we only had head couples (2 couples across from one another rather than 4), but the basic premise still stands. Notice how the couples sometimes dance together, and sometimes with their opposites:
Something else you may have noticed: quadrilles are really long! There are multiple sections*** (usually, but not always, 5) in a quadrille, with separate distinct music for each section. Each section has its own sequence of patterns (called "figures") that the couples complete. Quadrilles tend to mirror other dance trends in the particular year of the quadrille's initial creation, as well as serving as an introduction of different steps that also become popular round dances (including several of the Bavarian dances I've mentioned in previous posts). So the typical breakdown of a quadrille in the late 1860s would include mostly walking, perhaps with the addition of some waltz, polka, or other round dance. Since Amy is internally complaining about walking, I think it's safe to assume this is an all-walking quadrille like the French Quadrille and Prince Imperial Quadrille videos above.
illustration of figure 3 from the Lancers Quadrille, frontispiece for quadrille music c.1860
There is a language to 19th century dancing: figures get repeated over and over in many different dances. This extends to quadrilles as well, both as the same figures you might see in a contra dance appear in quadrilles, and among quadrilles themselves. There are a few quadrilles that were very popular, and many other quadrilles follow similar patterns; so you have many quadrilles that have structures echoing the French Quadrille, and others that echo Lancers (which we're going to touch on in a later post). Quadrilles also have specific music, but there were arrangements that drew on popular operas or other music of the day. In fact, there's a great Lancers quadrille arrangement of Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado that I've danced to, which made me smile when I realized what the music was because I was in a production of the operetta in high school.
I actually also found a clip from the ball, and you can hear the arrangement! It goes from 6:48 to about 7:12 in the video (sharing is disabled, but you can watch it here if you're curious).
This is a Lancers arrangement of music from Ruddigore, another G&S operetta I performed in
As a final example, I have some terrible footage of a recent performance of the Prince Imperial Quadrille this September (there's a reason I'm not in charge of videography!). The reason I'm including it is to show two things: one, the way quadrilles move through different figures, and two, a bit of how it looks when you dance with a complete set of 4 couples. On the latter, notice how the two active couples complete 2 figures (forward and back, ladies' chain) then all 4 couples do a figure together (march to corners). The video cuts off just as we start march to corners.
Polka-redowa(3/4)
"She showed him her ball-book with demure satisfaction when he strolled, instead of rushing, up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka-redowa." -New Impressions
Fast forwarding a bit through the evening (although Alcott's ball descriptions are incredibly colorful and this one is the best...if it's been a while, I recommend going back and re-reading this whole chapter :) ), Amy finally gets to show Laurie what she can do when they dance a polka-redowa together. Does the word "redowa" and the time signature ring any bells? We're back in waltz time, and we talked about redowa when Meg danced it in The Laurence Boy.
Polka-redowa is another dance from the Bavarian fad, and is comprised of sliding steps, cutting steps, and leaping steps. This same list of steps is used in several of the Bavarian round dances, but the prevalence of leaps in the polka-redowa makes it especially elegant to watch when done well (and very exhausting). Because it is in 3/4 time (the same time signature as plain waltz, polka mazurka, and several other dances), it's possible to swap polka-redowa in and out with other steps. This helps mitigate the energy required for all the leaping because you can show off for a bit and then take a break with something lower-impact like plain waltz.
the polka redowa illustration in Hillgrove (1863)
1860s dance manuals describe this dance as being like the polka, except not. Seriously, Howe (1862) describes the polka-redowa as:
"This dance is composed of the same step as the Polka, with the exception that you slide the first step instead of springing, and omit the pause, as in this dance you count three, both for the music and dance."
So, do a polka step, but use a slide instead of a hop on the first step, and count in 3 rather than 4. How is that the same step as the polka? sigh. Several other manuals I looked at had similar descriptions, but Hillgrove's 1863 A complete practical guide to the art of dancing (another trusty favorite) gave us a bit more. He still describes the step as being a polka step, but adds some explanation of how the changes to polka-redowa impact its form:
"This dance is precisely the same as the first three movements of the Polka, the fourth step or interval berg omitted; and is danced in three-four time...which makes a more graceful and easy dance than the Polka, and one that is a great favorite."
Here the easy grace that is noticeable in well-executed polka-redowa is highlighted.
Below is an example of polka redowa, pulled from an 1860s waltz choreographed for performance--notice that even though a hop is used to turn 180 degrees each time, it's a pretty smooth dance.
I think with this note about gracefulness in mind, polka-redowa is a perfect dance for Amy to really show her skills. It is difficult to execute well, and it requires stamina and form to make all the sliding and leaping look easy and elegant. Plus, the pointed toes that peak out when you slide your foot forward are a perfect opportunity for Amy's white satin slippers to make an appearance!
Hillgrove also notes that polka-redowa can be done in several different ways, and it's up to the gentleman to use whichever method he sees fit. This is an added challenge, because you really have to know the dance backwards and forwards!
"There is no particular rule by which the Polka Redowa should be performed. This is left to the option of the individual. It may be danced turning to the right or to the left, backward or forward; or, in cases where there is not sufficient space to proceed, the step and portion may be preserved in making a kind of balance or set."
This is also an opportunity for Laurie and Amy to connect as a couple (dancing-wise, at least!) because staying in tune with each other to switch things up is key. Practicing years ago at home would certainly have helped, and would have made it easier for the pair to dance well together than to dance as gracefully with other guests at the ball.
Tarantula, or Tarantella
Finally, let's end with a quick note about the "tarantula" Amy would rather be dancing at the beginning of the ball. In both the Matteson (2016; p497) and Shealy (2013; p479) annotated editions of Little Women, there is a note that Amy is incorrectly using "tarantula" where she means "tarantella" (a Sicilian folk dance). I expected this to be a quick note about the presence (or lack) of tarantellas in mid-19th century Parisian ballrooms...but I actually found the word "tarantula" in multiple dance manuals, including Howe's! The best description of a tarantula I found is from The amateur's vademecum: A practical treatise on the art of dancing by E. Reilley, published in Philadelphia in 1870:
"But no dance has so singular a history respecting its origin as the national dance of the Neapolitans, called the Tarantula...Love and pleasure are conspicuous throughout this dance. Each motion, each gesture, is made with the most voluptuous gracefulness. Animated by the accompanying mandolins, tamborines and castenets, the woman tries, by her rapidity and liveliness, to excite the love of her partner, who, in his turn, endeavors to charm her with his agility, elegance, and demonstrations of tenderness. The two dancers unite, separate, return, fly into each other's arms, again bound away, and in their different gestures alternately exhibit love, coquetry and inconstancy. The eye of the spectator is incessantly diverted with the variety of sentiments which they express; nor can anything be more pleasing than their picturesque groups and evolutions. Sometimes they hold each other's hands, the man kneels down, whilst the woman dances round him, then again he rises; again she starts from him, and he eagerly pursues. Thus their whole dance is but assault and defence [sic], and defeat or victory appear equally their object."
However, the plot thickens. I did find one dance manual that refers to the Italian dance as a tarantella and not a tarantula: Coulon's hand-book; containing all the last new and fashionable dances, published in London in 1866 and 1873 (expanded). Coulon writes:
"To dance the Tarantella, however, in our circles as they dance it at Naples would be impossible, and, therefore, when Madame Michau introduced it in London in 1845 she made a selection of about eight steps or figures, that have had great success among the higher classes here."
Here is where I admit that I've never done either the traditional Italian tarantella or the European ballroom version described by Coulon. Looking at his instructions, the ballroom version is a dance for individual couples (in open and closed positions), which seems pretty different from at least the modern versions of the tarantella that I've seen. Someday hopefully I'll get to try reconstructing this, and then I will add a video!
But for now, I'm not sure that using the term "tarantula" is Amy making a mistake. As it appears to be a somewhat common term for referring to the folk dance (in American sources at least), Alcott may just be using the term she's seen. Or it could be even more intentional, to differentiate the Italian folk dance from the ballroom dance "la tarantella" her readers may have seen or heard about.
tarantella or tarantula?
That's it for this week! Next up is likely a break from the dancing and a return to costuming for a bit, since I've actually been sewing. But if you're enjoying these posts, there are more to come!
Happy New Year to all!
*While Aunt March funds Amy's trip abroad, she doesn't actually go--instead, Aunt Carrol and cousin Florence are Amy's companions
**here, "Noah Webster" refers to Webster's Dictionary
***Another note on terminology: we tend to refer to each of these sections as "figures", but that's a bit confusing because the individual patterns that make up a figure are also called figures. In the dance manuals, they referred to the sections of the quadrille as numbers or by names (for example, the third section of the Prince Imperial quadrille in the video above is called "la corbeille"). I've abandoned Howe for a second in favor of The Prompter: Containing full descriptions of all the quadrilles, German cotillons, etc. by William De Garbo (New York, 1865) as his discussions of quadrille mechanics are a lot more detailed. De Garbo explains the makeup of quadrilles:
"A Quadrille is one Number of Figures. Two or more Figures constitute a Number: as in 1st No. Quadrille Francaise, “Right and Left” is a figure; “Balancé” is the next figure; “Ladies Chain” the next; and “Balancé” the last: altogether, these figures constitute a Number. Five Numbers usually constitute what is termed “a set of Quadrilles;” as the “Lancers Quadrilles,” “Caledonian Quadrilles,” “Le Prince Imperial Quadrilles,” etc. It is common to designate Numbers as Figures,— i.e ., instead of 1st No., 2d No., &c., they are sometimes called 1st Fig., 2d Fig., &c. The former definitions are preferable; the term “Numbers” according with the five Numbers or different pieces of music set to the Quadrilles. Figures accord with the strains of music." (emphasis mine.)
