From Hardtack to Home Fries: An Uncommon History of American Cooks and Meals [NOOK Book]

Overview

Barbara Haber, one of America's most respected authorities on the history of food, has spent years excavating fascinating stories of the ways in which meals cooked and served by women have shaped American history. As any cook knows, every meal, and every diet, has a story -- whether it relates to presidents and first ladies or to the poorest of urban immigrants. From Hardtack to Home Fries brings together the best and most inspiring of those stories, from the 1840s to the present, focusing on a remarkable ...
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From Hardtack to Home Fries: An Uncommon History of American Cooks and Meals

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Overview

Barbara Haber, one of America's most respected authorities on the history of food, has spent years excavating fascinating stories of the ways in which meals cooked and served by women have shaped American history. As any cook knows, every meal, and every diet, has a story -- whether it relates to presidents and first ladies or to the poorest of urban immigrants. From Hardtack to Home Fries brings together the best and most inspiring of those stories, from the 1840s to the present, focusing on a remarkable assembly of little-known or forgotten Americans who determined what our country ate during some of its most trying periods.

Haber's secret weapon is the cookbook. She unearths cookbooks and menus from rich and poor, urban and rural, long-past and near-present and uses them to answer some fascinating puzzles:

• Why was the food in Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt's White House so famously bad? Were they trying to keep guests away, or did they themselves simply lack the taste to realize the truth? It turns out that Eleanor's chef wrote a cookbook, which solves the mystery.

• How did food lure settlers to the hardship of the American West? Englishman Fred Harvey's Harvey Girls tempted them with good food and good women.

• How did cooking keep alive World War II Army and Navy POWs in the Pacific? A remarkable cookbook reveals how recollections of home cooking and cooking resourcefulness helped mend bodies and spirits.

From Hardtack to Home Fries uses a light touch to survey a deeply important subject. Women's work and women's roles in America's past have not always been easy to recover. Barbara Haber shows us that a single, ubiquitous, ordinary-yet-extraordinary lens can illuminate a great deal of this other half of our past. Haber includes sample recipes and rich photographs, bringing the food of bygone eras back to life.

From Hardtack to Home Fries is a feast, and a delight.
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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
The Barnes & Noble Review
Hungry? Barbara Haber serves up nine tasty slices of American history in this intriguing look at American cooks and meals. Whether writing about the Civil War nurses who not only served the sick but had to lock up the liquor or the famous Harvey Girls who answered the call to go west and waitress, Haber explores just what these resourceful women did and how they changed the nation in the process.

As curator of books at one of the nation's most famous collections of women's history, Haber has always regarded cookbooks as primary historical references, often more reliable than academic material. The vast cookbook collections at the Schlesinger Library at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard University only encouraged this inclination.

"Food was my way of discovering unforeseen but revealing aspects of otherwise well-documented events," writes Haber. "So, for example, the importance of food in defining life came home to me in diaries written by Americans who were herded into Japanese prison camps in the Philippines after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and had to reconstruct their lives around whatever food they could find to eat."

Haber's choice of stories is fresh, and she tells them with great enthusiasm, salted with details from contemporary diaries, memoirs, and cookbooks. She writes of reformers and pioneers, kooks and collectors, do-gooders and researchers. Her cast of characters include Sylvester Graham (1794–1851), who tried to convert an indifferent public from corn, pork, and molasses to a vegetarian diet, and Fred Harvey, who introduced fastidious lunchrooms to train passengers going west in the late 19th century.

Haber loves a good story. She thoroughly enjoys the "fat narratives" in bestselling diet books (Elizabeth Takes Off! is a favorite); she is intrigued by the Window Shop, a Cambridge, Massachusetts, restaurant started by Harvard faculty wives to help Jewish refugees from World War II.

Then there's the kitchen in the FDR White House, ruled by the indomitable Mrs. Nesbitt, who routinely turned out mediocre food. Guests going to a state dinner were warned by others to eat before leaving home. Even the president himself finally complained to his wife, Eleanor: "I am getting to the point where my stomach positively rebels and this does not help my relations with foreign powers. I bit two of them today."

Contemporary recipes are included in each chapter, so that readers may taste the actual French Apple Pie with Nutmeg Sauce served by the Harvey Company, the Mock Apple Pie occasioned by food shortages in the Civil War, or, if they dare, the Ashville Salad (one can tomato soup, two cakes Philadelphia Cream Cheese, and gelatin) served at the FDR White House. (Ginger Curwen)

New Yorker
"You mean you just go up to complete strangers and talk to them about pie?" a friend's father asks Pascale Le Draoulec, the restaurant critic for the New York Daily News. Strangers not only talked to Le Draoulec, but they gave her enough material for a book. In American Pie, she visits antique stores, fish boils, and churches and discovers a staunch pie culture. Le Draoulec samples shoofly pie in Pennsylvania Dutch country and the elusive bumbleberry in Zion Canyon, and finds that even the most timid pie-makers guard their recipes aggressively. "Pie is the food of the heroic," a journalist in the Times wrote in 1902, after an Englishman suggested that Americans skip their daily slice. "No pie-eating people can ever be vanquished."

U.S. Army and Navy nurses at the Santo Tomás civilian prison camp in the Philippines during the Second World War would have agreed; after months of near-starvation, they were freed by American G.I.s armed with rations of "liberation" cherry pies. The story, and the recipe, are found in Barbara Haber's history of American cooks, From Hardtack to Home Fries, culled from cookbooks in Radcliffe's Schlesinger Library. Haber reminds us that familiar food and shared recipes made the kitchen range home for displaced émigrés, bringing Aunt Sylvia's soul food to Harlem, Sacher Torte to Harvard Square, and ice cream and oranges to dusty railroad depots along the Santa Fe trail. The collections of these recipes became a species of batter-spattered belles-lettres. In 1923, Joseph Conrad, in an introduction to his wife's cookbook, praised such literary undertakings as "above suspicion," for their object "can conceivably be no other than to increase the happiness of mankind."

Publishers Weekly
The tasty graham cracker, a beloved bedtime snack of many children, began its life as the linchpin of its originator Sylvester Graham's fanatical early-19th-century health campaign to curtail sexual excess, especially masturbation and more then once-monthly marital coitus. Facts such as these, interwoven with informed, witty discussions of social, political and economic history, make Haber's tour through the history of American food so entertaining. Since food has so often been consigned to the domestic realm of woman, Haber's study is in essence a history of American women: the "Harvey Girls," who worked in the chain of reasonably priced railroad depot restaurants that revolutionized public eating in the 1880s and '90s; how Eleanor Roosevelt and her general housekeeper Henrietta Nesbitt had to balance White House menus, which had to seem both fancy and economical during WWII; the role of a small tea shop, started by faculty wives in Cambridge, Mass., as a boon to women refugees in the 1940s. While Haber doesn't explore issues in depth (her discussion of why Irish immigrants were antagonistic to African-Americans would have been helped with references to Noel Ignatiev's 1996 study How the Irish Became White), she does cover a wealth of material with a breezy style and a fine eye for historical detail. (Apr.) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
KLIATT
This is a highly entertaining book. The author, a noted curator of books, has access to over 16,000 cookbooks to dip into for inspiration. A hidden history of our country exists through the evolution of our cuisine. Haber focuses on the untold female contribution to our food culture through interesting stories and amusing anecdotes. Readers learn about Civil War nurses guarding barrels of whiskey, the bad food served in the White House while FDR was President, Sylvester Graham's fanatical diets that were designed to curtail sexual excess, the concerns of women imprisoned with children during wartime, and the "Harvey Girls" who helped civilize the American West. We learn about the Jewish culture through their food, and the African American culture through foods that are historically important to them. Haber believes that cookbooks have the power to make connections between people regardless of their ethnic origin. This is a must for food lovers everywhere! KLIATT Codes: SA;Recommended for senior high school students, advanced students, and adults. 2002, Penguin, 244p.,
— Shirley Reis
Library Journal
Drawing on cookbooks, diaries, and memoirs, noted food historian Haber here presents some of the major events of American history through the lens of food history. Chapters cover such topics as the diets of POWs during World War II, why the food was so bad in the FDR White House, the role of the Harvey Girls in feeding the Western expansion, and the "diet kitchens" run by Civil War nurses. Each chapter works better as an interesting and well-written essay than as a contribution to a linear history of American cooks and meals. Some of the chapters are quite funny, such as the one on America's food reformers, which includes a digression on Haber's favorite modern diet books. An annotated bibliography, photographs, and several illustrative recipes are also included. Curator of Books at the Schlesinger Library at Harvard University's Radcliffe Institute, Haber has been profiled in Bon App tit, Newsweek, and other publications. Recommended for public libraries and academic or special libraries where there is interest in food history. Mary Russell, New Hampshire State Lib., Concord Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781439137598
  • Publisher: Free Press
  • Publication date: 5/11/2010
  • Sold by: SIMON & SCHUSTER
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 256
  • Sales rank: 1,396,343
  • File size: 4 MB

Meet the Author

Barbara Haber has had a distinguished career as Curator of Books at the Schlesinger Library at Harvard University's Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Studies. Haber is a popular speaker and writer on culinary history and has been profiled in Newsweek, The New York Times, Bon Appétit, and other prominent publications. For her contributions to food and cooking, she was elected to the James Beard Foundation's Who's Who in American Food and Beverages, and given the prestigious M.F.K. Fisher Award by Les Dames d'Escoffier. She lives in Winchester, Massachusetts.
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Read an Excerpt

From Hardtack to Home Fries

An Uncommon History of American Cooks and Meals
By Barbara Haber

Penguin Books

Copyright © 2003 Barbara Haber
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0142002976


Introduction


Follow the Food

Writing about food as a way to understand American history has not been a stretch for me. I was prepared for the task by my academic training and experience (more about that in a moment) but perhaps even more by a lifelong interest in and curiosity about food and the meaning it has for people beyond satisfying hunger.

Take the time I went on an elementary-school field trip to a U.S. naval vessel when I was a child growing up along the Great Lakes. The ship was probably a destroyer — I have a vague recollection of big guns lining the deck, and of hordes of white-uniformed sailors scurrying around and looking busy — but the only part of the tour that I remember clearly was a visit to the ship's galley, where tray upon tray of pigs in blankets (hot dogs wrapped in a biscuit dough) were being prepared by the ship's cooks. I was intrigued with the size of those trays, three feet square at least, and the alarming size of the ovens, which summoned up impressions of the one owned by the witch in Hansel and Gretel. I wondered how many men these cooks were expected to feed and how many pigs in blankets each of them would be allowed to eat. I was full of questions, but my classmates were in a hurry to get back to the big guns and busy sailors, so we were hustled along and I never found out what I really wanted to know about the ship and the U.S. Navy.

Years later, in the midst of the student protest movement in the early 1970s, I slipped into a building on the Harvard campus that had been taken over by a group of young women demanding that the university supply low-income housing and a women's center for the women of Boston. Along with other sympathizers, I heard the demands of the protesters and read their position papers, but what I remember most about the meeting was an enormous vat of brown rice fortified with raisins and chopped almonds that I saw in the kitchen, giving me the impression that the students were preparing for a long siege. As I look back on the incident, that big pot of brown rice seems to me to conjure up the spirit of the times. Cheap, sustaining, and unpretentious, it was the food of choice for the counterculture of the late sixties and the seventies, a symbol of protest against the establishment and of a commitment to the poor and disenfranchised.

This preoccupation with food and what it means to people has persisted and sometimes gotten me into trouble. Not long ago I was at a dinner party when another guest who was chatting about grocery shopping confided that she had to remember to buy the snacks her husband liked to have in his study. The husband — within earshot — was a full professor of physics at a major university and a rather formal gentleman. I was suddenly overcome with curiosity about what this man munched on while working behind closed doors on his complex equations. So I asked him and got a curt answer: candy bars and peanuts. A less persistent person might have left it at that, but I had to know precisely what brands he liked and the sizes of his bars and jars. So I probed and was satisfied to learn that he liked plain half-pound milk-chocolate Hershey bars, not the miniatures or the kind with the crunch. I could also easily relate to his preference for Planters roasted peanuts lightly salted instead of those awful ones that are dipped in sugar as well as salt. In just a few moments, I had learned some pleasant and endearing things about this former stranger, and believed that we had broken the ice. Imagine my surprise, then, when the professor's wife told me later that he had thought my questions nosy, and was deeply embarrassed by my line of inquiry. He might not have been so offended had we found that we shared a passion for Bach or the Boston Red Sox, but I learned too late that snacks can be too intimate a subject for some people to talk about comfortably.

My private inclination to use food as a way of sizing up people and public events caught up with my professional life when I became Curator of Books at the Schlesinger Library at Harvard University's Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Studies. Here I have been responsible for developing the library's comprehensive collection of books and other printed materials on the history of women in America — a collection that from the first has included cookbooks and books on the history of food.

Founded in 1943, this social history research library has a distinguished manuscript collection that includes the papers of such notable American women as Betty Friedan, as well as the records of the National Organization for Women and other organizational papers that document women's collective activities. At the same time, the Schlesinger Library has collected the records of women who were not well known, including labor organizers, activists for women's health, and ordinary homemakers. It was for this reason that cookbooks became part of our collection, and that the Schlesinger Library holdings now include 16,000 cookbooks, as well as the papers of such noted food writers as Julia Child and M.F.K. Fisher.

Cookbooks were recognized by the library as having essential connections to women's history well before women's history was recognized as a respected field of academic study. The field took off at the end of the 1960s, when academic women who had been activists in the civil rights, antiwar, and women's rights movements came to realize that women in general had been excluded from the historical record. By way of setting the record straight, the resources of the library were called upon by faculty members, students, and independent researchers from all parts of the country and abroad who came to research and write about women's history. The cookbook collection, however, was generally ignored during this period as evidence of the past preoccupations of American women. Instead, women's studies specialists were more immediately intent on bringing visibility to the public activities of women and downplaying their kitchen duties, which seemed to symbolize women's subordination and oppression by the patriarchy.

This would change when women's history came of age and its subject matter became more inclusive. Historians of women had always been sensitive to the fact that women are not a monolithic group but range in age, income level, race, and ethnicity. In the last several years, however, studies in women's history have appeared that demonstrate how customs surrounding food and food itself reveal important distinctions among women and their connections to the communities in which they live. At the same time, for scholars in traditional fields such as literature, psychology, sociology, and anthropology, the study of food is beginning to become an academic growth industry.

In some ways, these scholars are late to the scene. Well before food became a legitimate and exciting area of investigation in colleges and universities, groups of nonacademic culinary historians were laboring in the vineyard of food history. In fact, it was these groups especially, which had been using the library's cookbook collections for years, that nurtured my inclination to see food as a way of understanding not only individual and group behavior but whole civilizations and major world events.

In particular, I found like-minded researchers among the Culinary Historians of Boston, an organization that has met for years at the Schlesinger Library and served as a model for similar groups that have formed around the country. These groups contributed to my sense that the study of food could be broad in its scope rather than narrowly elitist and antiquarian. The venerable Oxford Symposium, held annually at the university for worldwide historians of food, and the Oldways Preservation and Exchange Trust, advocating traditional approaches to diet and nutrition, also provided occasions for me to test out my ideas about the place of food in history, literature, and popular culture. Most of all, they have vindicated my natural inclination to focus on food and to use that focus as a way to illuminate some of the major events of American history.


Food was my way of discovering unforeseen but revealing aspects of otherwise well-documented events. So, for example, the importance of food in defining life came home to me in diaries written by Americans who were herded into Japanese prison camps in the Philippines after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and had to reconstruct their lives around whatever food they could find to eat. Later, looking at cookbooks written by African Americans, I was struck by how, when virtually every other vestige of a people's heritage has been viciously removed, food remains to preserve their identity and connect them with one another and their homeland.

My approach in this uncommon history has been to follow the food in published and unpublished memoirs, diaries, and oral histories that came out of some of the most defining moments of our country's past. So, for example, a manuscript collection from the Schlesinger Library allowed me to document the life of a famous Viennese restaurant in Harvard Square that gave welcome work to World War II refugees. Cookbooks have been especially valuable as primary sources and sometimes even more reliable than traditional scholarly evidence. In one instance, a cookbook written by FDR's housekeeper proved more revealing than her memoir of her Washington years, its dull recipes proof that White House guests had been justified in complaining about the food.

Cookbooks, which I consider to be a vastly underutilized resource, have been relied upon throughout this book. As historic artifacts they bring to life the American past through accounts of what foods were available, how they were prepared, and the meanings people gave to them. Finally, individual recipes are also included to allow the reader to connect directly with the figures in this book and what they cooked and served and ate — or longed to eat when the food they loved was no longer available.

Continues...


Excerpted from From Hardtack to Home Fries by Barbara Haber Copyright © 2003 by Barbara Haber. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents


Contents

Introduction: Follow the Food

One: Feeding the Great Hunger: The Irish Famine and America

Two: Pretty Much of a Muchness: Civil War Nurses and Diet Kitchens

Three: They Dieted for Our Sins: America's Food Reformers

Four: The Harvey Girls: Good Women and Good Food Civilize the American West

Five: Home Cooking in the FDR White House: The Indomitable Mrs. Nesbitt

Six: Cooking Behind Barbed Wire: POWs During World War II

Seven: Sachertorte in Harvard Square: Jewish Refugees Find Friends and Work

Eight: Food Keeps the Faith: African-American Cooks and Their Heritage

Nine: Growing Up with Gourmet: What Cookbooks Mean

Annotated Bibliography

Index

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Introduction

Introduction: Follow the Food

Writing about food as a way to understand American history has not been a stretch for me. I was prepared for the task by my academic training and experience (more about that in a moment) but perhaps even more by a lifelong interest in and curiosity about food and the meaning it has for people beyond satisfying hunger.

Take the time I went on an elementary-school field trip to a U.S. naval vessel when I was a child growing up along the Great Lakes. The ship was probably a destroyer — I have a vague recollection of big guns lining the deck, and of hordes of white-uniformed sailors scurrying around and looking busy — but the only part of the tour that I remember clearly was a visit to the ship's galley, where tray upon tray of pigs in blankets (hot dogs wrapped in a biscuit dough) were being prepared by the ship's cooks. I was intrigued with the size of those trays, three feet square at least, and the alarming size of the ovens, which summoned up impressions of the one owned by the witch in Hansel and Gretel. I wondered how many men these cooks were expected to feed and how many pigs in blankets each of them would be allowed to eat. I was full of questions, but my classmates were in a hurry to get back to the big guns and busy sailors, so we were hustled along and I never found out what I really wanted to know about the ship and the U.S. Navy.

Years later, in the midst of the student protest movement in the early 1970s, I slipped into a building on the Harvard campus that had been taken over by a group of young women demanding that the university supply low-income housing and a women's center for the women of Boston. Along with other sympathizers, I heard the demands of the protesters and read their position papers, but what I remember most about the meeting was an enormous vat of brown rice fortified with raisins and chopped almonds that I saw in the kitchen, giving me the impression that the students were preparing for a long siege. As I look back on the incident, that big pot of brown rice seems to me to conjure up the spirit of the times. Cheap, sustaining, and unpretentious, it was the food of choice for the counterculture of the late sixties and the seventies, a symbol of protest against the establishment and of a commitment to the poor and disenfranchised.

This preoccupation with food and what it means to people has persisted and sometimes gotten me into trouble. Not long ago I was at a dinner party when another guest who was chatting about grocery shopping confided that she had to remember to buy the snacks her husband liked to have in his study. The husband — within earshot — was a full professor of physics at a major university and a rather formal gentleman. I was suddenly overcome with curiosity about what this man munched on while working behind closed doors on his complex equations. So I asked him and got a curt answer: candy bars and peanuts. A less persistent person might have left it at that, but I had to know precisely what brands he liked and the sizes of his bars and jars. So I probed and was satisfied to learn that he liked plain half-pound milk-chocolate Hershey bars, not the miniatures or the kind with the crunch. I could also easily relate to his preference for Planters roasted peanuts lightly salted instead of those awful ones that are dipped in sugar as well as salt. In just a few moments, I had learned some pleasant and endearing things about this former stranger, and believed that we had broken the ice. Imagine my surprise, then, when the professor's wife told me later that he had thought my questions nosy, and was deeply embarrassed by my line of inquiry. He might not have been so offended had we found that we shared a passion for Bach or the Boston Red Sox, but I learned too late that snacks can be too intimate a subject for some people to talk about comfortably.

My private inclination to use food as a way of sizing up people and public events caught up with my professional life when I became Curator of Books at the Schlesinger Library at Harvard University's Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Studies. Here I have been responsible for developing the library's comprehensive collection of books and other printed materials on the history of women in America — a collection that from the first has included cookbooks and books on the history of food.

Founded in 1943, this social history research library has a distinguished manuscript collection that includes the papers of such notable American women as Betty Friedan, as well as the records of the National Organization for Women and other organizational papers that document women's collective activities. At the same time, the Schlesinger Library has collected the records of women who were not well known, including labor organizers, activists for women's health, and ordinary homemakers. It was for this reason that cookbooks became part of our collection, and that the Schlesinger Library holdings now include 16,000 cookbooks, as well as the papers of such noted food writers as Julia Child and M.F.K. Fisher.

Cookbooks were recognized by the library as having essential connections to women's history well before women's history was recognized as a respected field of academic study. The field took off at the end of the 1960s, when academic women who had been activists in the civil rights, antiwar, and women's rights movements came to realize that women in general had been excluded from the historical record. By way of setting the record straight, the resources of the library were called upon by faculty members, students, and independent researchers from all parts of the country and abroad who came to research and write about women's history. The cookbook collection, however, was generally ignored during this period as evidence of the past preoccupations of American women. Instead, women's studies specialists were more immediately intent on bringing visibility to the public activities of women and downplaying their kitchen duties, which seemed to symbolize women's subordination and oppression by the patriarchy.

This would change when women's history came of age and its subject matter became more inclusive. Historians of women had always been sensitive to the fact that women are not a monolithic group but range in age, income level, race, and ethnicity. In the last several years, however, studies in women's history have appeared that demonstrate how customs surrounding food and food itself reveal important distinctions among women and their connections to the communities in which they live. At the same time, for scholars in traditional fields such as literature, psychology, sociology, and anthropology, the study of food is beginning to become an academic growth industry.

In some ways, these scholars are late to the scene. Well before food became a legitimate and exciting area of investigation in colleges and universities, groups of nonacademic culinary historians were laboring in the vineyard of food history. In fact, it was these groups especially, which had been using the library's cookbook collections for years, that nurtured my inclination to see food as a way of understanding not only individual and group behavior but whole civilizations and major world events.

In particular, I found like-minded researchers among the Culinary Historians of Boston, an organization that has met for years at the Schlesinger Library and served as a model for similar groups that have formed around the country. These groups contributed to my sense that the study of food could be broad in its scope rather than narrowly elitist and antiquarian. The venerable Oxford Symposium, held annually at the university for worldwide historians of food, and the Oldways Preservation and Exchange Trust, advocating traditional approaches to diet and nutrition, also provided occasions for me to test out my ideas about the place of food in history, literature, and popular culture. Most of all, they have vindicated my natural inclination to focus on food and to use that focus as a way to illuminate some of the major events of American history.

Food was my way of discovering unforeseen but revealing aspects of otherwise well-documented events. So, for example, the importance of food in defining life came home to me in diaries written by Americans who were herded into Japanese prison camps in the Philippines after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and had to reconstruct their lives around whatever food they could find to eat. Later, looking at cookbooks written by African Americans, I was struck by how, when virtually every other vestige of a people's heritage has been viciously removed, food remains to preserve their identity and connect them with one another and their homeland.

My approach in this uncommon history has been to follow the food in published and unpublished memoirs, diaries, and oral histories that came out of some of the most defining moments of our country's past. So, for example, a manuscript collection from the Schlesinger Library allowed me to document the life of a famous Viennese restaurant in Harvard Square that gave welcome work to World War II refugees. Cookbooks have been especially valuable as primary sources and sometimes even more reliable than traditional scholarly evidence. In one instance, a cookbook written by FDR's housekeeper proved more revealing than her memoir of her Washington years, its dull recipes proof that White House guests had been justified in complaining about the food.

Cookbooks, which I consider to be a vastly underutilized resource, have been relied upon throughout this book. As historic artifacts they bring to life the American past through accounts of what foods were available, how they were prepared, and the meanings people gave to them. Finally, individual recipes are also included to allow the reader to connect directly with the figures in this book and what they cooked and served and ate — or longed to eat when the food they loved was no longer available.

Copyright © 2002 by Barbara Haber

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