The Penn Libraries Celebrates the Donation of the Esther B. Aresty Collection

The following recipes from the Collection were adapted for the celebration.

Bill of Fare

Mixed Green Sallet with Cooked Egg Dressing
American Cookery, or the Art of Dressing Viands, Fish, Poultry and Vegetables
Amelia Simmons, 1808

Grilled Minced Mutton with Pistachios, Currants and Cinnamon
The Thorough Good Cook
George Augustus Sala, 1896

Cherry Tartlettes
The Larder Invaded
William Woys Weaver
adapted from National Cook Book
Hannah Bouvier Peterson, 1855

Recipes

Baked Mincemeat Kebob

Mince three or four pounds of a leg of mutton, or any other part of raw mutton; then put three chopped onions into a stew-pan with some fresh butter, and partly fry them; add the minced mutton, with half a handful of skinned pistachios, the same of currants, a little salt, pepper, and cinnamon; stir round with a spoon until the minced meat also is partly fried; divide the mincemeat among pastry shells; lay them on a baking tin; place it in a hot oven till nicely browned; dish up tastefully and serve.

Cherry Pie

"...it was common practice to leave the cherry pits in the cherries, both to enhance the flavor (much of the flavor is in the pits) and to hold the shape of the fruit. Street urchins. . .simply spit out the pits; in genteel circles, there was a "proper" ritual for removing the pits from the lips and depositing them with a fork at the side of one's plate. It has been said that in Philadelphia the litmus test for good breeding was not so much one's ability to make a salad but the way one handled those pits. In any case, while we much prefer the pits removed, here is how to reconstruct the tartlets in an "archeologically correct" manner." - The Larder Invaded.

Original Recipe

Stew your cherries with sugar, in the proportion of a pound of cherries to half a pound of sugar, and stir in a little flour to thicken the syrup. Make a paste, as rich as you like, line your pie plates, fill with the fruit, and cover with a lid of the paste.

Adaptation

2 lb. sweet cherries, unpitted; 1/3 cup red currant jelly; 2/3 cup granulated sugar; 2 T. raw cherry juice or water; 2 T. flour. Wash the fruit and remove the stems. Dissove the jelly and sugar in the water or raw cherry juice. Bring this to a hard boil, and continue to boil until it forms a syrup. Add 1 pound of fruit, stir, cover, and simmer 10 minutes. Strain out the fruit and set aside to cool. Reheat the syrup, and repeat the process with the remaining 1 pound of cherries. Line 14 - 16 tartlet pans (tin patty pans) with short pie crust. The pans should measure approximately 31/2 inches in diameter and 1 inch deep. Prick the bottoms, crimp the edges and bake at 350 degrees for roughly 15 to 20 minutes, or until crisp. Remove the tartlet shells from the pans and cool on racks. Reduce the syrup in which the cherries were stewed with two tablespoons of flour and cook until thick, or add 2/3 cup of currant jelly and reduce to a glaze. Fit the cherries into the tartlet shells and add a few tablespoons of syrup or glaze to each. Let this cool, then pipe a decorative border of meringue around the outside edge of each tartlet. Make the meringue in the following manner: 2 egg whites; 2 T superfine sugar; 1 T Maraschino de Zara. Beat the white until stiff; then fold in the sugar and liqueur. After piping the meringue on the tartlets, brown it a bit in the oven (5 minutes at 350 degrees) or with a very hot salamander, a circular iron plate which is heated and placed over a pudding or other dish to brown it (the old method).

In this tribute to Esther Aresty, cookbook author and food historian Elisabeth Rozin of Les Dames d'Escoffier recalls how the Mrs. Aresty's book, The Delectable Past, influenced her life's work and ultimately helped lead to her fulfilling career.

Some thirty years ago I was a graduate student working toward a Ph.D. in English literature. It was an acceptable and appropriate enterprise for a young woman with intellectual inclinations, and I pursued it with dedication, if not with any noticeable enthusiasm. I did have a true passion - the kitchen - but there seemed no way to turn that passion into a career.

Then, in 1964, a little 95-cent paperback book fell into my hands; it has been with me ever since. The book is The Delectable Past by Esther B. Aresty, a learned and charming compilation of recipes updated for the modern cook taken from Esther's superb collection of rare and historic cookbooks.

That book opened my eyes and changed my life. It was eloquent testimony to the liberating idea that food was a suitable, if indeed not essential, subject of discourse, that the cook and the kitchen were not wholly defined by domestic obligation. Esther's work opened a door for me and, I am sure, for many others, encouraging us to come out of the kitchen closet, to express our vision and to share our passion with others, as she had done with us.

The world is certainly no poorer for the loss of one disgruntled professor of English literature, but my life is infinitely richer for having been able to do the work that mattered most; it was a sweet reward when my first book, a cookbook with a theoretical approach to cuisine, was used as a text in college classes all over the country, confirmation that what goes on in the kitchen is as dramatic and important an expression of our lives as what goes on in the boardroom or on the battlefield.

It is utterly fitting, then, that Esther Aresty is at the center tonight, as we celebrate the intersection between the cook and the book, the kitchen and the academy, the pleasures of the table and the life of the mind. Esther, I salute and I thank you.

Janet Theophano, professor in the Department of Folklore and Associate Director of the College of General Studies, curated the exhibit. In these comments, she explores how she came to view the collection through the eyes of a social scientist.

It is a pleasure to welcome you to the opening reception of the Aresty Collection of Rare Books on the Culinary Arts. It has been my pleasure to curate the exhibition presented to you this evening. The Aresty Collection is vast, spanning five centuries and representing cultures from nearly every part of the world. The books written by both men and women provide us with material enough for many culinary and social histories from many points of view.

The exhibition presented this evening is only a portion of the entire collection. I have selected from the Aresty's books those which shed light on women's history, work, and lives. The exhibition focuses on women's writing and use of cookery and household books. I approached these texts from two vantage points. First, I wanted to learn about how the book was received. I wanted to understand the reader's response to such writings. What did the reader do to "personalize" the texts? How did this shape their reading (and culinary) experiences and how did it affect subsequent communities of readers? In fact, much current research on the history and impact of printing focuses on these issues. Second, I wanted to understand the motivation of the women who wrote the books: Who were they? Why did they write? What else did they do? And how did the author-cook and reader-cook interact with one another through these texts? Were women's lives enhanced by this form of writing and activity? And if so, how?

My own interest in cookbooks -- both manuscript and printed -- began with a chance discovery several years ago. While browsing in an antique shop, I stumbled across a book of writings. At first glance, the book reminded me of a journal or a volume of poetry. When I looked more closely, I discovered that what I had found was a collection of recipes. What was most intriguing about this handwritten volume with a section of clipped recipes pasted onto the pages of what had once been telephone directory was the absence of the writer's name. After I bought the book for a dollar -- the shop owner was reluctant to ask for even that much money -- I returned home and searched it for a clue to its writer's identity. I found none. I wondered how many women had kept recipe books such as these. And for what purposes did they keep them? What role did such writing play in women's lives? I was struck not only by the recipes, their titles and ingredients, but by the other information contained in the book. Letters, poems, loose recipes on used scraps of paper, devotional texts, a list of books and rhymes, and several pages of names and addresses of people unknown to me and in unspecified relationships to the writer. Perhaps it was a church group or members of a choir? What was unsettling to me was that although I could conjecture something about this woman's life - her participation in some religious or church- related activity, her social network, that she had children and a husband, I did not know who she was. I wondered how many books like this were anonymous; how many had been discarded, lost or destroyed because they were considered unimportant; how many were written intended for publication or were they most often to be kept in families and given as legacies to children; were some of them meant to signal class and rank and act as symbols of wifely and maternal devotion? Were they read? And if so, by whom?

Since that time I have found a few nineteenth and early twentieth century cookery and household books which I have bought but not with a rare book collector's eye or purpose. I wanted to see how the books had been altered and fiddled with, how they had been earmarked by the reader's sensibilities? Had the writers, in fact, created "cookbooks" of their own? When I was asked to curate the Aresty Collection I was given the opportunity to explore these questions and more. These treasures of culinary literature were written by women and men who became prominent through their writings. I was eager to learn more about them. I also wanted to understand the relationships of the famous authors and their influential texts to the societies in which they lived, and the women whose lives they touched. The exhibition does not begin to answer these questions; rather, it is an invitation to you the audience -- the viewer -- to find your own set of questions and your own vantage points from which to study these books.

I have been thrilled to work with the Aresty Collection -- books I might otherwise never see or touch. And thrilling is the only word to describe it. I am, above all, grateful to the Arestys for their gift to us and to Mrs. Aresty for her thoughtful and brilliant selection of these books. I wish to say thank you to the staff of the Department of Special Collections for its guidance and support. I was a newcomer to this task. I wish also to thank my colleagues in the College of General Studies for giving me the time to work on this project. Many friends listened and read drafts of the texts. Thank you. To the students who worked with me, my deepest gratitude. And to Jeff Shultz -- no words possible. There is much more to learn from these books: political, economic, social, cultural, and linguistic histories are charted and documented in these texts. Needless to say, so too, are at least several histories of food, cooking and other arts of the table. These books are here now and waiting for you -- the next generation of readers, researchers and cooks.

Jules Aresty addressed the attendees, describing his journeys with his wife around the world in pursuit of the rare manuscripts that have become prized acquisitions of the Rare Book and Manuscript Library. He also discussed how various dispositions of the volumes had been considered throughout the years and how Penn came to be the recipient of this most outstanding collection. What follows is a distillation of Jules' remarks.

Over the years, we have had numerous requests to loan some of these rare books to various exhibitions throughout the country, but we have never permitted more than ten books on loan at any one time. As an example, in 1960, the Pierpont Morgan Library wrote us and asked if we would lend a few items for their exhibition and, of course, we were happy to do so. However, as the years rolled on, and with prodding from our attorneys and counselors, we began to consider several options available to us including a sale to a foreign source of twenty or so of the most rare titles including that of our Platina, the first printed cookbook, 1475, Venice, of which only ten copies are available worldwide and which has been valued at $160,000 by a European dealer. At the same time, Mrs. Aresty suggested that any sale or gift fulfill certain conditions, such as:

• all the books must be kept in one collection;
• the books must be in capable hands able to keep the books in a safe area and keep the collection in good repair at all times; and
• the collection must perform a public function, being available to students in the field for future study.

These requirements naturally led to a university and we began to give serious thought to such a possibility.

In 1961, thirty-five years ago, my son Robert who was then a student at Wharton, happened to be in the Library and mentioned the collection to the librarian. This is the letter we received at that time from Mrs. Lyman Riley, bibliographer of the Rare Book Collection:

Dear Mrs. Aresty: Some time ago, your son Robert stopped in the Rare Book Collection and told us about your collection of cookbooks. He thought, rightly, that we would be interested to know of this collection so near to the University and owned by a University-affiliated family. I have read the account of your books and manuscripts published in the New York Times of June 2, 1960. I realize even from that brief description that it must be a fine collection. We have no similar collection here, although we do know that medical libraries have found books on cookery very appropriate for their historical studies. However, in our extensive collection of books from the press of the Elzevier family in Holland the rarest item happens to be a cookbook, The Patissier François, Amsterdam, 1655. Another prized library on the campus, the Edgar Fahs Smith Memorial Collection in the History of Chemistry, of course includes in its rather broad field books allied with cookery. We are indeed happy that your son made himself known to us and hope that when you next visit Pennsylvania you will come to see the Library and its Rare Book Collection. Our quarters are rather cramped now but after another year, we shall have much more ample space in the new library building that is now rising across the campus on Walnut Street.

However, Mrs. Aresty, at that stage of her life thirty-five years ago, had no interest in disposing of the books. They were too much a part of her life and she regarded the books as her children. For a short period, Mrs. Aresty began to write books in the culinary field and, later, on the subject and development of manners as described in her book, The Best Behavior, which was published and later serialized on a daily basis by one of the New York City daily papers.

Going back over the years, I recall that upon returning from our European wedding trip in September 1936, many boxes filled with books arrived in our little apartment in Chicago. I had noticed during our trip that her main interests in every city were the book stalls and the rare book dealers. Evidently, this love for books from early childhood resulted in collecting at an early age. She put her love for the English language to good use during our courtship as she became the advertising manager of a large Chicago department store after hosting an early morning radio show for celebrities.

After World War II, we made a foreign trip annually. Europe was our favorite, especially the capital cities. On two occasions, we made a trip around the world . Whenever we went, Mrs. Aresty usually spent a great deal of time in the shops of the great book dealers in rare books. As I recall, on every trip, we came back to America with rare books on culinary subjects from the various lands. On some occasions, we returned two or three years later to see if a bookseller still had that rare book that Mrs. Aresty wanted but felt was not priced fairly. Eventually, Mrs. Aresty added many of these to her collection over the years.

One of our most interesting trips was to Russia in 1946 shortly after World War II ended. The Cold Peace was in effect but we managed to get visitors' visas to Moscow, St. Petersburg and then to our friendly Finland. Upon arriving in Moscow, we were assigned a hotel room in the suburbs. We were assigned a young guide at the airport who was with us at all times. He spoke some English and was being trained for work in Afghanistan. With his help, we visited a few book stores still in business and Mrs. Aresty selected about fifteen Russian books she wanted to buy. However, we were told first, that no book could leave Russia unless it was checked at the main Moscow library and stamped okay by the chief librarian which certified that a similar copy remained in the library and second, that when you exited Russia at the airport, you paid an exit tax to the government for the cost of each book. The prices in Russia were not high and many dealers were glad to see some American dollars, so Mrs. Aresty selected about a dozen books and we were taken by our guide to meet the Librarian at the main library to have our books checked to make sure that similar copies remained in the library. Most of our books were okay, but the Chief Librarian was on vacation in his dacha about thirty miles from Moscow and no one else had the authority to give our books an exit okay. After quite some discussion, our young guide, noticing our disappointment, said he would try to get the Chief back from his vacation. He reported to us that he was successful and the Chief would be in the Library the following day. We met the Chief, a kind pleasant elderly librarian who checked our books but he repeated that we would have to pay a tax for each book as we exited the country.

In closing, over the years, Mrs. Aresty has enjoyed the collection, book by book. Now she is happy that they will have a new permanent safe home in this distinguished library.