Inspiration behind the almond cake and fruit cream posts was the TV adaptation of the first two 'Barsetshire novels'. However, only after reading The Warden (1855) and Barchester Towers (1857) in print did I realize that food was not just in the background of Anthony Trollope's work - it was fully integrated in his storylines.
William Makepeace Thackeray embellished Vanity Fair (1848) with constant references to gourmet dishes while another bon-viveur of the 19th century, Alexandre Dumas-père, scattered his Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine (1873) with information about the most unusual foods. Other English authors, including women, discussed or mentioned food in passing but only if necessary: we do bite into a seed cake with Jane Eyre, enjoy the very little bit of apple-tart that M. Woodhouse offers his elderly guests, nibble a bowl of almonds with Cynthia Fitzpatrick and witness the making of junket on Bathseba Everdene's farm - but that is all. Perhaps Wives and Daughters (1864) by Elizabeth Gaskell is more dedicated to food than other novels because it's mainly about families, for which it surely deserves a post or posts of its own in this blog.
However, nothing is more genuine on a page of English literature than Anthony Trollope's food references - including not only the word for it but also the notions, habits, and moods that go with its consumption. In the posts I wrote earlier, I speculated that Elizabth Acton's recipes, or mid-19th century recipes, would have been likely enjoyed at the author's house. Now, The Warden and Barchester Towers confirm this. Whatever Anthony Trollope shared with his readers, including scenes about eating, was inspired by real life: the social aspect of food that he transcribed so convincingly and with such little effort, the comfort of sharing a meal with one's friends or the anxiety that prevents one from enjoying their dinner - all this is familiar to us but so rare in literature.
This is an extract from Chapter 6 "The Warden's Tea Party", in which M. Harding entertains some friends at his residence in Barchester - including his future son-in-law John Bold who has openly accused him of corruption:
"The party went off as such parties do: there were fat old ladies in fine silk dresses, and slim young ladies in gauzy muslin frocks; old gentlemen stood up with their backs to the empty fireplace, looking by no means so uncomfortable as they would have done in their armchairs at home; and young gentlemen, rather stiff about the neck, clustered near the door, not as yet sufficiently in courage to attack the muslin frocks, who awaited the battle, drawn up in a semicircular array. The warden endeavoured to induce a charge, but failed signally, not having the tact of a general: his daughter did what she could to comfort the forces under her command, who took in refreshing rations of cake and tea, and patiently looked for the coming engagement: but she herself, Eleanor, had no spirit for the work; the only enemy whose lance she cared to encounter was not there, and she and others were somewhat dull."
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| Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop's Grounds - John Constable, 1825 |
The cookbook to browse for a suitable recipe here is undoubtedly Modern Cookery that was published ten years before The Warden. There are quite a few recipes for delicious tea party cakes, including Elizabeth Acton's two sponge cakes:
"A GOOD SPONGE CAKE.
Rasp on some lumps of well-refined sugar the rind of a find sound lemon, and scrape of the part which has imbibed the essence, or crush the lumps to powder, and add them to as much more as will make up the weight of eight or ten fresh eggs in the shell; break these one by one and separate the whites from the yolks; beat the latter in a large bowl for ten minutes, then strew in the sugar gradually and beat them well together. In the mean time let the whites be whisked to a quite solid froth, add them to the yolks, and when they are well blended sift and stir the flour gently to them, but do not beat it into the mixture; pour the cake into a well-buttered mould, and bake it an hour and a quarter in a moderate oven.
Rasped rind. 1 large lemon; fresh eggs, 8 or 10; their weight of dry, sifted sugar; and half their weight of flour: baked 1 1/4 hour, moderate oven."
A SMALLER SPONGE CAKE. (Very good.)
Five full-sized eggs, the weight of four in sugar, and of nearly three in flour, will make an exceedingly good cake: it may be flavoured, like the preceding one, with lemon-rind, or with bitter almonds, vanilla, or confected orange-blossoms reduced to powder. An hour will bake it thoroughly. All the ingredients for sponge cakes should be of good quality, and the sugar and flour should be dry; they should also be passed through a fine sieve kept especially for such purposes. The excellence of the whole much depends in the manner in which the eggs are whisked: this should be done as lightly as possible, but it is a mistake to suppose they cannot be too long beaten, as after they are brought to a state of firmness they are injured by a continuation of the whisking, and will at times curdle, and render a cake heavy from this cause."
The first recipe was clearly meant to serve a lot of people and it's much more extravagant because it uses a large percentage of sugar - resulting in a texture not dissimilar to that of Dutch sugar bread. I have no doubt that in order to please her father's guests Eleanor Harding would have ordered Cook to focus on this one. The second recipe is nearer to classic versions of sponge cake. Even though the author labels it as "small cake", implying that it's basically the same dessert, the sugar-to-flour ratio is changed, yielding a typical base for a layered gâteau.
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