The Taste of Snow: Some Historical Uses of Snow in Food & Drink

Snow is a mutable substance, its icy particles giving way to a watery essence when heated. Perhaps it is this transformative process that imparts the subtle but defining characteristics that make melted snow very different from plain water. For centuries, snow has been used not only to keep food and drink cold, but as an ingredient.

Buoyant Lightness

Snow was considered a superior source of water for brewing tea in premodern China, because of its pure, unadulterated nature and slight effervescence. Snow was collected from plum branches or rocks, before it could get sullied and either used immediately or kept in cold storage. Several literary examples from the Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) eras illustrate the use of snow as a refined gesture when serving tea for a special occasion. A poem by the Qing poet Mao Ti (a member of the illustrious women's literary circle known as the Banana Garden Poetry Club) alludes to the practice:

In the mountains, hungry crows clamor on a thousand trees,
I myself brush the icy flakes together, I myself brew the tea.
I don't care that the freezing cold causes me to shiver all over:
I worry only that the snow may crush the old plum blossoms.

Translation from Idema, Wilt and Beata Grant, The Red Brush: Writing Women of Imperial China
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard East Asian Monographs, 2004), 495.

In the Qing novel, The Story of the Stone, by Cao Xueqin, the practice is portrayed more comically. In the following scene, Baoyu, the eldest son of the prominent Jia family, and his cousin Daiyu are drinking tea prepared by Adamantina, a nun at a Buddhist sanctuary:

‘Is this tea made with last year’s rain water too?’ Daiyu asked her [Adamantina].
Adamantina looked scornful. ‘Oh! Can you really not tell the difference? I am quite disappointed in you. This is melted snow that I collected from the branches of winter flowering plum trees five years ago, when I was living at the Coiled Incense temple on Mount Xuanmu. I managed to fill the whole of that demon-green glaze water jar with it. For years I couldn’t bring myself to start it; then this summer I opened it for the first time. Today is only the second time I have ever used any. I am most surprised that you cannot tell the difference. When did stored rainwater have such a buoyant lightness? How could one possibly use it for a tea like this?"
Cao Xueqin, The Story of the Stone, vols. II, trans. David Hawkes, (New York: Penguin, 1973), 315.

While the proper water complemented and enhanced the flavor of tea, Cao’s description of the nun’s fastidious preparations approaches the fanatic, perhaps mocking overzealous Qing tea connoisseurs. A similar scene occurs in the Ming period novel, Jin Ping Mei. A woodblock print depicting a servant collecting snow for tea accompanies the text. See David Tod Roy, trans., The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Ch’in Ping Mei, v. II: The Rivals (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2006), 13.

I was curious to find out how snow-brewed tea tasted and so I recently made two pots of the same oolong tea- one pot was brewed with water and the other with melted snow of equal temperature. The snow tea made my tongue tingle and the difference in taste was considerable, with an added depth of flavor and roundness to the snow-brewed tea.

Snow for Eggs

Mrs C.F. Leyel's Puddings (c. 1920) includes an interesting recipe for snow pancakes, which calls for a tablespoon of snow to be pressed into each pancake as it cooks on the griddle.



Leyel does not explain the purpose of adding snow to the pancakes, but a little research revealed that this was a common practice in both Britain and America up until WWII. Cookbooks such as Buckeye Cookery & Practical Housekeeping (1877), The Woman Suffrage Cook Book (c. 1886), Miss Parloa's New Cook Book (c.1880) invariably include a recipe using "new-fallen snow" in either pancakes or puddings. An explanation appears in a recipe for Plum Pudding in Jennie June's American Cookery Book (1870) by Jane Cunningham Croly. Croly states: "two table-spoonfuls of snow are equal to an egg in any pudding." (161). This was valuable knowledge for the average housekeeper. Croly later elaborates rather eloquently:

In making pancakes or puddings, snow is an excellent substitute for eggs; two table-spoonfuls of snow stirred in quickly are equal to an egg in puddings or pancakes for making them light. It is explained by the fact that snow contains in its flakes much atmospheric air, which is set free as it melts. (280)

While I didn't find snow pancakes to be as tasty as those made with eggs, they are worth trying. Leyel's recipe is below:

Mrs C.F. Leyel's Snow Pancakes

1/2 lb flour
1 Tbs salt
rind of lemon
milk
snow

Mix the flour, lemon rind and salt together, and make into a thick batter with the milk.
Put a piece of butter in an omelette pan, and when it frizzles, beat up very quickly a tablespoonful of snow with each pancake and fry until lightly browned on both sides.
Fold the pancakes, dredge them with sugar, and serve piled up.

For more on cooking with snow, see this post on snow bread from The Old Foodie.

Kiku Exhibition & Recipe

The New York Botanical Garden's third annual exhibition, Kiku: Art of the Japanese Chrysanthemum, is on view until November 15, 2009. See my post on last year's exhibit here. Although the NYBG does plan to hold future kiku exhibitions, the exhibit will not return next year.

Kengai (cascade) style chrysanthemum, grown from a single stem.


This year, in addition to specimens from the exquisite Imperial style varieties displayed in 2008, the garden is showing examples of several other herbaceous chrysanthemums, many of which are pictured below.

















The Imperial style kiku are a visual paradox. From their upright form one senses a noble carriage conveying austerity, elegance, and refinement, yet the crowning profusion of petals suggests a controlled flashiness, at once self-effacing and florid.

The Ogiku, or "Single Stem" style features a tri-color pattern of kiku. The combination of lavender, yellow, and white are associated with equine regalia of the Japanese court.

The more common chrysanthemum varieties are less flashy but radiate a similar feeling of subtle beauty. As I mentioned in last year's post, chrysanthemums are a common theme in Japanese literature. Kikugurama, (Boxcar of Chrysanthemums, 1967) a short story by illustrious novelist, Enchi Fumiko, alludes to the modest charm of the white chrysanthemum. In this story, a woman traveling home one early autumn evening finds herself on a local train carrying both passengers and freight. The long journey is protracted with frequent stops to pick up the night's cargo-- freshly picked chrysanthemums destined for the Tokyo flower market. At one stop the narrator observes a middle-aged woman accompanying her mentally handicapped husband as he sends off his beloved white chrysanthemums. Some time after the train leaves the station the narrator recognizes the couple as the Ishiges, whose strange marriage she had heard of before the Second World War. Apparently Mr Ishige had been born to a wealthy family. Worrying that his son's handicap would prevent his marriage, his father finds a willing young woman, Rie, to marry his son. The marriage elicited doubt and speculation from those who heard of the union. It was suspected that Rie had received financial incentives, but her quiet dedication and the love she showed for her husband over the years, despite humiliating events and a proposal from another man, proved her truly selfless nature. The narrator confides that she too had looked down on Rie. Seeing the Ishiges together after twenty years, the narrator realizes her mistake. Walking home from the train she recalls fondly:

I had been riding on a freight train full of chrysanthemums. In those dark, soot-covered cars hundreds and thousands of beautiful flowers were sleeping, in different shades of white, yellow, red, and purple, and in different shapes. Their fragrance was sealed in the cars. Tomorrow they would be in the Tokyo flower market and sold to florists who would display them in front of their shops.

At that moment she thinks of Rie and says, "She's a white chrysanthemum, that's what she is." Like the chrysanthemum, Rie was an enigma-- beautiful yet decorous and humble. The narrator concludes, "I felt a sense of joy in thinking of Rie's melancholy, middle-aged face as being somehow like the short, dense petals of a modest white chrysanthemum."

(This story can be found in Yukiko Tanaka and Elizabeth Hanson, trans. This Kind of Woman. New York: Perigee Books, 1982.)




Recipe
Kiku Turnip Pickles
A reader recommended this tasty side dish in which turnip pieces are cut to resemble the petals of a chrysanthemum flower and then pickled with sweetened vinegar. I soaked the kiku in juice from concord grapes to achieve a pinkish hue. Red shiso leaves, soaked in water, would probably work too.

Ingredients

1 turnip, peeled and sliced 3/4" crosswise
4 Tbs vinegar
2 tsp sugar
1 Tbs salt
sugar

1. Take a turnip slice and score cross-hatch, or grid marks across the surface, about 2/3 into the slice. Repeat with remaining slices. Cut each slices into pieces that are approximately 1 to 1-1/2" square.

2. Cover the turnip pieces with just enough water to cover, mix in salt and soak for 15-20 minutes. You can add the coloring of your choice at this point or substitute plain water for colored water.

3. In a medium sized, non-reactive bowl or container, combine vinegar with an equal amount of water. Stir in sugar to dissolve.

4. After removing turnip pieces, pat dry with a towel, gently but firmly enough to remove excess water.

5. Soak turnip pieces in vinegar mixture for 1 hour. When ready, pat each piece dry and carefully separate the "petals" so they resemble a bloom. Keep refrigerated up to 2 weeks.


A Bonsai Gingko Tree

See highlights from the 2008 exhibition, Kiku: Art of the Japanese Chrysanthemum

Book Review: Cold Savoury Meals

This charming English ca. 1925 recipe book by Mrs C.F. Leyel (Hilda Leyel, 1880-1957) was published by George Routledge & Sons as part of a series by the author called The Lure of Cookery. Other titles in this series include Puddings, Meals on a Tray, Drinks & Cordials, and Salads and Jams, offering Leyel's inventive cooking style as well as a concise overview of modern British cookery at that time. Cold Savoury Meals suggests meals in the manner of an impromptu Continental style picnic. In the preface Leyel writes, "It taxes the ingenuity of most English cooks to even think out a cold meal on the day the boiler has to be cleaned, and yet a cold supper, and even a picnic basket of cold food, can be made a banquet."

The volume is divided into the following chapters, and includes menus with a main dish and suggestions for other courses suitable for serving at a dinner party or luncheon:

Cold Suppers
Cold Fish as Hors D'Oeuvres or Savouries
Cold Egg Dishes as Hors D'Oeuvres
Cold Cheese Dishes as Hors D'Oeuvres
Cold Vegetable Dishes as Hors D'Oeuvres
Sandwiches

As with most pre-war era cookbooks, Cold Savoury Meals has few instructions and ingredient details- Leyel presumes a general level of cooking knowledge from her readers. Her words are directed at the middle to upper-middle class host/hostess, with recommendations such as the use of decorative molds in which to set a paté. These meals did not require servants, costly serving pieces, or many hours of preparation. Rather, a meal such as Cheshire Eggs, Savoury Banana Salad, and Strawberry Soufflé can be assembled without much fuss with the aid of a refrigerator. Much of the recipes are variations on mousse, loaf, or paté and rely on standbys such as aspic and béchamel or curry sauce. There are some unusual features such as a sandwich which combines gruyère cheese and plantain leaves, but I'm not sure whether ingredients such as plantain leaves were considered unique during the period.

I tried Leyel's delicious recipe for Spaghetti Pie, a perfect choice to serve a group of people, as it can be made in large proportion.



Spaghetti Pie, adapted from Cold Savoury Meals
The recipe calls for "a good béchamel sauce" and I provide my favorite recipe below.

Ingredients

3/4 lb. spaghetti
12 oz. milk
2 Tbs butter
2 Tbs flour
2 or 3 hard boiled eggs, sliced lengthwise
1 bay leaf, preferably fresh
nutmeg
white pepper

While spaghetti cooks in boiling water, prepare béchamel sauce. Over a low flame, melt butter in a saucepan until it just starts to brown. Evenly sprinkle flour over butter and whisk together until flour begins to smell nutty, about a minute. Continue whisking and add milk slowly. Gradually raise the heat, add bay leaf, a pinch of nutmeg and white pepper and stir with a wooden spoon until the sauce thickens, about 5-7 minutes. Remove from the heat, cover and set aside. Drain cooked spaghetti and fill a deep pie dish with alternate layers of spaghetti and egg. Pour béchamel sauce over the spaghetti and place under the broiler until slightly browned. Allow to cool and set for about 30 minutes. Serve at room temperature.


Served at room temperature, the Spaghetti Pie is a nice picnic meal when combined with side dishes such as my piquant cucumbers.