Syllabub
I get strange requests for historical information about foodways and beverage customs. Often these come from people in media working up a story. Three weeks ago someone texted me about the history of “party sips for women.” Cocktail culture has never been a front burner subject of research for me, but I have written books on the history of sociability. I knew all about tea and its role in forming a women’s sphere in western culture in the 17th century. But I knew my caller was interested in alcohol, not in other drugs. During the 1980s and ‘90s bartenders in cities always had pre-made mix for what were then called “chick drinks.” (This was pre-cocktail revival.) These drinks were invariably sweet, often served in fancy stemware, and sometimes luridly colored. It must have been in the ‘80s when I saw my first frozen cocktails: strawberry daiquiri’s and wasn’t that when French liqueur began being poured in spirits to create cocktails such as the Bramble?
It was when I was contemplating frozen drinks and thing about sweetness that the answer came to me. Back in 18th-century Virginia there were syllabub clubs. Ladies would convene around their card tables and while away afternoons scarfing down syllabub! As much a dessert as a beverage, it was delicate, sweet, sensuous, and not too alcoholic. And in the South it never left. Harriet Ross Colquitt in her classic 1933 volume The Savannah Cookbook, presents a recipe in its classic dress. A bit fancy, ethereal in texture, and brisk in its chilliness:
Syllabub
To one pint of cream add a gill of white wine, the grated rind of one lemon, the whites of three eggs and four tablespoons of powdered sugar. Whip until stiff, turn in to sherbet glasses and chill. [113]
The confection has graced English tables since the 16th century and been greatly popular since the 18th. No one knows where the name comes from—oh the “bub” is easy enough parse—short for bubble to describe the whipped froth the dessert becomes. It is the “sylla” that poses the mystery. As a confection syllabub has ever been a company dish, a mark of a special occasion, something to be shared with special friends.
Colquitt’s recipe uses the rather generic “white wine” as the designation for the alcohol. We should recall that Prohibition was repealed at the very moment when Colquitt’s book was published—1933—when supply was no certain thing. [During Prohibition the appearance of “Old Fashioned Syllabub” on a hotel menu meant that it contained contraband wine. “Grape Juice” syllabub using non-alcoholic grape juice, often sparkling Catawba, was the legal version.] In the 1800s the wine of choice could be “hock”—a white Riesling—or in the big cities—Madeira. The latter being a fortified wine, supply more “buzz.” Whichever the choice, the syllabub entailed “the marriage of the juice of the grape with the juice of a cow.” Powdered sugar became generally cheap enough for purchase in middle-class households in the 1830s. Refrigeration became common in the 1840s with the spread of the patent ice box.
The 20th-century tweaks on syllabub had to do with the adding of fruit. This began as a way of imparting a more focused flavor. Some added vanilla, others (like Colquitt) lemon juice and rind. But in the 1920s strawberries and peaches found their ways into the mixture. Slowly but surely it was moving in that direction that would lead in the 1980s to the frozen strawberry daiquiri.
I’ve been volunteering at Riversdale House Museum and we made syllabub as part of a holiday menu last year. Not to my taste, but it looked impressive!