ISSUE 82, SOME BOOKS, Part 3: Hints for the Table (1838) by John Timbs
Hints for the Table (1838) by John Timbs
This book is a trove of random comment on how food was eaten in the 2nd quarter of the 19th century. It is informed by wide, indeed promiscuous reading, some technical knowledge of culinary theory, and much experience drinking, and less of dining. While English in nativity, the book hardly limits its attnetion to the British Isles. The British Empire has imparted a global vision and the beginnings of cosmopolitan experience. Timbs knows West Indians relish roasted iguanas, has witnessed the superiority of Indian curries made fresh over the “curry powder” retailed in English stores, and has sampled authentic Japanese Soy Sauce. He knows which towns in Britain and in Europe bear reputations for fine fish, distinctive soups, and wine. And he is not too worried that the superabundance of information gushes forth like a fire hose in the pages of his book. He presumes his readers will find it refreshing to be drenched in a wash of fact and legend. His presumption is not far wrong.
Culinary history suffers from all of the usual liabilities of history. Its dependence upon theses makes the narratives tendentious, insistent, and myopic. The topics and keywords that the historical profession reckons meaningful at a given moments are invariably exclusive, discounting entire areas of inquiry in the historiographic imperative that labor, capital, empire, nutrition, trade, Native tradition, or deitetics be foregrounded. As a historian, I am guilty of abiding by these imperatives at times. Yet my research has always been more questing, vagrant, and curious than what my training or the expectations of an audiences of trained historians dictate. I read everything. Even nonsense. Early during the COVID spell, I spent months exploring patent medicines, bogus curatives, and root doctoring trying to understand what the folk imaginative of herbal virtues and the emerging chemistry of the 19th century conspired to do. I never wrote about any of what I read, but that knowledge lurks in the back of my imagination brewing. Someday . . .
This is all to say that I take special interest in kinds of narratives about the past neglected or condemned by the history profession. In particular, I love antiquarian narratives of the 19th century about food and foodways. John Timb’s 1838 volume, Hints for the Table, is one such antiquarian account.
How can you tell whether you are reading an antiquarian narrative rather than a history: histories have arguments, antiquarian narratives have anecdotes; in history facts and evidence subserve a conclusion explaining a large development or process; antiquarian histories treat facts and artifacts as stand alone matter charming or astonishing in themselves. Histories restrict the notice of matters to those pertaining to the argument. Antiquarian narratives are willingly distracted and generous in their embraces of things worthy of notice. Antiquarian books seek the charm and curiosity of the past. Histories seek or propound truths about the past. Antiquarian history is content with mystery, satisfied with glimpses and apprehensions. There is no aspiraton to comprehend matters systematically. Such methodical efforts of total investigation and finding are deemed vain by the antiquary.
John Timbs (1801-1875) was par excellance an antiquary. A Londoner by birth, he was apprenticed to a druggist and printer, showed sufficient literary talent as a teen to be hired at age 19 as secretary to Richard Phillips, owner of The Monthly Magazine. He began writing for periodicals, specializing in short pithy notes and essays on miscellaneous topics. He was absurdly industrious as a researcher, traveller, and writer, and in his twenties edited a series of magazines, each post being more consequential: from the Mirror of Literature, to Harlequin, to The Literary World. He eventually edited The Illustrated London News. He habituated himself to writing copiously on a variety of topics. He knew when to intermingle sensation, mystery, romance, or legend into an article because the sales number of issues informed him immediately of the public’s favor or disfavor. He collected pieces into omnibus antiquarian volumes bearing titles such as, The Romance of London-Supernatural Stories, Clubs and Club Life in London, English Eccentrics, Historic Ninepins, Nooks and Corners of English Life, Popular Errors Explained, Century of Anecdotes, and, Hints for the Table.
He calls his prose fragments about cookery “hints”-we might call them factoids. A view of the Table of Contents shows the variety of his concerns. The preliminary chapters are about the culture of the table, the middle section is devoted to foods, and the final section devoted to odd anecdotes, sayings, and meditations.
None of his chapters on dishes presents recipes per se. Instead we have observations of various sorts. For instance, a “hint” about razor clams: “The ancients esteemed the fish of the razor-shell, when cooked, as delicious food; and Dr. Lister thought them nearly as rich and palatable as the lobster. In England and Scotland, they are now rarely used for the table; but in Ireland they are much eaten during Lent” (43). We think of most fish being offered for sale or preparation already killed, but fish ponds were a fundamental component of rural estates in the medieval and even early modern period. Bringing a live fish into the kitchen was a common experience among the propertied. By 1838 this experience of eating fish recently alive had vanished. But Timbs notices that it remains in parts of Europe. “In Austria, the art of carrying and keeping fish is better understood than in England. Every inn has a box, containing grayling, trout, carp, or char, into which water from a spring runs; and now one thinks of carrying or sending dead fish for a dinner. The fish are fed, so that they are often in better season in the tank, or stew, than when they were taken. At Admont, in Styria, attached to the monastery of that name, are ponds and reservoirs for every sort of fresh waater fish; and the char, grayling, and trout, and preserved in different waters—dovered, and under lock and key” (41). Knowing how Asian customers in the eastern United States pay a premium for live fish for eating, we do well to be mindful that the superiority of fresh fish and the technology for supplying them have long be available.
Timbs’ book is chock full of stupifying facts. I did not know that the turkey brought from America to Europe in the early 1500s had become so widely naturalized in England that they were “attainable at country feasts as early as the year 1585” (the very year of Raleigh’s Roanoke Colony"). Or how about this revelation—”Turtle butter is made in vast quantitites from the eggs of turtles, in South America. In Brazil, about 20,000 pots, each containing 60 lbs., are made annually” (82). There are also claims that make one wonder: “A piece of anchovy will almost immediately restore the just tone of voice to any one who has become hoarse by public speaking” (115). “Marigold flowers, dried and rubbed to powder, improve broths and soups, however much this addition has fallen into disuse” (31).
On every page of this book one encounters novelty—outre opinions, surprising facts, and piquant observations. There is little connection betweent he hints, but there is enough amusesment per page for one to keep reading despite the lack of argument. The one chapter that is a disappoint is that devoted to sayings—Laconics. Brillat-Savarin had made a section of memorable sentences a fixture in cookery volumes in the early 19th century. But many of Timbs deal with gentility rather than cookery. While table-manners are things worthy of attention, they do not directly pertain to matters of the stomach and palatte.
You can download Timbs book for free here: https://archive.org/details/b21526102