A Tour of All the Pizza Styles You Can Eat in the United States (and the History Behind Your Favorite Slices)

When it comes to chili, Texas, Kansas City and Cincin­nati, will cede no quar­ter, each con­vinced that their par­tic­u­lar region­al approach is the only sane option.

Hot dogs? Put New York City and Chica­go in a pit and watch them tear each oth­er to rib­bons.

But piz­za?

There are so many geo­graph­ic vari­a­tions, even an impar­tial judge can’t see their way through to a clear vic­tor.

The play­ing field­’s thick as stuffed piz­za, a polar­iz­ing Chica­go local spe­cial­ty that’s deep­er than the deep­est dish.

Weird His­to­ry Food’s whirl­wind video tour of Every Piz­za Style We Could Find In the Unit­ed States, above, savors the ways in which var­i­ous piz­za styles evolved from the Neapoli­tan pie that Ital­ian immi­grant Gen­naro Lom­bar­di intro­duced to New York City in 1905.

Wait, though. We all have an acquain­tance who takes per­verse plea­sure in off­beat top­ping choic­es — look­ing at you, Cal­i­for­nia — but oth­er than that, isn’t piz­za just sauce, dough, and cheese?

How much room does that leave for vari­a­tion?

Plen­ty as it turns out.

Crusts, thick or thin, fluc­tu­ate wild­ly accord­ing to the type of flour used, how long the dough is proofed, the type of oven in which they’re baked, and phi­los­o­phy of sauce place­ment.

(In Buf­fa­lo, New York, piz­zas are sauced right up to their cir­cum­fer­ence, leav­ing very lit­tle crusty han­dle for eat­ing on the fly, though per­haps one could fold it down the mid­dle, as we do in the city 372 miles to the south.)

Sauce can also swing pret­ty wild­ly — sweet, spicy, pre­pared in advance, or left to the last minute — but cheese is a much hot­ter top­ic.

Detroit’s piz­za is dis­tin­guished by the inclu­sion of Wis­con­sin brick cheese.

St. Louis is loy­al to Prov­el cheese, a home­grown processed mix of ched­dar, Swiss, and pro­volone and liq­uid smoke.

Mia­mi piz­zas cater to the palates of its Cuban pop­u­la­tion by mix­ing moz­zarel­la with gou­da, a cheese that was both wide­ly avail­able and pop­u­lar before 1962’s rationing sys­tem was put in place.

Rhode Island’s apt­ly named Red Strips have no cheese at all…which might be prefer­able to the Altoona, Penn­syl­va­nia favorite that arrives topped with Amer­i­can cheese slices or — the hor­ror — Velvee­ta.

(This may be where we part ways with the old saw equat­ing piz­za with sex — even when it’s bad, it’s still pret­ty good.)

Cut and size also fac­tor in to piz­za pride.

Wash­ing­ton DC’s Jum­bo slices are pret­ty much the stan­dard issue New York-style thin crust slice, writ large.

Not only does size mat­ter here, it may be the only thing that matters…to the point where a local busi­ness improve­ment dis­trict had to inter­vene on behalf of side­walk rub­bish bins hard pressed to han­dle the vol­ume of greasy super-sized slice box­es Wash­ing­to­ni­ans were toss­ing away every evening.

In the land of oppor­tu­ni­ty, where small­er towns are under­stand­ably eager to claim their piece of pie, Weird His­to­ry Food gives the nod to Old Forge, Penn­syl­va­nia, opti­misti­cal­ly dubbed “the Piz­za Cap­i­tal of the World by Uncov­er­ing PA’s Jim Cheney, and Steubenville Ohio, home of the “over­sized Lunch­able” Atlas Obscu­ra refers to as America’s most mis­un­der­stood piz­za.

For good mea­sure, watch the PBS Idea Channel’s His­to­ry of Piz­za in 8 slices, below, then rep your favorite local pizze­ria in the com­ments.

We want to try them all!

Relat­ed Con­tent 

The First Piz­za Ordered by Com­put­er, 1974

When Mikhail Gor­bachev, the Last Sovi­et Leader, Starred in a Piz­za Hut Com­mer­cial (1998)

Piz­za Box Becomes a Playable DJ Turntable Through the Mag­ic of Con­duc­tive Ink

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Sally Schmitt, the Creator of the French Laundry & Unsung Hero of California Cuisine, Gets Her Due in a Poignant, Short Documentary

One of the New York Times’ most com­pelling reg­u­lar fea­tures is Over­looked, which gives remark­able indi­vid­u­als whose deaths passed unre­marked by the Times obit col­umn a rous­ing, over­due send­off.

Sal­ly Schmitt — “one of the great unsung heroes of Cal­i­for­nia Cui­sine” as per Michael Bauer, the San Fran­cis­co Chron­i­cle’s fear­some for­mer food crit­ic — is not one of those.

When Schmitt died ear­li­er this spring at the age of 90, a few weeks shy of the release of her book, Six Cal­i­for­nia Kitchens: A Col­lec­tion of Recipes, Sto­ries, and Cook­ing Lessons From a Pio­neer of Cal­i­for­nia Cui­sine, the Times took note.

Schmitt received a grand obit­u­ary that delved into her per­son­al his­to­ry, phi­los­o­phy, and her con­nec­tion to Napa Valley’s The French Laun­dry, a three star Miche­lin restau­rant which Antho­ny Bour­dain hailed as the best in the world.

The French Laundry’s renown is such that one needn’t run in food­ie cir­cles to be aware of it, and its award-win­ning chef/owner, Thomas Keller.

Keller, how­ev­er, did not found the restau­rant that brought him fame.

Schmitt did, with the help of her hus­band, Don and their five chil­dren, who pitched in in both the kitchen and the front of the house.

Fam­i­ly was impor­tant to Schmitt, and hav­ing deferred her dreams for the many years it took to raise hers, she was deter­mined to main­tain bal­ance between home and work lives.

In Ben Proud­foot’s New York Times op-doc, above, Schmitt recalls grow­ing up out­side of Sacra­men­to, where her moth­er taught her how to cook using in-sea­son local pro­duce.

Mean­while, her father helped Cal­i­for­nia pro­duce make it all the way to the East Coast by sup­ply­ing ice to the South­ern Pacif­ic Rail­road, an inno­va­tion that Schmitt iden­ti­fies as “the begin­ning of the whole super­mar­ket sit­u­a­tion” and a dis­tress­ing geo­graph­ic dis­con­nect between Amer­i­cans and food.

The Schmitts launched The French Laun­dry in 1978, with a shock­ing­ly afford­able menu.

Julia Child, a fan, once “burst into the kitchen,” demand­ing, “My dear, what was in that dessert sauce?”

(Answer: sug­ar, but­ter and cream)

Six­teen years after its found­ing, The French Laun­dry was for sale.

Schmitt’s facial expres­sions are remark­ably poignant describ­ing the trans­fer of pow­er. There’s a lot at play — pride, nos­tal­gia, fond­ness for Keller, a “real­ly charm­ing young chef, who’d made a name for him­self in New York…and was down on his luck.”

Schmitt is gra­cious, but there’s no ques­tion she feels a bit of a twinge at how Keller took her dream and ran with it.

“In high school, I was always the vice president…vice pres­i­dent of every­thing,” Schmitt says, before shar­ing a telling anec­dote about her best friend beat­ing her out for the high­est aca­d­e­m­ic hon­or:

I went home and cried. Yeah, I thought that I should have it, you know. And my moth­er said, “Let her have her moment of glo­ry. Don’t wor­ry. There will be moments of glo­ry for you.”

This doc­u­men­tary is one, how­ev­er posthu­mous.

Accom­pa­ny­ing it is a brief essay in which Proud­foot con­trasts the lives of his worka­holic late father and Schmitt, with her “delight­ful­ly coy can­dor a mes­sage about the rewards of bal­ance and the trap of ambi­tion:”

I made this film for all of us who strug­gle “to stir and taste the soup” that already sits in front of us.

Anoth­er moment of glo­ry:

In Keller’s land­mark The French Laun­dry Cook­book, the final recipe is Sal­ly Schmitt’s Cran­ber­ry and Apple Kuchen (with the hot Cream Sauce that so cap­ti­vat­ed Julia Child.)

Sal­ly Schmitt’s Cran­ber­ry and Apple Kuchen with hot Cream Sauce

Serves 8

KUCHEN:

6 table­spoons (3/4 stick) unsalt­ed but­ter, room tem­per­a­ture, plus more for the pan

3/4 cup sug­ar

1 large egg

1 1/2 cups all-pur­pose flour

2 tea­spoons bak­ing pow­der

1/4 tea­spoon kosher salt

1/4 tea­spoon fresh­ly grat­ed nut­meg

1/2 cup milk or light cream

3 to 4 Graven­stein or Gold­en Deli­cious apples

1 cup cran­ber­ries or firm blue­ber­ries

Cin­na­mon sug­ar: 1 table­spoon sug­ar mixed with 1/4 tea­spoon cin­na­mon

HOT CREAM SAUCE:

2 cups heavy cream

1/2 cup sug­ar

8 table­spoons (1 stick) unsalt­ed but­ter

1. Pre­heat oven to 350 degrees. But­ter a 9‑inch round cake pan.

2. For the kuchen: Using an elec­tric mix­er, beat but­ter, sug­ar and egg togeth­er until the mix­ture is fluffy and light­ened in tex­ture.

3. Com­bine the flour, bak­ing pow­der, salt and nut­meg. Add dry ingre­di­ents and the milk alter­nate­ly to the but­ter mix­ture; mix just until com­bined.

4. Peel and core apples. Slice them into 1/4‑inch wedges

5. Spoon bat­ter into the pan. Press apple slices, about 1/4‑inch apart and core side down, into the bat­ter, work­ing in a cir­cu­lar pat­tern around the out­side edge (like the spokes of a wheel. Arrange most of the cran­ber­ries in a ring inside the apples and sprin­kle remain­der around the edges of the kuchen. Sprin­kle kuchen with the cin­na­mon sug­ar.

6. Bake for 40 to 50 min­utes, or until a cake tester insert­ed into the cen­ter of the kuchen comes out clean. Set on a rack to cool.

7. Com­bine the cream sauce ingre­di­ents in a medi­um saucepan. Bring to a boil, low­er heat and sim­mer for 5 to 8 min­utes, to reduce and thick­en it slight­ly.

8. Serve the cake warm or at room tem­per­a­ture, driz­zled with the hot cream sauce

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Watch Antho­ny Bourdain’s First Food-and-Trav­el Series A Cook’s Tour Free Online (2002–03)

Watch 26 Free Episodes of Jacques PĂ©pin’s TV Show, More Fast Food My Way

Watch Wern­er Her­zog Eat His Shoe, Cooked by Chef Alice Waters (1980)

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

When Sliced Bread Got Banned During World War II

Home baked sour­dough had its moment dur­ing the ear­ly days of the pan­dem­ic, but oth­er­wise bread has been much maligned through­out the 21st cen­tu­ry, at least in the West­ern World, where carbs are vil­i­fied by body-con­scious con­sumers.

This was hard­ly the case on Jan­u­ary 18, 1943, when Amer­i­cans woke up to the news that the War Foods Admin­is­tra­tion, head­ed by Sec­re­tary of Agri­cul­ture Claude R. Wickard, had banned the sale of sliced bread.

The rea­sons dri­ving the ban were a bit murky, though by this point, Amer­i­cans were well acquaint­ed with rationing, which had already lim­it­ed access to high-demand items as sug­ar, cof­fee, gaso­line and tires.

Though why sliced bread, of all things?

Might depriv­ing the pub­lic of their beloved pre-sliced bread help the war effort, by free­ing up some crit­i­cal resource, like steel?

Not accord­ing to The His­to­ry Guy, Lance Geiger, above.

War pro­duc­tion reg­u­la­tions pro­hib­it­ed the sale of indus­tri­al bread slic­ing equip­ment for the dura­tion, though pre­sum­ably, exist­ing com­mer­cial bak­eries wouldn’t have been in the mar­ket for more machines, just the odd repair part here and there.

Wax paper then? It kept sliced bread fresh pri­or to the inven­tion of plas­tic bags. Per­haps the Allies had need of it?

No, unlike nylon, there were no short­ages of waxed paper.

Flour had been strict­ly reg­u­lat­ed in Great Britain dur­ing the first World War, but this wasn’t a prob­lem state­side in WWII, where it remained rel­a­tive­ly cheap and easy to pro­cure, with plen­ty left­over to sup­ply over­seas troops. 1942’s wheat crop had been the sec­ond largest on record.

There were oth­er ratio­nales hav­ing to do with elim­i­nat­ing food waste and reliev­ing eco­nom­ic pres­sure for bak­ers, but none of these held up upon exam­i­na­tion. This left the War Pro­duc­tion Office, the War Price Admin­is­tra­tion, and the Office of Agri­cul­ture vying to place blame for the ban on each oth­er, and in some cas­es, the Amer­i­can bak­ing indus­try itself!

While the ill con­sid­ered ban last­ed just two months, the pub­lic uproar was con­sid­er­able.

Although pre-sliced bread hadn’t been around all that long, in the thir­teen-and-a-half years since its intro­duc­tion, con­sumers had grown quite depen­dent on its con­ve­nience, and how nice­ly those uni­form slices fit into the slots of their pop up toast­ers, anoth­er recent­ly-patent­ed inven­tion.

A great plea­sure of the His­to­ry Guy’s cov­er­age is the name check­ing of local news­pa­pers cov­er­ing the Sliced Bread Ban:

The Lodi News-Sen­tinel!

The Har­ris­burg Tele­graph! 

The Indi­anapo­lis Star! 

An absence of data did not pre­vent a reporter for the Wilm­ing­ton News Jour­nal from spec­u­lat­ing that “it is believed that the major­i­ty of Amer­i­can house­wives are not pro­fi­cient bread slicers.”

One such house­wife, hav­ing spent a hec­tic morn­ing hack­ing a loaf into toast and sand­wich­es for her hus­band and chil­dren, wrote a let­ter to the New York Times, pas­sion­ate­ly declar­ing â€śhow impor­tant sliced bread is to the morale and sane­ness of a house­hold.”

The more stiff upper lipped patri­o­tism of Ver­mont home eco­nom­ics instruc­tor Doris H. Steele found a plat­form in the Barre Times:

In Grandmother’s day, the loaf of bread had a reg­u­lar place at the fam­i­ly table. Grand­moth­er had an attrac­tive board for the bread to stand on and a good sharp knife along­side. Grand­moth­er knew that a steady hand and a sharp knife were the secrets of slic­ing bread. She sliced as the fam­i­ly asked for bread and in this way, she didn’t waste any bread by cut­ting more than the fam­i­ly could eat. Let’s all con­tribute to the war effort by slic­ing our own bread.

Then, as now, celebri­ties felt com­pelled to weigh in.

New York City May­or Fiorel­lo LaGuardia found it ludi­crous that bak­eries should be pre­vent­ed from putting their exist­ing equip­ment to use.

And Hol­ly­wood actress Olivia de Hav­il­land approved of the ban on the grounds that pack­aged slices were too thick.

Watch more of the His­to­ry Guy’s videos here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dat­ing Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

See Rid­ley Scott’s 1973 Bread Commercial—Voted England’s Favorite Adver­tise­ment of All Time

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of the World’s Only Sour­dough Library

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Every Style of Beer Explained: An Expert Breaks Down 100 Types of Beer, from Malty Lagers, to London Brown Ales, to Bock Beer

There was a time when one could hard­ly hope to enter polite soci­ety with­out know­ing one’s Caber­nets from one’s Pinots and one’s Chardon­nays from one’s Ries­lings. That time has not quite gone, exact­ly, and indeed, a greater vari­ety of plea­sures await the oenophile today than ever before. But in the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry, and espe­cial­ly in twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry urban Amer­i­ca, one must com­mand a cer­tain knowl­edge of beer. Even those who par­take only of the occa­sion­al glass will, after a decade or two, devel­op a sense that they pre­fer a lager, say, or a stout, or the peren­ni­al­ly trendy IPA. Yet many will also be at a loss to explain what they like about their pre­ferred beer’s fla­vor, let alone its ori­gins.

Enter Mas­ter Cicerone Pat Fahey, whose title bespeaks his vast knowl­edge of beer: of its nature, of its mak­ing, of its his­to­ry. He puts his mas­tery of the sub­ject on full dis­play in the hour­long Wired video above, in which he breaks down every style of beer. Not most styles: every style, begin­ning with lagers malty and hop­py, mov­ing through an even wider vari­ety of ales, and end­ing with an extend­ed con­sid­er­a­tion of less­er-known beers and their vari­a­tions. Most all of us have sam­pled Amer­i­can lager, Eng­lish porter, and even Ger­man pil­sner. But can you remem­ber when last you threw back a Flan­ders red ale, a dop­pel­bock, or a wee heavy?

Fahey knows his beers, but he also knows how to talk about them to the gen­er­al pub­lic. His explana­to­ry tech­nique involves pro­vid­ing gen­er­ous amounts of con­text, not just about the parts of the world in which these beers orig­i­nate (a geog­ra­phy and lan­guage les­son in itself) but about the ways they’ve been con­sumed and pro­duced through­out his­to­ry. Of that last he has a fair amount to work with, since the old­est recipe for beer, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture, dates to 1800 B.C. The near­ly four mil­len­nia of beer evo­lu­tion since then have pro­duced the for­mi­da­ble tap rows with which the bars of Port­land, Austin, and San Diego con­front us today — and which, with Fahey’s guid­ance, we can more cred­i­bly nav­i­gate.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Sci­ence of Beer: A New Free Online Course Promis­es to Enhance Your Appre­ci­a­tion of the Time­less Bev­er­age

Beer Archae­ol­o­gy: Yes, It’s a Thing

Dis­cov­er the Old­est Beer Recipe in His­to­ry From Ancient Sume­ria, 1800 B.C.

The Art and Sci­ence of Beer

Watch Beer Fer­ment in Time-Lapse Motion, and Then Learn How to Make Beer with an Ani­mat­ed Video

An Archae­ol­o­gist Cre­ates the Defin­i­tive Guide to Beer Cans

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

A Brief History of Dumplings: An Animated Introduction

Dumplings are so deli­cious and so ven­er­a­ble, it’s under­stand­able why more than one coun­try would want to claim author­ship.

As cul­tur­al food his­to­ri­an Miran­da Brown dis­cov­ers in her TED-Ed ani­ma­tion, dumplings are among the arti­facts found in ancient tombs in west­ern Chi­na, rock hard, but still rec­og­niz­able.

Schol­ar Shu Xi sang their prais­es over 1,700 years ago in a poem detail­ing their ingre­di­ents and prepa­ra­tion. He also indi­cat­ed that the dish was not native to Chi­na.

Lamb stuffed dumplings fla­vored with gar­lic, yogurt, and herbs were an Ottoman Empire treat, cir­ca 1300 CE.

The 13th-cen­tu­ry Mon­gol inva­sions of Korea result­ed in mass casu­al­ties , but the sil­ver lin­ing is, they gave the world man­doo.

The Japan­ese Army’s bru­tal occu­pa­tion of Chi­na dur­ing World War II gave them a taste for dumplings that led to the cre­ation of gyoza.

East­ern Euro­pean pel­menipiero­gi and vareni­ki may seem like vari­a­tions on a theme to the unini­ti­at­ed, but don’t expect a Ukrain­ian or Russ­ian to view it that way.

Is the his­to­ry of dumplings real­ly just a series of bloody con­flicts, punc­tu­at­ed by peri­ods of rel­a­tive har­mo­ny where­in every­one argues over the best dumplings in NYC?

Brown takes some mild pot­shots at cuisines whose dumplings are clos­er to dough balls than “plump pock­ets of per­fec­tion”, but she also knows her audi­ence and wise­ly steers clear of any posi­tions that might lead to play­ground fights.

Relax, kids, how­ev­er your grand­ma makes dumplings, she’s doing it right.

It’s hard to imag­ine sushi mas­ter Naomichi Yasu­da dial­ing his opin­ions down to pre­serve the sta­tus quo.

A purist — and favorite of Antho­ny Bour­dain — Chef Yasu­da is unwa­ver­ing in his con­vic­tions that there is one right way, and many wrong ways to eat and pre­pare sushi.

He’s far from prig­gish, instruct­ing cus­tomer Joseph George, for VICE Asia MUNCHIES in the prop­er han­dling of a sim­ple piece of sushi after it’s been light­ly dipped, fish side down, in soy sauce:

Don’t shake it. Don’t shake it! Shak­ing is just to be fin­ished at the men’s room.

Oth­er take­aways for sushi bar din­ers:

  • Use fin­gers rather than chop­sticks when eat­ing maki rolls.
  • Eat­ing pick­led gin­ger with sushi is “very much bad man­ners”
  • Roll sushi on its side before pick­ing it up with chop­sticks to facil­i­tate dip­ping
  • The tem­per­a­ture inter­play between rice and fish is so del­i­cate that your expe­ri­ence of it will dif­fer depend­ing on whether a wait­er brings it to you at a table or the chef hands it to you across the counter as soon as it’s assem­bled.

Explore TED-Ed’s Brief His­to­ry of Dumplings les­son here.

For a deep­er dumpling dive, read the Oxford Symposium’s Wrapped and Stuffed Foods: Pro­ceed­ings on the Sym­po­sium: Foods and Cook­ery, 2012, avail­able as a free Google Book.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Japan­ese Restau­rants Show You How to Make Tra­di­tion­al Dish­es in Med­i­ta­tive Videos: Soba, Tem­pu­ra, Udon & More

How to Make Sushi: Free Video Lessons from a Mas­ter Sushi Chef

How the Aston­ish­ing Sushi Scene in Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs Was Ani­mat­ed: A Time-Lapse of the Month-Long Shoot

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the author of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo and the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

What Americans Ate for Dessert 200 Years Ago: Watch Re-Creations of Original Recipes

Many of us avoid turn­ing on the oven dur­ing a heat­wave, but how do we feel about mak­ing cook­ies in a Dutch Oven heaped with glow­ing embers?

Jus­tine Dorn, co-cre­ator with oth­er half, Ron Ray­field, of the Ear­ly Amer­i­can YouTube chan­nel, strives to recre­ate 18th and ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry desserts in an authen­tic fash­ion, and if that means whisk­ing egg whites by hand in a 100 degree room, so be it.

“Maybe hot­ter,” she wrote in a recent Insta­gram post, adding:

It’s hard work but still I love what I do. I hope that every­one can expe­ri­ence the feel­ing of being where you belong and doing what you know you were born to do. Maybe not every­one will under­stand your rea­son­ing but if you are com­fort­able and hap­py doing what you do then con­tin­ue.

Her his­toric labors have an epic qual­i­ty, but the recipes from aged cook­books are rarely com­plex.

The gluten free choco­late cook­ies from the 1800 edi­tion of The Com­plete Con­fec­tion­er have but three ingre­di­ents — grat­ed choco­late, cast­er sug­ar, and the afore­men­tioned egg whites — cooked low and slow on parch­ment, to cre­ate a hol­low cen­ter and crispy, mac­aron-like exte­ri­or.

Unlike many YouTube chefs, Dorn doesn’t trans­late mea­sure­ments for a mod­ern audi­ence or keep things mov­ing with busy edit­ing and bright com­men­tary.

Her silent, light­ly sub­ti­tled approach lays claim to a pre­vi­ous­ly unex­plored cor­ner of autonomous sen­so­ry merid­i­an response — ASMR His­tor­i­cal Cook­ing.

The sounds of crack­ling hearth, eggs being cracked into a bowl, hot embers being scraped up with a met­al shov­el turn out to be com­pelling stuff.

So were the cook­ies, referred to as “Choco­late Puffs” in the orig­i­nal recipe.

Dorn and Ray­field have a sec­ondary chan­nel, Fron­tier Par­rot, on which they grant them­selves per­mis­sion to respond ver­bal­ly, in 21st cen­tu­ry ver­nac­u­lar, albeit while remain­ing dressed in 1820s Mis­souri garb.

“I would pay a man $20 to eat this whole plate of cook­ies because these are the sweet­est cook­ies I’ve ever come across in my life,” Dorn tells Ray­field on the Fron­tier Par­rot Chat and Chew episode, below. “They only have three ingre­di­ents, but if you eat more than one you feel like you’re going to go into a coma — a sug­ar coma!”

He asserts that two’s his lim­it and also that they “sound like hard glass” when knocked against the table.

Ear­ly Amer­i­cans would have gaped at the indul­gence on dis­play above, where­in Dorn whips up not one but three cake recipes in the space of a sin­gle episode.

The plum cakes from the Housekeeper’s Instruc­tor (1791) are frost­ed with an icing that Ray­field iden­ti­fies on a solo Fron­tier Par­rot as 2 cups of sug­ar whipped with a sin­gle egg white.

“We suf­fered for this icing,” Dorn revealed in an Insta­gram post. “SUFFERED. Ya’ll don’t know true pain until you whip icing from hand using only egg whites and sug­ar.”

The flat lit­tle pound cakes from 1796’s Amer­i­can Cook­ery call for but­ter rubbed with rose­wa­ter.

The hon­ey cake from Amer­i­can Domes­tic Cook­ery, Formed on Prin­ci­ples of Econ­o­my, For the Use of Pri­vate Fam­i­lies (1871), gets a lift from pearl ash or “potash”, a Ger­man leav­en­ing agent that’s been ren­dered vir­tu­al­ly obso­lete by bak­ing pow­der.

Those who insist on keep­ing their ovens off in sum­mer should take a moment to let the title of the  below episode sink in:

Mak­ing Ice Cream in the 1820s SUCKS. “

This dish does­n’t call for blood, sweat and tears,” Dorn writes of the pre-Vic­to­ri­an, crank-free expe­ri­ence, “but we’re gonna add some any­way.”

Find a playlist of Dorn’s Ear­ly Amer­i­can dessert recon­struc­tions, includ­ing an amaz­ing cher­ry rasp­ber­ry pie and a cheap seed cake here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

What Amer­i­cans Ate for Break­fast & Din­ner 200 Years Ago: Watch Re-Cre­ations of Orig­i­nal Recipes

Thomas Jefferson’s Hand­writ­ten Vanil­la Ice Cream Recipe

Emi­ly Dickinson’s Hand­writ­ten Coconut Cake Recipe Hints at How Bak­ing Fig­ured Into Her Cre­ative Process

Dessert Recipes of Icon­ic Thinkers: Emi­ly Dickinson’s Coconut Cake, George Orwell’s Christ­mas Pud­ding, Alice B. Tok­las’ Hashish Fudge & More

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Japanese Restaurants Show You How to Make Traditional Dishes in Meditative Videos: Soba, Tempura, Udon & More

Despite hav­ing recent­ly begun to admit tour groups, Japan remains inac­ces­si­ble to most of the world’s trav­el­ers. Hav­ing closed its gates dur­ing the onset of the COVID-19 pan­dem­ic, the coun­try has shown lit­tle incli­na­tion to open them up again too quick­ly or wide­ly. The longer this remains the case, of course, the more intense every­one’s desire to vis­it Japan becomes. Though dif­fer­ent trav­el­ers have dif­fer­ent inter­ests to pur­sue in the Land of the Ris­ing sun — tem­ples and shrines, trains and cafĂ©s, ani­me and man­ga — all of them are sure­ly unit­ed by one appre­ci­a­tion in par­tic­u­lar: that of Japan­ese food.

Wher­ev­er in the world we hap­pen to live, most of us have a decent Japan­ese restau­rant or two in our vicin­i­ty. Alas, as any­one with expe­ri­ence in Japan has felt, the expe­ri­ence of eat­ing its cui­sine any­where else does­n’t quite mea­sure up; a ramen meal can taste good in a Cal­i­for­nia strip mall, not the same as it would taste in a Tokyo sub­way sta­tion.

At least the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry affords us one con­ve­nient means of enjoy­ing audio­vi­su­al evo­ca­tions of gen­uine Japan­ese eater­ies: Youtube videos. The chan­nel Japan­ese Noo­dles Udon Soba Kyoto Hyō­go, for instance, has cap­ti­vat­ed large audi­ences sim­ply by show­ing what goes on in the hum­ble kitchens of west­ern Japan’s Kyoto and Hyō­go pre­fec­tures.

Hyō­go con­tains the coastal city of Kobe as well as Hime­ji Cas­tle, which dates back to the four­teenth cen­tu­ry. The pre­fec­ture of Kyoto, and espe­cial­ly the one­time cap­i­tal of Japan with­in it, needs no intro­duc­tion, such is its world­wide renown as a site of cul­tur­al and his­tor­i­cal rich­ness. Right up until the pan­dem­ic, many were the for­eign­ers who jour­neyed to Kyoto in search of the “real Japan.” Whether such a thing tru­ly exists remains an open ques­tion, but if it does, I would locate it — in Kyoto, Hyō­go, or any oth­er region of the coun­try — in the mod­est restau­rants of its back alleys and shoten­gai mar­ket com­plex­es, the ones that have been serv­ing up bowls of noo­dles and plates of cur­ry for decade upon decade.

Ide­al­ly the décor nev­er changes at these estab­lish­ments, nor do the pro­pri­etors. The video at the top of the post vis­its a “good old din­er” in Kobe to show the skills of a “hard work­ing old lady” with the sta­tus of a “vet­er­an cook cho­sen by God.” In anoth­er such neigh­bor­hood restau­rant, locat­ed near the main train sta­tion in the city of Ama­gasa­ki, a “super mom” pre­pares her sig­na­ture udon noo­dles. But even she looks like a new­com­er com­pared to the lady who’s been mak­ing udon over in Kyoto for 58 years at a din­er in exis­tence for a cen­tu­ry. Soba, tonkat­su, oyakodon, tem­pu­ra, okonomiya­ki: whichev­er Japan­ese dish you’ve been crav­ing for the past cou­ple of years, you can watch a video on its prepa­ra­tion — and make your long-term trav­el plans accord­ing­ly.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How to Make Sushi: Free Video Lessons from a Mas­ter Sushi Chef

Cook­pad, the Largest Recipe Site in Japan, Launch­es New Site in Eng­lish

How Soy Sauce Has Been Made in Japan for Over 220 Years: An Inside View

The Restau­rant of Mis­tak­en Orders: A Tokyo Restau­rant Where All the Servers Are Peo­ple Liv­ing with Demen­tia

Watch Tee­ny Tiny Japan­ese Meals Get Made in a Minia­ture Kitchen: The Joy of Cook­ing Mini Tem­pu­ra, Sashi­mi, Cur­ry, Okonomiya­ki & More

The Prop­er Way to Eat Ramen: A Med­i­ta­tion from the Clas­sic Japan­ese Com­e­dy Tam­popo (1985)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

What Americans Ate for Breakfast & Dinner 200 Years Ago: Watch Re-Creations of Original Recipes

For all the oth­er faults of the 2020s, most of human­i­ty now enjoys culi­nary vari­ety the likes of which it has nev­er before known. Two cen­turies ago, the selec­tion was con­sid­er­ably nar­row­er. Back then the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca, yet to become the high­ly devel­oped leader of “the free world,” remained for the most part a fair­ly hard­scrab­ble land. This comes through in a book like Democ­ra­cy in Amer­i­ca, which Alex­is de Toc­queville wrote after trav­el­ing across the coun­ty in the 1830s — or on a Youtube chan­nel like Ear­ly Amer­i­can, which re-cre­ates life as lived by Amer­i­cans of decades before then.

Not long ago, Ear­ly Amer­i­can’s view­er­ship explod­ed. This seems to have owed to cook­ing videos like the one at the top of the post, “A Reg­u­lar Folks’ Sup­per 200 Years Ago.” The menu, on this imag­ined March day in 1820 Mis­souri, includes beef, mashed turnips, car­rots, rolls, and boiled eggs: not a bad-look­ing spread, as it turns out, though its fla­vors may leave some­thing to be desired for the twen­ty-first-cen­tu­ry palate.

Many of Ear­ly Amer­i­can’s new com­menters, writes chan­nel co-cre­ator Jus­tine Dorn, are telling her “to add this sea­son­ing and this and that,” but “then it would no longer be loy­al to the actu­al orig­i­nal recipe, which is why you all are here to begin with.”

In the case of the reg­u­lar folks’ sup­per, its recipes come straight from an 1803 vol­ume called The Fru­gal House­wife. As for the john­ny­cakes fea­tured in “Mak­ing a Work­ing Class Break­fast in 1820,” you’ll find their recipe in Amelia Sim­mons’ Amer­i­can Cook­ery from 1796, the first known cook­book writ­ten by an Amer­i­can. The meal also includes a yeast­less bread for which no prop­er recipe exists. How­ev­er, Dorn writes, “there are sev­er­al men­tions of work­ing class peo­ple who baked bread with­out yeast in the auto­bi­ogra­phies of trav­el­ers in the eigh­teenth and ear­ly nine­teenth cen­turies. Because of this we know that it was a com­mon prac­tice.”

Made from a mod­i­fied fam­i­ly recipe passed down since the 1750s, this yeast­less bread looks appeal­ing enough, espe­cial­ly toast­ed over the fire and served with apple but­ter. But we must acknowl­edge that tastes have changed over the cen­turies. “I am not claim­ing that this food is good,” Dorn writes. “Some­times it isn’t. A lot of the foods and sea­son­ings that we take for grant­ed today were very hard to get back then or were only sea­son­al­ly avail­able.” But with sea­son­al, “local­ly sourced” ingre­di­ents in vogue these days, it’s worth exam­in­ing what, 200 years ago, real­ly went into a sim­ple Indi­an meal pud­ding or an ear­ly mac­a­roni and cheese — albeit one pre­pared, in true 2020s fash­ion, ASMR-style.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First Amer­i­can Cook­book: Sam­ple Recipes from Amer­i­can Cook­ery (1796)

Tast­ing His­to­ry: A Hit YouTube Series Shows How to Cook the Foods of Ancient Greece & Rome, Medieval Europe, and Oth­er Places & Peri­ods

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

A Data­base of 5,000 His­tor­i­cal Cookbooks–Covering 1,000 Years of Food History–Is Now Online

Archive of Hand­writ­ten Recipes (1600 – 1960) Will Teach You How to Stew a Calf’s Head and More

10,000 Vin­tage Recipe Books Are Now Dig­i­tized in The Inter­net Archive’s Cook­book & Home Eco­nom­ics Col­lec­tion

Real Inter­views with Peo­ple Who Lived in the 1800s

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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