Sauerkraut came to Baltimore with German (and later, Eastern European) immigrants, but it made the leap to the dinner tables of Baltimore’s other citizens, in particular alongside the Thanksgiving turkey.
Much has been written about this peculiar phenomenon, with a new flurry of articles and social media posts coming out each year.
In an Instagram post made by the catering company H3irloom Food Group, Chef Tonya Thomas posed proudly with a plate. “Thank you to all of our customers who ordered Chef Tonya’s sauerkraut to add to their holiday spread,” read the caption.
“No matter who you are and what your race, in Baltimore, sauerkraut is on the table at holidays,” Thomas told me. She can trace the sauerkraut tradition in her family back for generations, to well before the 20th century. When Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863, Germans were the largest group of immigrants in Baltimore, she noted.
In many places where sauerkraut is eaten, it is stewed with meat cuts or sausages for extra flavor. This was a good fit for Black home cooks’ practice of using every part of an animal, and Tonya’s grandmother cooked hers with pigtails. Tonya eventually began to flavor her own sauerkraut with smoked turkey instead of pork. More recently, she has flavored the sauerkraut with vegetable stock and spices instead of meat, to accommodate H3irloom’s vegan guests.
The formula for sauerkraut itself is so simple that only a handful of recipes appear in my Maryland cookbook collection. It’s also long been available for sale in prepared form.
In Elizabeth Ellicott Lea’s 1845 cookbook “Domestic Cookery,” the two recipes for sauerkraut are labeled as “cabbage,” suggesting that sauerkraut may have been the primary use for cabbage in her household.
The earliest Maryland recipe calling the dish by name is in the 1870 “Queen of the Kitchen,” by Mary Lloyd Tyson. Had Tyson wanted to, she could have purchased prepared sauerkraut at William Bodmann’s Pickling House and Vinegar Depot on Howard Street.
For 36 years, columnist and photographer Brice Stump wrote about life on the Eastern Shore. In his columns, he explored its history – including the Civil War, and pondered the petty tribulations of modern life.
On one topic in particular, Stump was passionate: White Hayman Sweet Potatoes. Having been raised on a farm, Stump admitted they aren’t easy to grow. But of their flavor, he sang the praises.
“Unlike the familiar orange-fleshed sweet potatoes that required marshmallows, brown sugar and lots of butter to enhance their nutty flavor, the Hayman tickles the palate with a natural, delicately sweet taste and heavenly texture,” Stump wrote in the Salisbury Daily Times in 1999. In that article, he interviewed Rev. Sally Bowen, a descendent of Daniel Hayman, the ship captain purported to have brought the potatoes from North Carolina to Maryland in the 1850s.
Although stories trace White Haymans to North Carolina, nary a trace of them can be found there now. White Haymans are a specialty of the Eastern Shore, “raised only for Shore consumers,” wrote Stump.
Eight years later he bemoaned the proliferation of O’Henrys appearing on the market, ironically “coming out of the Carolinas, apparently.” These pretenders were giving Haymans a bad name. An authenticity test was recommended: “If you put pressure down on your thumb and draw it over the face of a Hayman, it will ‘skin’ easily, whereas the O’Henry wont.”
If the difference is so stark, that casts a lot of doubt on my last attempt at a white sweet potato pie. This time around, my mom acquired some Haymans from Whiteraven’s Nest in Chincoteague, Virginia – along with several other varieties of sweet potato. So I used a blend. She was warned to cure them several weeks, in a warm and dry place, or else risk defeating the point of even tasting them.
Among the recipes in 19th century cookbooks, you’ll often find advertisements for hats and gloves, ovens, groceries, jewelry, horse accessories and more. Between the ads and the recipes, you could get a sense of a gilded life in the city, full of consumer longing and delicious viands. What is easy to forget- especially with the recipes distracting you with rich gravies and dainty cakes- is that in 19th century life, death loomed large.
Stories of disease, food poisoning, criminal and accidental violence are splashed across the “local matters” in old newspapers. In the back pages of many old cookbooks you will find the dark shadow of “pure historic cooking” in the form of home remedies for cholera, broken bones, and even cancer. An untested recipe for cake could lead to disappointment and waste. An untested recipe for “cure for Dysentery” could lead to death.
Many scholars have been careful to point out that this familiarity with death did not lessen the grief and trauma that people experienced. A family plot in Greenmount cemetery filled with little granite lambs reflects a life of tragedy and human endurance.
“The Baltimore Sun is trying to coax the Governor of Maryland to appoint a yankee festival… Why don’t our Governor move in the important matter of appointing a day for thanksgiving? Pumpkin pies are coming from all quarters, and no day set apart yet.” – The Baltimore Sun, 11/15/1837
The Baltimore Sun was in its infancy when the newspaper took up an obsessive crusade to bring Thanksgiving to Maryland. For several years prior, other Maryland newspapers had reported on states whose governors had proclaimed a November day of thanksgiving. New York, Connecticut and New Hampshire in 1825; Massachusetts in 1830; Maine, Ohio, and Michigan in 1837; Ohio in 1839. (In some states, the announcements were made annually or the actual dates changed year-to-year.)
The Sun began publication in May of 1837. When their own November thanksgiving announcements started rolling out, most of them were accompanied with pleas to Governor Thomas Veazey to appoint a Thanksgiving in Maryland.
The announcements almost always mentioned pumpkin pie. In 1838 the Sun printed the news that The Boston Times described Thanksgiving day as a joyous occasion with “cider, frolic and fried dough-nuts.” “Where were the pumpkin pies?” the Sun replied accusatorially. While other papers such as the Maryland Gazette waxed spiritual about gratitude and strife, “the prayer of thanksgiving as well as that of invocation,” the Sun, in Baltimore food-obsessed fashion, continued to focus on the pie.
In 1842 the Sun plea to Governor Francis Thomas made a more serious appeal for the holiday by mentioning what a joyous day it was, how it had been adopted even by governors who were not “Yankee men”, and how Maryland had so many causes to be thankful. They even lamented the years of reporting on the official Thanksgiving proclamations of “‘this, that and the other’ governor[s] of ‘this that and the other’ state[s]’” without Maryland having a thanksgiving of our own.
The choice to abandon the pumpkin-pie talk for the patriotic overtures was a wise one. On November 19th, 1842, Governor Thomas declared that the 14th of December would be a day of “thanksgiving, praise and prayer to the Almighty, because of the manifold blessings enjoyed by [Marylanders].” The Sun smugly printed the proclamation while mentioning that they “might take some small credit to [them]selves for a suggestive agency.”
The newspaper tactfully left pumpkin pie out of that announcement, but they later printed suggestions on how to observe the new holiday, sneaking the pie in behind piety:
“The custom in other States, where a day has been set apart of this kind, is in the forenoon to go to church, then dine on roast turkies, plumb puddings and pumpkin pies, in the afternoon innocently amuse themselves and close the evening with a grand ball.” – The Baltimore Sun, 11/29/1842
A correspondent from Ellicott’s Mills wrote on December 1st, 1843, the day after that year’s Thanksgiving that “it is said that pumpkin pie will make a Yankee’s mouth water. Be that as it may; but give me good fat turkey and pumpkin pie… that pie! O, that pumpkin pie! Who can properly express the deliciousness of that pumpkin pie?”
Suggested Thanksgiving Menu, Indiana, 1888
Tastes change. In 1907 the Baltimore Sun had done a turnabout on pumpkin pie, printing an editorial which declared it to be “a vile pretender” which was “tolerated, but not loved.” The author lamented that pumpkin pie was just a vehicle for spices and declared that “examined in the cold glare of actual fact, the pumpkin pie becomes obviously bogus and unspeakably contemptible.”
What on earth happened? Well, for starters there is the very Northern “Yankee” associations of pumpkin pie in a state whose loyalties had been torn apart in the Civil War. In a recent essay, historian David Shields pointed to the widespread availability of canned pumpkin which was itself shipped from the north. “Canned pumpkin pie filling from the North and its distribution through southern groceries set off the woe reflex in southerners,” wrote Shields. Pumpkin pie and its Southern counterpart the sweet potato pie became symbolic. The perceived replacement of the latter by the former aroused anxieties about fading traditions and culture.
1899 ad for a Thanksgiving sale
Both pies have lived on, although the argument for pumpkin pie as a spice delivery system has been given new life by the raging fad of using those spices in other products. Here again, the backlash is disproportionate. Most of the spices used in pumpkin pie have been present in sweet and savory dishes since time immemorial. A bite of ‘pumpkin spice’ beef a la mode wouldn’t make Mary Randolph furrow her brow one bit.
I confess to being a one-time pumpkin pie detractor, but this recipe actually changed my mind. This pie was creamy and excellent. There could be a few explanations for this. 1: I used butternut squashes from my CSA so maybe they’re superior, 2: I cooked them in a certain wildly-popular pressure-cooking kitchen appliance, 3: Maybe my pie preferences were an insecure affectation all along.
Enoch Pratt Free Library
I got the recipe from a book called “Grannie’s Goodies from Somerset County,” compiled in 1970 by the residents of the Alice B. Tawes nursing home in Crisfield. Alice B. Tawes was the mother of Governor J. Millard Tawes. According to the Baltimore Sun, “the story goes that the home’s director was tired of residents’ complaints about the food, so he asked them to submit a favorite recipe to be cooked and served at the home.”
I traced this particular recipe, almost word-for-word, back to “Buckeye Cookery,” a classic community cookbook compiled in the 1870s by the First Congregational Church in Ohio.
Abraham Lincoln made Thanksgiving a national holiday during the middle of the Civil War (1863). In addition to reflecting on our agricultural abundance, he suggested that citizens pray for “the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation.”
Despite these solemn origins, the traditions of festivities and sports on Thanksgiving date back equally as far – whether it was clothing sales, shooting contests, or the football games that the Baltimore Sun proclaimed in 1903 to be “passing away as a Thanksgiving pastime.” The “gridiron sport” remains as much a part of Thanksgiving as ever, 125 years later, as does the pumpkin pie. The “vile pretender” is here to stay.
Recipe:
“Stew the squash or pumpkin till very dry and press through a colander; to each pint should be added 1 tablespoon butter. Beat in while warm 1 cup brown sugar or molasses; a little salt, 1 tablespoon cinnamon, 1 teaspoon ginger and ½ teaspoon soda. A little allspice may be added but it darkens the pies. Roll a few crackers very fine and add a handful to the batter or thicken with 2 tablespoons flour or 1 of cornstarch. As the thickening property of pumpkin varies, some judgment must be used in adding milk.”
From The Buckeye Cookbook via “Grannie’s Goodies from Somerset County”
Adaptation:
2 Pints pumpkin or squash (about one of the squashes pictured)
2 Tablespoons butter
2 Cups brown sugar
1.5 tsp salt
2 Tablespoons cinnamon
2 Teaspoons ginger
1 Teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon allspice
4 Tb flour
¼ cup evaporated milk
Peel squash and cook until soft. Drain well. Mash and stir in butter, sugar, soda, and spices. Stir in milk. This mixture can be stored overnight (I did). Mix in flour and pour in pie shell just before baking. 425° for about 40 minutes or until pie is no longer “jiggly.” Serve with whipped cream.
Interest in culinary history tends to enjoy a boost around this time of year. Some excellent pieces have been written illuminating the historical foods consumed on Thanksgiving. As though our own traditions are not authentic or traditional enough, many of us feel compelled to dig into the origins of the very day that defines the word ‘tradition’ in the United States.
I admit to being less concerned with what the Pilgrims ate than I am with the foods found on Maryland tables for the holiday.
While there is some overlap, Marylanders and many Southerners especially may find that many of our Thanksgiving favorites made their way to the table through the same thorny and winding path as the other foods we know well.
One source that I cross-reference for this website is not a Maryland cookbook at all. Nonetheless, Mary Randolph’s 1824 book “The Virginia Housewife” is a crucial text whether you want to dissect the lineage of your “candied yams” or the so-called “Maryland Beaten Biscuits.”
Interpreter Pam Williams working from “The Virginia Housewife” at the Hays House, Bel Air
Mary Randolph was born in 1762, near Richmond, to a prominent Virginia family. In 1780 she married a cousin, David Meade Randolph. Mary Randolph was well-respected as the lady of their estate “Moldovia” and its slaves and servants.
It is claimed that Mary Randolph’s hostessing was so widely famous that Gabriel [no last name], an enslaved man who led an unsuccessful rebellion of slaves in the Richmond area, would spare her life to cook for him though he hoped to kill other slaveholders. This story is dubious as it is likely that a man fighting for the freedom of enslaved Virginians would be aware of who did the heavy lifting in the kitchen at Moldovia.
The Randolphs and their Federalist ties became their undoing when Thomas Jefferson removed his cousin David Meade Randolph from the position of Federal Marshal in 1802. Evidently the extravagant hospitality left little room for savings and the family’s finances soon went into decline. Mary’s enterprising solution was to open a boarding house in Richmond in 1808. For the next ten years, the venture expanded Mary Randolph’s fame as a hostess and cook.
The cookbook (containing many other household hints) came out in 1824, with a stated purpose that is fairly typical of old cookbooks: the altruistic intention of the book was to educate young housewives.
Advertisement in the Frederick Town Herald, 1832
New editions of the book continued to be printed for decades after. Mary Randolph died in 1828 and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
It is said that the book’s significance lies in its snapshot of the birth of true American cooking. While Amelia Simmons’ 1796 book “American Cookery” is considered the first American cookbook, Randolph did more than just incorporate some American ingredients to British recipes. Randolph’s book does not simply “make do” with the ingredients available to cooks in the young country – it celebrates them. “The Virginia Housewife” can be surprising in its adventurism, from Gazpacho to the loads of garlic found in some recipes. That spirit lays at the foundation of Southern cuisine.
This is why I have no intention of recreating humble, modestly seasoned dishes for Thanksgiving. Making the most of what we have in this day and age is not a necessity as it was to Simmons, it is a joy, as it was to Randolph, and to Jane Gilmor Howard after her. It IS the tradition that we carry on during the holidays and beyond.
My favorite passage from “The Virginia Housewife” demonstrates the meticulousness Mary Randolph was known for
