Lemonade (1881)

This 1800’s lemonade recipe is just perfection. The brightness of the lemons shines through, and it’s plenty sweet without being overpowering. Since trying it, this has become my go-to lemonade recipe.

Hey there, friends. 

It’s good to be back. I’ve missed this over the last few days.

Turns out those -20 something temps can really do some things to one’s plumbing. We have running water again (thank you Dad!) and are warm and well. But my oven decided this was a good moment to join the freeze-killed washing machine in taking early retirement, and I’ve needed a couple days to re-group.

Neat thing about all this 1800’s homemaking research. It keeps a body grateful. So many of the notes in these recipes contain vivid reminders of how good we really do have it. 

For the next little bit, we’ll just focus on recipes that don’t involve baking, until I get this oven replaced. And you know? That’s really ok. 

Let’s make some lemonade.

Here’s a photo of the recipe as it appears in the cookbook:

A FEW COOKING NOTES: 

HOW MUCH IS A TEA-CUP? 

In most reference guides to 1800’s measurements that I’ve seen, a “tea-cup” is generally considered to be ¾ of a cup, or 6 ounces. 

That said, I’ve seen at least one place that suggests as low as ⅔ cup. And this clipping (photo below) pinned inside a well-used 1882 cookbook says that “two teacups (level) of granulated sugar weigh one pound”…which would be 8 ounces, rather than 6.

Although interestingly, toward the bottom of the clipping, it also says that “one teacup holds one gill”…which is generally a liquid measure, but at least a well defined one: ¼ pint, or 4 ounces. 

So there is definitely a little room for interpretation.

In general, I’ve found that using the 6 ounce, or ¾ cup, measurement works well and usually seems to give the intended result. So that’s what I went with for this recipe.

BEFORE YOU MAKE THIS (delicious!) RECIPE: 

Sharpen your knife. One does not roll a lemon well, and then slice it thinly, using a dull knife. 

I tried two different knives before trading them in for one that hadn’t logged any use since being very well-sharpened. That extra-sharp edge made all the difference. Slicing a well-rolled lemon thinly is a lot like asking for wafer-thin slices of heirloom tomato when it’s dead-ripe, straight from the garden, and still warm from the August sun. A sharp blade is a must.

Tomorrow, we’re making mayonnaise from an 1868 recipe. I’m to beat it by hand with a wooden spoon. (Any bets on how long this will take?) 
‘Til then, ~ Anna

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