Mary Ann Cuffee

Caption on back of photograph reads: "Aunt Mary Ann, as she was known to her people, was an excellent type of Shinnecock Indian. Her home was visited by many people and she cooked for many years at a hotel in nearby Watermill, L.I. Her dishes and recipes were quite famous and several of them are still prepared in the homes of her descendants today. On the table next to her is a Shinnecock mortar and stone pestle. This was made out of a hollowed pepperide log and was once a standard kitchen item in every Shinnecock home, as well as, among other Eastern tribes. Corn kernels were pounded into meal and herbs and nuts of many types were once crushed by the women in the ever faithful mortar. Mortar and pestle are no longer used by present day Shinnecocks, but may still be seen in use among the Indians of Mashpee and Gay Head, Massachusetts, Narragansetts in Rhode Island, Senecas of New York, Powhatans of Virginia and Nanticokes of Delaware, in food preparation."

Jesse Halsey in essay on  Dr. Morris Fishbein notes:
"Aunt Mary Ann [Mary Ann Cuffee mother to Mary Emma Bunn], the old Indian who did my grandmother’s cooking on the great days of the New England year, like Thanksgiving, town meeting, Fourth of July, and butchering day—old Mary Ann and her daughter after her, who still comes with us in the summer, had no end of superstitions, an admixture of Indian tradition and negroe superstition."

"My father paid no attention to the phases of the moon in the planting operations of the spring. The disappearance of the frost and the condition of the weather were the sole determining factors. Not so with Mary Ann and the Indians. Planting must be done in the dark of the moon, whether it was corn or potatoes. This is an almost universal superstition, not only among Indians, but other primitive peoples. Or should it be called a tradition? That is, has it any basis in fact?"

See also: Clam Chowder

Photo credit: The East Hampton Library, Long Island Collection.

frm "The First Fruits of the Earth A.D. 1870 N.E."

Jesse Halsey | unfinished fragment | c1933

Aunt Mary Ann came in out of the garden, her apron filled with the first fruits of spring. Meagre, most would judge now-a-days, but what a great feast it made in celebration of the end of winter and the time when dried vegetables should give place to fresh, and when something besides potatoes and turnips should be served at a meal.

On the kitchen table she deposited her spoil. First came rhubarb; pie plant, it was called in those days. Tender, succulent, pink. Little stalks, not the giant variety. Carefully, she washed it, cut it in half-inch pieces with unhesitating, meticulous accuracy and, with a modicum of water and a few slices of lemon, it went onto the back of the wood stove to simmer.

The horseradish went into a dishpan of water. Presently it would be washed and scrubbed and then grated painfully by hand, while the old Indian wept and rubbed her eyes with the corner of her apron, its tang pervading the kitchen. Cider vinegar from the barrel in the cellar, golden and aromatic, would be added. Then the delicious condiment would be added to the sauce that, filled with raisins, surrounded the dry cured ham, baking in a slow oven. But this anticipates the supper hour.

There were dandelion greens. Slowly picked over, one by one, washed three times, then quickly boiled and “dreened,” salt and vinegar. Fit for the gods—and “good for what ails ye.”

Such additions came with early spring.

“And the onion sets are sproutin’; the radishes are as big as peas and will be ready next week, and the lettuce’s come up fine—not big enough yet—and yer beets and spinach look promisin.’”

from "Ill Wind"

IV

Sunday night and the hour of evening service. The little village is bathed in sunshine, the air is cool and calm. The tall spire of the white church dominate the landscape. The last bell is ringing for church. Presently, the men from the churchyard file into the building and the organ and bass-viol announce the majestic strains of Old Hundredth.

After the doxology, in the hushed silence the minister prays as he stands in the high pulpit with this mahogany rail, and great sounding board and big Bible (Neddie, in pop-eyed wonder notes every detail while his grandmother, with him in the back gallery, remembers every word.)

“O God, who rulest the ragings of the sea and makes the wrath of men to praise Thee, we bless Thy name that we have dwelt in security as in the hollow of Thy hand while the elements have raged about us . . . Especially do we thank Thee for the courage of Thy servants in the hour of peril and of danger that, counting their lives not dear unto themselves they have hazarded all for the saving of others.”

The concluding sentences were lost to the old Indian. Neddie nudged her and she opened her eyes to see Miss Patience, the village belle, softly tiptoe to her pew with a distinct switch of crinoline, audible all over the meeting-house.

--Reverend Jesse Halsey c1932

Mary Ann

by Jesse Halsey

Thanksgiving is the Great Day in New England, or was so in my boyhood. We lived on Long Island, the east end of which is pure New England, while the wet end is Dutch---with a Kriskingle. So we had, both; Thanksgiving and Christmas. Grandfather was much of a Puritan and frowned on Christmas celebrations—in theory. Being a deacon he had to agree with the Parson who never would preach a Christmas sermon at Christmas nor an Easter sermon at Easter! (“It was papish.”)

But our grandmother was different. SHE was supreme in her own domain, indoors, and knew, moreover, just how to handle grandfather who was naturally fat and jolly and, as a young man, had lived in New York where Christmas and New Years were real celebrations that centered largely in the home. This was the beginning of the Nineteenth century—our grandfather’s boyhood; while our childhood was in the years near its close.

Mary Ann Cuffee

We were lucky, I say, with a New England Thanksgiving and a Dutch-flavored Christmas. And then we were blessed with Mary Ann.

She came to help on all great occasions. Funerals, births, butchering days, Town Meeting, Thanksgiving, the Christmas week, and many other times in between. No family occasion was complete without her. The little “back chamber,” a half attic over the kitchen, was her room, never used by another so far as I know.

An Indian of the Poosepatuck tribe, she was born before Eighteen hundred, near Montauk Point, but in our time lived on the Shinnecock Reservation, where she had married. Her features were as severe, as my faded snap-shot will show, but she was the soul of goodness and withal a most excellent cook.

Snow sometimes came with Thanksgiving, and almost always by Christmas time was continuously on the ground. It was my greatest joy, as a boy, early Thanksgiving morning to drive (with some of my cronies), in the old apple-cart, or in a sleigh, to the Indian reservation, two miles away “to fetch Mary Ann.” She had a grandson just my age who always came along.

Her mind was full of old sayings—this old woman; old traditions and superstitions. She believed in ghosts “and such like;” had hard common sense, stoic discipline, but a soft spot for us boys. She remembered wigwam days and knew the nature-lore of her ancestors, could predict the weather and, as I said, she could cook.

The simplest fare became ambrosial at her touch. I mean this in a countrified sense for she knew nothing of salads and appetizers. None were needed. The odors that hung round the home for hours before a meal, though kitchen doors were closed, these were enough to set one’s appetite agog.

She had no written recipes. Like all good cooks, she just guessed, but when my oldest sister was married “Aunt Mary Ann,” as we children called her, consented to be questioned regarding her art and with Grandmother’s help the bride got some semi-recipes on paper. With the passage of the years we came to think that sister “Nynne” had caught some of the culinary secrets of Mary Ann. From her cookbook and other family sources I have tried to write down some of the old Indian’s best dishes best suited to the Holiday Season.

Historic image courtesy Abigail Fithian Halsey Files, Southampton Historical Museum Archives and Research Center.

saleratus [ˌsæləˈreɪtəs]

n: (Chemistry / Elements & Compounds) another name for sodium bicarbonate, esp when used in baking powders [from New Latin sal aerātus aerated salt]

from Practically Edible:
Saleratus was a chalk-like powder used as a chemical leavener to produce carbon dioxide gas in dough.

To make it, pearlash had carbonic acid added to it, changing the potassium carbonate in it to potassium bicarbonate. The chemical formula for this is KHCO3.

Strength varied by brand. All brands needed something acidic to react with.

Substitutes for Saleratus: Per teaspoon of saleratus, 1 1/4 teaspoons of baking soda.

History Notes for Saleratus: Saleratus first hit the market in 1840, sold in paper envelopes.

The paper envelopes had recipes on them, to educate people about how to use it. By the 1850s, it had replaced pearlash to produce carbon dioxide gas in dough.

However, it only had a brief moment in the sun, as it was muscled out in turn by the start of the 1860s by baking soda.

For a while, some people called the new baking soda which replaced Salterus "saleratus", too.

Literature & Lore:
"Saleratus is said to be injurious to the human system, and that it destroys thousands of children and some adults every year. In New Brunswick, contiguous to Maine, the physicians are wont to say that half the children are killed by the use of saleratus. The evil is fast spreading throughout the Union. Families of moderate size already use from ten to twenty-five pounds yearly. Remarks of the New England Farmer -- Storekeepers who have been engaged in the business for many years, have told us formerly they used to purchase three or four small kegs of saleratus for a year's supply in a country village, but that they now purchase more than as many large cases weighing six or eight hundred pounds each. Large quantities are used in making bread, the most common food, and of which all partake. Milk should take its place there. Many persons are in the habit of adding a little saleratus to most kinds of pastry. We are inclined to believe the remarks quoted above have much truth in them. We do not know how far the powder of saleratus may be neutralized by a mixture of other substances used as food, but it may be known by the chemist, and should be explained to the people.

What is saleratus? Wood burnt to ashes. Ashes are lixiviated -- lye is the result . Lye is evaporated by boiling -- black salts are the residuum. The salts undergo a purification by fire, and the potash of commerce is obtained. By another process, we change the potash into pearlash. Now put this into sacks, and place them over a distillery wash-tub, where the fermentation evolves carbonic acid gas, and the pearlash absorbs and renders it sold, the product being heavier, dryer and whiter than the pearlash. It is now saleratus. How much salts of lye and carbonic acid can a human stomach bear and remain healthy, is a question for the saleratus eaters." -- The Adams Sentinel and General Advertiser. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Monday, 15 August 1853. Page 5.

Language Notes: "Saleratus" meant "Sal aeratus", as in "aerated salt."

(Copyright 2011 Practically Edible.)