Curious Facts

Everything below is in the book — each fact links straight to the page it comes from.

A New York druggist invented a soda after a scandalous scene in a stage play. Asked what a "Magda" was, he explained it was chocolate and coffee syrup mixed: "That's one of the things Magda did in the play that shocked her family when she came back as a famous singer, drink chocolate and coffee mixed." He had seen Duse in Sudermann's play, put a sign in the window, and it became one of his most-requested drinks. Read it in the book →
Free crackers with hot soda ate the profits, so the lunch counter was born. Hot drinks created "a natural desire to eat something with it," first satisfied with a few crackers — but "people ate so many crackers that sometimes they killed the profit in hot soda water," so the merchant decided to charge. Soon after-theatre customers were stepping into the drug store for "a hot turkey sandwich, an oyster cocktail, and even a Welsh rarebit, or an oyster stew." Read it in the book →
The fountain menu included an "Ammonia Cocktail," billed as "A Great Bracer". The formula calls for two dashes of aromatic spirits of ammonia and an ounce of orange syrup: "Plain soda to fill a mineral glass 2/3 full. Add the bicarbonate of soda last, stir with a spoon, serve quickly." It sits in the alphabetical list between Amycose and Ancient Bitters — a period pick-me-up, not something to try today. Read it in the book →
Soda siphons were pressure bombs handled like toys. An ordinary siphon of vichy or soda was "charged with a pressure of from 120 to 160 pounds to the square inch," yet "the average person handles a siphon as though it was the most harmless thing in the world." The rules: never near a radiator, steam pipe or stove, and no sudden change of temperature. Read it in the book →
Western fountains boiled eggs to order on a chafing dish at the counter. "Several large dispensers through the West have introduced the novelty of boiling eggs at the soda fountain, to order." Strictly fresh eggs, boiled on a gas stove or chafing dish, served "in a little silver or china egg cup that just holds an egg, which is eaten from the shell." Read it in the book →
On cheap vanilla substitutes: "I would as soon flavor syrup with assafœtida". James W. Tufts complains that some dealers economize on vanilla and use tonka beans instead. He also warns that "the extracts sold for vanilla are seldom genuine" — and that if you can't afford good syrups, "leave them off your list." Read it in the book →
The Knickerbocker sundae cost fifteen cents and the spoon was allowed in only once. A layered New York novelty of ice cream, chocolate syrup, raspberry fruit, whipped cream, brandied cherries and rose essence, served in a tall thin ten-ounce glass: the dispenser "should insert long spoon to bottom of glass just once and draw slowly towards top... This is done for appearance only." "Fifteen cents should be secured for this sundae and all materials should be of the very best." Read it in the book →
On the busiest streets, December was the best soda month of the year. "On the main arteries of travel some dealers will inform you December is the best soda water month of the whole year" — reasonable enough, the book argues, if people now drink soda "because they like it, instead of because they are thirsty." Many winter dispensers sold more ice cream soda in midwinter than hot soda. Read it in the book →
Customers raised on fake mineral water thought the genuine article tasted wrong. A Syracuse firm bought its waters direct from the springs, yet patrons "have told us that our mineral waters did not taste right and they believed we must be making them ourselves." They had been "drinking artificial waters at other fountains and came to believe the false was the true." Read it in the book →
New York's leading soda expert wished the sundae would go out of fashion. Albert P. Corcoran, who ran five Riker fountains, admitted the sundae was steadily growing in popularity: "I am sorry it is, for a sundae requires so much time for service and cleansing the dishes and spoons afterward. But the public must get what it wants." On the corner of 23d street, he added, "every minute counts." Read it in the book →
A single New York fountain cost $20,000 — and its manager insisted on dime sodas. Riker's 23d street store "installed a new $20,000 Innovation fountain to meet the demands of our trade." Corcoran's pricing gospel: "It's just as easy to get 10 cents a glass as it is 5... The public will buy more good soda at 10 cents than poor at 5." Read it in the book →
The "cream" in cream soda was gelatin. A correspondent's formula for the "so-called improvement in 'cream' soda water" — kin to drinks sold as "whipped" and "frosted" cream — is built on a gelatin solution: "dissolving 3 ounces of first quality gelatin in I gallon of hot water, and straining through muslin," then charging the ten-gallon fountain to 160 pounds pressure. Read it in the book →
For the "Maiden's Puff" sundae, get your orange-rind punch from a harness maker. Vanilla ice cream is molded in an old-style champagne glass, upturned in a lace-fringed paper cup, and crowned with a disc of orange rind holding a cherry: "You can get the round punches at a harness maker's." Read it in the book →
Loaf sugar was preferred because granulated sugar was said to contain ultramarine. The book advises paying more for loaf sugar since "granulated sugar contains ultramarine, which generates hydrogen sulphide on standing" — a period claim about the blueing added to whiten sugar. It also insists simple syrup "is better when made cold than hot." Read it in the book →
One Syracuse store broke $100 of glassware a year and sent it to the cellar by dumb-waiter. Every glass got hot water, soap and a polish — "a washing 'like mother used to give'" — which broke more glasses than a cold rinse and required a woman employed constantly to do the washing. "The breakage on glasses amounts to $100 a year. We have a dumb-waiter to take the glasses from the fountain to the cellar." Read it in the book →
Hot soda sold better in Mobile than in the lake cities. The book dismisses weather as an excuse: "Climate counts for little. Hot soda sells better in Mobile, Ala., than in some of the lake cities." In many Southern cities people began drinking it in August — "Don't people drink boiling hot coffee every day in the year? It's all a matter of habit." Read it in the book →
There was a drink called "Don't Care," and its recipe was whatever you had. "'Don't Care' is a fancy name, and any syrup will do. We sometimes advise a mixture of the most popular kinds." A suggested formula follows anyway: pineapple and strawberry syrups, vanilla extract, port wine and a gallon of simple syrup. Read it in the book →