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Lemon Syrup (Pour six quarts of boiling)
Pour six quarts of boiling water on five pounds of white sugar, one and a-half ounces of tartaric acid, and a little whole ginger; let stand till cold; then add one small bottle of essence of lemon. Strain and bottle.
A Victorian shelf-syrup for lemonade, built on tartaric acid rather than lemons. The proportions work, but two of the ingredients need translating before you start.
- YieldSix quarts of water plus five pounds of sugar gives roughly seven to eight quarts of finished syrup — a large batch by modern standards. Halve or quarter it unless you are supplying a crowd.
- "Essence of lemon"This was lemon oil dissolved in alcohol, sold in small vials. Modern lemon extract is much the same thing; a "small bottle" is unlikely to have held more than an ounce or two, so start with 2 to 3 teaspoons for the full batch, taste, and add more. If you use pure lemon oil rather than extract, count in drops — it is many times stronger.
- Tartaric acidStill sold for baking and winemaking. An ounce and a half in six quarts gives a sharp, lemony bite; citric acid can stand in and tastes slightly rounder. Neither one provides any lemon aroma, which is what the essence is for.
- Whole gingerDried ginger root, cracked with the flat of a knife, not fresh. A single knob is enough — it should read as a faint warmth behind the citrus, not as ginger beer.
- Why the water goes on boilingThe heat dissolves the sugar and acid without stirring and draws flavour from the ginger as it cools. Adding the essence only after the syrup is cold matters: the aromatic oils flash off in hot liquid.
- Keeping itAt this ratio the syrup is not sugar-saturated enough to be shelf-stable the way the original assumes, and it will eventually ferment or grow mould in a cupboard. Strain into clean bottles and refrigerate, or freeze in portions.
- ServingAbout two tablespoons of syrup to a tall glass of cold water, adjusted to taste. A quarter teaspoon of baking soda stirred in at the last moment reacts with the tartaric acid and gives the fizzing "aerated" lemonade the period was fond of.
Acid-and-essence lemonade syrups like this one were a practical answer to the fact that lemons in nineteenth-century North America were seasonal, imported and expensive, while tartaric acid and oil of lemon kept indefinitely on a grocer's shelf. Tartaric acid — a by-product of winemaking, recovered from the crust left in wine casks — supplied the sourness, the essence supplied the smell, and sugar did the rest, so that a household could produce lemonade in February from nothing perishable. The same logic sat behind commercial "lemonade powders" and the effervescing draughts of the period chemist's shop, and the optional pinch of soda at serving time is a domestic echo of them. The Home Cook Book itself was one of the great community cookbooks of the 1870s, assembled from contributed receipts and sold for charitable benefit, which is why the same volume ranges from bottled syrups to opinions on how a kitchen ought to be arranged.