Sea-Voyage Ginger Snaps = Spicy Hardtack

A recent donation to the National Museum of Civil War Medicine of an otherwise unremarkable work ledger revealed, tucked within its center pages, twenty-seven handwritten recipes dated February 1878. As a culinary historian, I was immediately captivated; I have a well-known soft spot for forgotten dishes, and few things bridge the centuries more effortlessly than recreating a recipe that hasn’t seen daylight in generations.

Like many collections from the period, these entries offer only ingredient lists with precise measurements, yet no cooking instructions. Nineteenth-century recipes were rarely meant to teach; rather, they served as brief reminders for cooks whose techniques were assumed to be instinctive, practiced, and already known.

Recipe as written in the ledger (NMCWM collection)

There is a certain intimacy in any act of transcription, and as I sit and rewrite words set down 147 years ago, I cannot help but imagine the woman who chose to record these particular recipes. Did she first taste them at a friend’s table, lingering after a gathering to coax the ingredients from a generous host? Or perhaps she copied them from a newspaper clipping or borrowed them from a well-worn book in a neighbor’s kitchen. Regardless, she took the time to preserve this particular batch for a reason.

As I began to write down her recipe for Ginger Snaps, I recognized all the familiar ingredients until I made it to the line that called for half a cup of ginger. Having worked as a professional chef for 15 years, my pencil paused here. That is an immense amount of ginger for a cookie recipe. It dawned on me in that moment that these were not typical Ginger Snaps but, instead, what was often referred to as Sea-Voyage Ginger Snaps.

The transcription of the ledger recipe is as follows:

• Two Cups of Flower [sic]
• Two tablespoons of baking powder
• Half a cup of butter
• Half a cup of sugar
• Half a cup of ginger
• One cup of molasses
• One cup of water

Comparatively, this recipe is very similar to that of Miss Leslie’s Lady’s New Receipt Book from 1850, albeit in different quantities:

SEA-VOYAGE GINGERBREAD. —Sift two pounds of flour into a pan and cut up in it a pound and a quarter of fresh butter; rub the butter well into the flour and then mix in a pint of West India molasses and a pound of the best brown sugar. Beat eight eggs till very light. Stir into the beaten egg two glasses or a jill of brandy. Add also to the egg a teacup-full of ground ginger, and a tablespoonful of powdered cinnamon, with a teaspoonful of soda melted in a little warm water. Wet the flour, &c., with this mixture till it becomes a soft dough. Sprinkle a little flour on your paste-board, and with a broad knife spread portions of the mixture thickly and smoothly upon it. The thickness must be equal all through; therefore, spread it carefully and evenly, as the dough will be too soft to roll out. Then with the edge of a tumbler dipped in flour, cut it out into round cakes. Have ready square pans, slightly buttered; lay the cakes in them sufficiently far apart to prevent their running into each other when baked. Set the pans into a brisk oven, and bake the cakes well, seeing that they do not burn.

You may cut them out small with the lid of a cannister (or something similar) the usual size of gingerbread nuts.

These cakes will keep during a long voyage and are frequently carried to sea. Many persons find highly spiced gingerbread a preventive to seasickness.

Ginger in the 19th century was widely recognized for its healthful properties. Mrs. Lettice Bryan from the 1839 cookbook The Kentucky Housewife reminds its readers that ginger is “at once food and medicine” and “excellent for a weak stomach”.[1] Isabella Beeton, whose Book of Household Management appeared in 1861, likewise extols its virtues, noting that in cookery it is, “frequently used, with considerable effect, as an anti-spasmodic and carminative”.[2] Beeton’s use of carminative, a remedy that relieves or prevents flatulence, speaks directly to ginger’s long-acknowledged digestive benefits.

But I digress – let us turn, instead, to the far more delightful task at hand, the making of this newly rediscovered recipe, coaxed back into the light after nearly a century and a half.

Ingredients (Katie Migneault photo)

Following Miss Leslie’s directions, I first worked the butter into the flour before adding the sugar, baking soda, and ginger. Incorporating the baking soda directly with the other dry ingredients not only prevents it from remaining visible, particularly in a darker cookie such as this, but also eliminates the need to dissolve it in water for a smoother incorporation. The resulting batter was extremely loose, making it impossible to cut or shape the cookies even with the suggestion Miss Leslie offered. I chilled the dough for approximately an hour in hopes of improving its consistency; however, it remained quite wet. Ultimately, I carefully spooned the batter onto a well-greased baking sheet, spacing only six to eight cookies at a time to allow for their anticipated spread during baking.

Batter (Katie Migneault photo)

I baked two different batches at two different times – 350 for about 20 minutes, and 375 for 22 minutes. Both versions came out of the oven quite soft; it was upon fully cooling that the first batch arrived at that traditional crispiness one expects from a ginger snap.

Finished ginger snaps (Katie Migneault photo)

One notable feature of this recipe is the absence of eggs, despite the inclusion of baking powder as a leavening agent. Without eggs to provide structure or additional lift, the dough lacked the ability to rise or hold its shape during baking. As a result, the cookies spread significantly in the oven, producing very flat, disk-like forms rather than a thicker or more aerated texture. Miss Leslie’s version, however, does utilize eggs. I suppose my next adventure will be baking her version to compare them against my own.

Sources

[1] Lettice Bryan, The Kentucky Housewife (Bedford, MA: Applewood Books, 2000; orig. pub. 1839), 424.

[2] Isabella Beeton, The Book of Household Management (London: S.O. Beeton, 1861), 196.

About the Author

Katie Migneault is both a professional chef and a culinary historian finishing her MA in History at University of Massachusetts-Boston. She works as the Retail Manager at the Museum and keeps a jar of hand-made salt pork on her desk.