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The Mysterious Spices You’ll Find in Victorian Recipes
Victorian recipes are like treasure maps written in cursive—with odd words, confusing instructions, and spices that sound like something you’d find in a wizard’s cupboard.
I still remember the first time I tried recreating a Victorian sponge cake from a tattered old cookbook I found at a yard sale. The recipe called for grains of paradise. I thought it was a metaphor for happiness. Spoiler: it’s not.
Let’s explore these mysterious spices that popped up in kitchens back when Queen Victoria was still on the throne and nobody had invented baking powder yet.
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1. Mace – Not What You Spray at People
I was today years old when I realized that mace isn’t just for self-defense. It’s actually the lacy red covering around nutmeg seeds. Victorians loved it. They used mace in everything from puddings to meat pies.
The flavor? Warm, peppery, slightly sweet. The smell? Like your grandma’s secret spice drawer if she was into old-school glamor.
Once I added it to a Victorian veal pie recipe, and my dinner guests said it “tasted like the Renaissance.” I still don’t know if that was a compliment.
2. Grains of Paradise – The Fancy Cousin of Pepper
This one sounds like it belongs in a fantasy novel. Turns out it’s a real spice from West Africa—tiny brown seeds with a peppery, citrusy kick. The Victorians thought it was exotic and used it when black pepper was too boring.
I once tried using it in a spice cake. It gave the cake this sharp, unexpected zing. Like cinnamon with an attitude. It’s hard to find now, but if you spot a jar at a specialty store, grab it like it’s on sale.
3. Pennyroyal – Poison in a Pretty Name
This one had me fooled. Pennyroyal sounds like a sweet village in the English countryside, but it’s actually a minty herb that was used in cooking… and also to repel fleas.
Victorians added it to sauces and meat dishes. I, being the cautious cook I am (read: paranoid after Googling things), avoided it. And good thing, too—turns out it’s toxic in large amounts. Victorians, apparently, were just built different.
4. Lovage – Celery’s Classy Great-Aunt
Lovage was one of those herbs I’d never heard of until I found it scribbled in the margins of an 1872 stew recipe. “Add a pinch of lovage,” it said, as if I was supposed to just have that lying around.
It tastes like celery with a hint of anise and a dash of mystery. I grew some in a pot once—only to have my cat dig it up and sleep in the soil. Still, I did manage to sneak it into a broth, and it gave the whole thing a punchy herbal twist.
5. Long Pepper – Spicy, Twisty, and Forgotten
Before black pepper took over the world, long pepper was the original king. It looks like a skinny pine cone and tastes like pepper mixed with nutmeg and ginger. Spicy and sweet in a strange but interesting way.
I ground some up once and added it to a Victorian-style chutney. It made my tongue tingle and my husband ask, “What is this? I like it but I’m scared.”
Perfect.
6. Rose Water – More Than Just Grandma’s Perfume
Okay, not a spice exactly, but it shows up in so many Victorian recipes it deserves a mention. They used it in cakes, syrups, jellies—you name it. Everything tasted like a floral arrangement.
I once made Victorian Turkish delight using rose water. The kitchen smelled like a bridal shop for three days. And it made my tongue think it was eating a bar of soap. The trick is to use just a drop. No more. Unless you like eating potpourri.
7. Caraway Seeds – Raisin’s BFF in Every Bun
Victorians were obsessed with these tiny licorice-flavored seeds. You’ll find them in buns, biscuits, and yes—raisins loved to tag along. The result? Sweet treats that confused every child under age 10.
I once made Victorian seed cake for a tea party. My niece called it “weird bread,” and my friend asked why it tasted like cough drops. I took that as a win.
The Mystery Lives On
Victorian cooking wasn’t just about flavor. It was about feeling fancy. About adding just the right sprinkle of something no one could identify and calling it sophistication. These spices weren’t just ingredients—they were stories, quirks, and culinary risks wrapped up in fragrant powders and seeds.
So if you ever find yourself flipping through a vintage recipe and wondering what the heck calamus root is, don’t panic. Just smile, grab your apron, and embrace the chaos.
And maybe keep a fire extinguisher handy—just in case.