Antique Wine Coasters, Why So Wide?

Several months ago we found a pair of antique silver wine coasters in a shop in the town near Darlington House.  They were being sold by a family of pickers whose offerings have been a fertile hunting ground for us in the past, and whose threshold we cross regularly in search of the treasures within.

A handsome early cut-glass wine decanter
fits perfectly within the well of the coaster,
and looks far better than a mere wine bottle,
no matter how lofty the vineyard

The coasters we found are rather large, measuring six inches across, with a silver galley standing two inches high.  The galley is pierced in a manner suggesting the Gothick taste.

When we found the coasters they were a bit the worse for wear.  The galleys were bent and/or dented in several places, and the wood of the bases had lost its finish and was dried out, and bleached from having been submerged in soapy hot water many times over the years.  They had lost their protective felt backings, too.

Our Ball, Black & Co. wine coasters in "as found" condition

We were attracted to the coasters because we found them handsome and admired their substantial scale.  We have collected antique coasters over the years, primarily papier-mâché ones, but we did not have any period silver and wood wine coasters in our collection, only modern reproductions.  We were confident that the coasters we found would once again look their best once they were attended to by a specialist we know of in Manhattan who could refurbish them appropriately.

An 1864 newspaper advertisement for
Ball, Black & Co.
Image courtesy of the Silver Forum

The coasters are marked "Ball, Black & Co." and also "STERLING."  Ball, Black & Company was a high-end retailer of jewelry, silver, and objet de vertu in New York City from 1851 until 1874, when it was reorganized as Black, Starr & Frost.  In its day Ball, Black & Co. was more prestigious than Tiffany & Company, which is the closest comparable today.

The former Ball, Black & Co. building today
Image courtesy of realworldhouses

Until 1860, Ball, Black & Co. marked its silver "950," which is a particularly high content of pure silver, and higher than the 925 amount (meaning that 92.5% of the metal is pure silver and 7.5% of it is an alloy) required to be marked "sterling."  In 1860 Ball, Black & Co. began marking its silver as "sterling," as our coasters are marked.  Consequently, I date our coasters as having been made anywhere between 1860 and 1874.

Even a simple blown-glass decanter is preferable
to place in one's coaster than a wine bottle

Many people today don't know that wine coasters were not originally intended to be used to hold bottles of wine, but rather carafes or decanters of wine.  Until fairly recently, it was common practice to decant one's wine from a bottle into a carafe or decanter.  Doing so promoted the aeration of the wine and also allowed for leaving sediment behind in the bottle, to be discarded.  Now that modern wine making techniques have largely done away with sediment in bottles, relatively few people decant their wine anymore.

Except we do, of course.

Over the years we have collected a handsome array of decanters and carafes that we use to pour wine at table.  They range from very basic, simple blown-glass ones to elaborate cut-crystal ones.  Their bases are larger than a typical wine bottle's, and they fit comfortably in the period wine coasters that we have in our collection.

Our Ball, Black & Co. wine coasters after refurbishment

It is far more pleasing to use a pretty decanter to pour one's wine at table than to pour it from a bottle, and it is most appealing when said decanter stands within a handsome coaster when it is not being used to administer one's wine glass.

And that's how we do it at Darlington House.

All photographs, except where noted, by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: English Rock and Tree

This week's saucer post continues the theme I began last week, namely of an English saucer decorated in a manner inspired by the Orient.  I use the word "Orient" intentionally here instead of today's preferred "Asia," since that is what those who would have made or owned this pretty saucer would have known that region as when the saucer was made, approximately two hundred years ago.

This week's saucer, which measures 5 3/8 inches in diameter,  is decorated in what is known as the "Rock and Tree" pattern.  You can see why if you examine the center of the dish, where a weeping willow stands to the left, with its drooping branches overhanging a series of boulders on the ground.  As was last week's Imari-type saucer, so this one has six segments surrounding the center motif, with alternating scrolls containing what appear to be dogwood flowers, and smaller pendulous flowers between them.

I like this saucer because I find its decoration pleasing, done in soft oranges, salmons, greens, and gilding.  I believe it is—or once was—one of a pair that we bought at Bardith, Ltd., on Madison Avenue a dozen or so years ago.  For the life of me I cannot find the second one.  I am not sure if we broke it or if it is buried in one of the stacks of china that seem to fill every cupboard in our house.  Ah, well.

Reggie's Rules for Navigating One's Way Around Manhattan Like a New Yorker, Part III

Following on my last essay in this series, in which I discussed Reggie's Rules for Taking Taxis In and Around New York, today's post focuses on a more comfortable and luxurious type of aboveground transportation available to savvy New Yorkers and visitors "in the know," namely livery cars.

This is the type of Lincoln Town Car that was available
for hire when I first moved to Manhattan, in 1980.
One of the most popular colors then was metallic blue

There are times when it is neither possible nor advisable to take a taxi in New York.  For instance, it is virtually impossible to get a taxi between 4 pm and 5 pm, during the evening's pre-rush hour shift change.  There are also times when one would prefer to ride around town without a meter ticking away, or when one desires more personalized service than a taxi can provide.  Fortunately, New York has many livery car services stocked with late model luxury cars available for hire with just a simple phone call, and which are a more pleasant—albeit more expensive—alternative to taxis.

Herewith are Reggie's Rules For Taking Livery Cars In and Around New York:

1.  When you are standing waiting to hail a taxi and none are to be found, don't be afraid to take a roaming livery car if one pulls over and offers you a ride

Livery drivers in New York earn extra money between assignments by giving rides to pedestrians who haven't hired them through a dispatcher.  They are not looking to abscond with you or rob you—they are looking for a fare.  The driver will usually cut you a deal, too, since these are off-the-books cash transactions.

This is the standard Lincoln Town Car available for hire today
in New York City.  Almost all of them are limousine black

2.  Always negotiate the fare before getting into a roaming town car

You don't have much bargaining power once you are sitting in the back seat.

3.  Hire a car and driver to pick you up after attending the theater

It is almost always impossible to find a taxi after the shows let out in the theater district or in front of the Metropolitan Opera.  Call ahead of time and find our when the performance ends and arrange to have a car and driver waiting outside to whisk you away to your destination.  It's a lot better than battling the hordes for a taxi.

One needn't be confined to American cars when engaging a
car and driver in New York.  European luxury cars are available too

4.  When attending events during the evening in out of the way places or where you can't be assured of finding a taxi, consider hiring a car and driver

If we are attending a black-tie party in some remote place, like the Chelsea Piers, or attending a performance in another borough, such as at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I will hire a car and driver to take us there and pick us up at the end of the evening.  It is a most pleasant way to travel, particularly when dressed formally, and one is assured of having one's transportation ready and waiting for one when one wants it.

There are times when one prefers a larger, roomier
livery car, such as the Cadillac Escalade or a
Lincoln Navigator, or a Chevrolet Suburban.
All are available for hire in New York

5.  Hire a car and driver when going to and from the airport

This is a luxury well worth indulging in if you can at all afford to do so, and is a far more pleasant means of transportation than a taxi when leaving and re-entering the city on a trip or vacation.  Engaging a car and driver ahead of time alleviates any concerns about finding a taxi, and livery cars charge flat rates for airport drop-offs and pickups, so you know what the fare is going to be ahead of time.  Finally, livery cars provide door-to-door service, so one needn't struggle with one's luggage as one does when taking other forms of transportation.

And so there you have it: Reggie's Rules for Taking Livery Cars In and Around New York.  Although Reggie acknowledges that engaging a car and driver requires extra forethought and planning, and having sufficient room on one's credit cards to pay for such premium services, he believes that doing so is well worth the extra effort and cost when compared with other forms of transportation in the city, at least under the circumstances he has outlined in this essay.

But there are other, less expensive and—at times—more efficient means of getting around town in New York than either taxis or livery cars, which is the subject of the next installment in this series.

Next:  Reggie's Rules For Taking Buses and Subways In and Around New York

Photographs from Google Images

A New Squirrel at Darlington

As some of my readers may recall, we have a bit of a thing for squirrels here at Darlington.  We are fortunate to have two colonies of them living on our property, one of gray squirrels and one of red.  When they aren't fiercely defending their respective territories from each other, the squirrels gambol and skitter about most entertainingly.

Our new squirrel, sitting on a windowsill
at Darlington House

Given our fondness for the squirrels, and our propensity to accumulate collect things, it is not surprising that we've built up a small collection of squirrel figures that we display on a bookshelf in one of our guest bedrooms.  I featured some of them in a Squirrels of Darlington post that I did last year.

A vintage postcard of Stratford Hall from the 1930s

As I wrote in that post, we are rather discriminating in our collecting of squirrel figures.  Although we are fond of them, we don't want to become people known for their squirrel collection, fearing that we could find ourselves overrun with them.  My worst nightmare is to wake up one day and find myself living among a collection of cute little figurines covering every flat surface in the house, like the bed and breakfast I once stayed in years ago where the proprietors had a thing for mushrooms.  It was awful.

So I am very picky when it comes to adding a new squirrel figure to our collection.  In order even to be considered, it had better be a good one.

The family crest of the Lees of Virginia
(note squirrel at top)

Over Memorial Day weekend we attended an antiques show in Rhinebeck, New York, where we came across the cast iron squirrel shown in the photograph at the top of this essay.  I was drawn to it because of the subject, because it is made out of cast iron (a medium that I like), and because it appeared to have been made in the Colonial Revival style favored in the first half of the twentieth century (a style that I find appealing).  When I looked at the squirrel more closely I was curious to find that it had "Stratford Hall" upon its base, in raised lettering.  The dealer saw me examining it and came over and told me that he had done some research on it and found that the crest of the Lee family, who built Stratford Hall, features a squirrel in it.

I had to own it.

Stratford Hall is one of America's great early plantations and sits on a bluff in Westmoreland County, Virginia, overlooking the Potomac River.  It was built in 1725-1730 by Thomas Lee (1690-1750), the acting Governor of the (then) colony and a member of one of this country's most illustrious families, the Lees of Virginia.  Thomas Lee was an ancestor of General Robert E. Lee (1807-1870), who was born in the house.  Stratford Hall was rescued from near ruin in 1929 when it was purchased by the good ladies of the Robert E. Lee Memorial Foundation, who restored and furnished it in the 1930s in high Colonial Revival style.  I suspect that my cast iron squirrel dates from that period and was sold in the plantation's gift shop as a souvenir.

Growing up in Washington, D.C., I visited many of the area's plantations as a boy, and I have happy memories of doing so.  One of the plantations I visited was Stratford Hall, where long ago someone else visited before me and came away with the squirrel that I now own.

Another vintage postcard of Stratford Hall,
probably from the 1940s

I believe my squirrel was likely intended to be a door stop for a modest-size door (he stands only six inches high).  Or perhaps it is a piece of porchiana, which is a term to describe objects specifically made to be used on screened porches and which is the subject of a future post of mine.  My squirrel would do a fine job of keeping a pile of newspapers and magazines from flying around in a breeze.

I am more than pleased to have this little fellow join our squirrel collection at Darlington House, where he provides an element of much-needed Southern gentility among his far less well-mannered Yankee cousins.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick; vintage postcards courtesy of US GenWeb; Lee family crest courtesy of the Robert E. Lee Association

Saucer of the Week: English Imari

This week's "Saucer of the Week" essay is being posted right at the wire.  In case you didn't notice, my previous post regarding the use of what I consider to be the proper spoon and fork to consume one's dessert created a bit of a firestorm.  I've been busy responding to the interesting and thought-provoking comments that ensued.  What fun I have had!

But today is Sunday and the week is running out.  I must now get back on track and publish another post in my weekly series on the subject of saucers . . .

Today's featured saucer is English, and was, I believe, made in the first half of the nineteenth century.  I suspect that it is either Worcester or Derby, but it could be from another pottery altogether.  I am not such an expert as to be able to determine its origins beyond that it is English.  If you have greater knowledge of this saucer's origin, Dear Reader, I would be most grateful if you would please comment and enlighten me.

The decoration on this handsome saucer is done in imitation of Japanese Imari, with both an underglaze and overglaze applied decoration, including gilding.  The border is divided into six equal segments featuring branches of cherry blossoms alternating with cartouches containing pretty birds.  A large chrysanthemum appears in the middle of the plate.  The saucer is unmarked and measures 5 3/8 inches in diameter.

For the life of me, I cannot remember where I got it.  I don't think I paid all that much for it.

I admire this saucer for the vigor and brilliance of its decoration.  It sits on my bedside table at Darlington House, where it adds a welcome jolt of happy color to the room and pleases me whenever I see it.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Please Eat Your Dessert With the Proper Spoon and Fork!

The other evening Boy and I traveled out to Fort Greene, Brooklyn, where we met our friends Jasper Lambert and Francesca Montmore for dinner at a well-regarded neighborhood restaurant, known for its inventive, delicious, locavore fare.  The place had a distinctly hip vibe, and the average patron was probably no older than thirty.  I enjoyed it.

A framed antique map of the Borough of Brooklyn
Image courtesy of Cottage Home

Yes, even though Reggie lives on the UES of Manhattan, he is not so hidebound that he doesn't occasionally venture beyond it when he is out and about in the city.  He has great respect for and enjoys visiting the storied and historic borough of Brooklyn.  He actually lived in Brooklyn in the early 1980s, when he first moved to New York after college and worked in a bank on Wall Street.  But that was back when people of his sort generally could only be found in one or two neighborhoods in that borough, such as Brooklyn Heights, which is where he—not surprisingly—lived at the time.  Since then, Brooklyn has undergone a veritable renaissance, and today it is a thriving and vibrant metropolis full of neighborhoods that one would be delighted to live in.

But today's post is not about Brooklyn.  It is about eating dessert.

Before I get to that, though, I feel I must explain why I use the word "dessert" to describe the sweet consumed at the end of a meal, instead of "pudding," as my English cousins do.  Even though I sometimes prefer to use words favored in England when referring to something known by a different name in America—such as "aubergine" for what is commonly known here as "eggplant"—I simply cannot bring myself to use the word "pudding" for "dessert," at least not with a straight face.  That is because I consider "pudding" to be what I believe the English refer to as "blancmange," which is what I call the sweet, easy-to-eat, milk-based custard so favored by children in nurseries and the elderly in nursing homes.  Blancmange is a type of pudding, but it is not "pudding" in the sense the English use the word, which is to describe what I call "dessert."

Both pudding and dessert, but not "pudding"
Image courtesy of Vintage Disney Alice

Now that I've got that straightened out, I can attend to the subject at hand, which is actually not about eating dessert, but rather about the proper utensils to use when consuming it.

Hold on, there's a logic to this meander . . .

While dining at the restaurant in Brooklyn with our friends, the four of us ordered dessert to finish our meals.  I ordered what was described on the menu as rhubarb bread pudding, but which was actually a rhubarb crisp.  Not that it matters, really, but I like to be specific about these things.  Anyway, the young woman who brought our desserts to the table delivered them with four teaspoons.

As she did so I asked myself, "Why is this girl . . ." (for Reggie is now old enough to consider most women under the age of twenty five to be young enough to merit such a term) " . . . bringing me a teaspoon?  I haven't ordered coffee!"

It then occurred to me that she expected me to consume my rhubarb bread pudding crisp with a teaspoon, and not with a proper dessert spoon.

"Excuse me, miss," I said, "would you please bring me a dessert spoon?"

She looked at me quizzically.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "I just did."

"Well, actually this is a teaspoon, and not a dessert spoon.  A dessert spoon is larger than this.  And while you are at it, would you also please bring me a dessert fork, too?"

"But that," she said pointing to the teaspoon in front of me, "is what we eat dessert with here at the restaurant."

"That may be so," I said, "but I prefer to eat my dessert with a larger spoon.  And I like to eat it with a fork, too.  May I please have them so I may do so?"

She looked at me as if I were a lunatic.

"Oh, all right," she said, and shrugged.

Just as she was turning to go off and fetch what I requested, the other three people at the table piped in, in unison, "Please bring us a spoon and fork as well!"

It turns out I wasn't the only lunatic at our table.

Even though the young miss brought us each the requested spoons, the forks she provided were dinner-sized, and therefore inappropriately large for the task at hand.  But rather than beginning my little routine all over again and asking her to bring me the proper sized fork, I decided to put up and shut up, and use the dinner fork.  After all, I reasoned, I could still use it for the purpose I intended it for.

Reggie's preferred place setting for when the first course is a soup
and the dessert course is a sweet, such as bread pudding.
That is not a teaspoon placed above the mat . . .

Which gave me the idea for this post, which is that most people in this country haven't a clue as to what the proper utensils are to use when consuming food at table.  No, I am not referring to the use of arcane utensils favored by the Victorians at their most extreme, such as the proper fork to use for a particular type of fish, or the proper spoon to use when consuming a jellied consumé versus a creamed soup.  I'm referring to the most basic spoons and forks that one uses when eating a salad, a soup, an entrée, and dessert.

As was made clear by my Brooklyn dining experience, most people today don't understand the intended functions of a teaspoon, a dessert spoon, or a soup spoon.  They don't know the difference between a dinner fork or a dessert fork, either.  And it is not only in the wilds of Brooklyn that one encounters such ignorance.  I've even witnessed it in my own house, when dining at my own table.  You would be surprised at how many of our dinner party guests use the wrong utensils with which we have set our table at Darlington House.  And these guests of ours are not bumpkins—they are educated, worldly, and cultured people, accustomed to attending dinner parties and dining in smart restaurants.

So here's the deal.  A teaspoon's primary purpose is to stir a cup of tea or coffee.  It is not designed to be used to consume food, at least by adults, even though it does an admirable job of delivering modest amounts of food to one's mouth.  A dessert spoon, also known as a tablespoon, is larger than a teaspoon and delivers a more generous (and more pleasing) amount of food—a mouthful—than a teaspoon is capable of administering.  A tablespoon is the primary and most versatile spoon that one uses when consuming food at table.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe
teaspoon, tablespoon, soup spoon, go!

Although some people use tablespoons to consume soup, and Reggie believes it is acceptable to do so in certain cases (particularly in households where the silverware services are not as extensive as his own), he prefers to consume soup using the larger spoons designed for such purpose, and not a tablespoon.  And it is not simply because he is able to do so, having the necessary spoons at his disposal.  No, it is because he adores soup and he finds using the larger spoon allows him to consume more of it with each mouthful than would be possible with a tablespoon, and certainly far more than would be possible with an unsatisfyingly small teaspoon.

When we set the table at Darlington House for a meal where dessert is provided, we almost always set it with a dessert-sized fork and a dessert spoon to consume the sweet.  The fork is smaller than the one provided to consume the main course of the meal, and the spoon is a tablespoon.  Both are placed above the plate, so their intended use is absolutely clear.  When it comes time to eat the dessert, one holds the fork in one's left hand and the spoon in one's right, and uses them together, as opposed to endlessly exchanging one for the other in one's primary hand (the way many Americans use a knife and fork when cutting into and consuming a piece of meat).

A rather elaborate, and to Reggie rather over-set,
formal place setting diagram
Image courtesy of simplehuman

If you have not eaten dessert using a spoon and fork as I describe here, I encourage you to take it upon yourself to do so.  You will be pleased with how pleasant it is, and how much more you appreciate the pleasure of taking your dessert, as opposed to eating it with just a teaspoon.  Once you become accustomed to consuming your dessert this way, with a spoon and fork, you will marvel at how you ever did it any other way (that is, except when eating fruit or cheese at the end of a meal, which is when you would instead use a fork and knife).

Reggie's preferred place setting for when the first course is a salad
and the dessert course is either fruit or cheese

Oh, and the rhubarb bread pudding crisp that triggered this story?  It was delicious, but it would have benefitted from having a small pitcher jug of crème anglaise available to pour over it, to moisten it.  Now that is one English custom—the pouring of creams and custards over one's pudding dessert—that I have unashamedly adopted as my own.  And I suggest that you do, too.

But, please eat your dessert with the proper spoon and fork!

Tell me, do you?

Photographs, unless noted, by Boy Fenwick

Winning Bid: Sunderland Jugs

A week ago I attended an auction in the town near Darlington where I was fortunate to acquire two antique ceramic pitchers.  Well, actually, the proper name for such things is "jugs."

The two Sunderland jugs I acquired at auction

Notwithstanding what you call them, they are English and date to the 1820s or 1830s.  They are of a type known as "Sunderland," taking their name from the coastal city of that name in northeast England, where they were made in potteries that disappeared long ago.  Sunderland is better known as having once been the largest shipbuilding center in England, if not in all of Europe, and remained one of the world's shipbuilding powerhouses well in to the twentieth century.  The city was heavily bombed during World War II, when much of its historic architecture was destroyed, and it entered into an unfortunate period of decline thereafter, from which it has never recovered.  Sunderland's last shipyard closed its doors over thirty years ago, and today the city is one of the most economically challenged places in England.  A sad fate, indeed.

The larger of the two jugs, featuring a Sailor's Farewell

But these jugs were made during Sunderland's heyday, and their decoration attests to the city's civic pride.  Sunderland jugs are typically decorated with an exuberant "lustre" finish, most often in the pink color I am showing here.  Also, they typically feature transfer-printed images of ships, sailors, and the iron bridge that once crossed the River Wear that runs through the city of Sunderland.  Many have poems or sayings printed upon them.  They were inexpensively produced, and their decoration is often rather crudely applied in a slapdash manner.  They were made as vessels to carry water, ale, or cider.

A detail of the jug's transfer-print decoration

The maritime nature of much of the decoration of Sunderland jugs is attributable to the shipbuilding industries located in the city where they were made.  In addition to their utilitarian fluid-carrying purposes, it is thought that they were also intended to be given as gifts by those engaged in or who celebrated the shipbuilding industries, including the sailors frequently depicted upon them.

The jug, with a ruler to demonstrate its substantial scale

Sunderland jugs were very popular in the early 1800s, and other potteries in other areas of England soon began copying them.  Since only a very few of the pitchers were ever signed or labeled, it is nearly impossible to determine whether jugs that are all known today as "Sunderland" were actually made in the potteries there.

The jug also features a transfer print of the
Ancient Order of Foresters, presumably a nod
to a source of materials for shipbuilding

Sunderland jugs come in many sizes, ranging from the diminutive to the spectacular.  I have seen tiny ones, and I have seen enormous ones, so large as to be unusable except as display pieces, which is what the largest jugs were intended for.  Most Sunderland pitchers are sized to hold quantities of fluid ranging from a pint to a gallon, which is what you would expect, given what they were used for.

The jugs that I bought at auction are generously scaled, which is part of the reason that I found them appealing.  The larger of the two stands 9¼ inches tall and holds well over a gallon of liquid.  The smaller jug stands 7½ inches tall and holds more than half a gallon.  That's a lot of beer.

The smaller of the two jugs
features a poem ending with "forget me not"

The jugs were in a sale of the contents of a country house decorated by Mark Hampton in the 1980s, in high English country house style.  For those of us who appreciate such things, the sale was a treasure trove of English antiques and decorations, including a quantity of chintz-covered club chairs and sofas, exquisitely made by New York's best bespoke upholstery workshops.  Prices realized at the sale were, in general, very reasonable, and hammer prices were well below what such goods would be sold for in a shop, particularly given their Mark Hampton provenance.

Another view of the smaller jug, with a ruler
to denote its scale

I have always liked Sunderland jugs, but I've never owned one before.  I've not bought them until now because I've never been able to quite figure out what to do with them, and because our cupboards are already full to bursting.  Also, the Sunderland jugs I've come across in shops and at shows on my journeys have usually been expensive enough to dissuade me from buying them, at least on impulse.

The smaller jug features a transfer print of a
handsome clipper ship

But the contents of the sale I attended were being hammered down at such attractive prices that I figured it didn't matter what I did with the jugs or where I put them if I could get them at as good a price as other things in the sale were going for leading up to their lot.  At these prices, I figured, I would be a fool not to bid on them.  So I raised my paddle when they came up for bid, and within a minute I was their proud owner at what I consider to be a most reasonable hammer price, for which I am most grateful.

Now, do you suppose I have begun yet another collection?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick