Dora Hughes’ 1918 Guide: Rediscovering the Versatile Carrot in Every Form

February 17, 1918

Dearest reader,

On this day, Dora Morell Hughes graced the pages of the New-York Tribune with an ode most unexpected — The Carrot Comes into its Own.

How curious, you might say, that such humble roots could inspire elegant prose and culinary artistry in equal measure. But indeed, Miss Hughes took up her pen to champion that oft-overlooked dweller of the kitchen garden — the carrot.

In her own words,

“Time was when the carrot held high estate, for in the days of King Charles I, the ladies of the royal court used its feathery plumes in place of feathers for their adornment.”

Imagine, dear gardener, a coiffure garnished with carroty fronds! Even Versailles—if carrots had been fashionable there—might have blushed orange with envy.

Hughes continued in her gracious tone,

“Physicians prized the roots for their diuretic properties, from which came the general impression that eating carrots beautified the complexion and hair.”

A prettier elixir of youth one could not hope to pull from the soil! Yet, she chastised the unimaginative cook of her day:

“Possibly the reason why carrots are not more often served is that, as a rule, they are prepared always in the same way. But one may serve carrots each day for a week and never have them twice in the same form. It is a pity that so few housekeepers seem to realize this.”

A pity indeed. Are we, more than a century later, any the wiser at the table?

Or do we, too, despite our kitchen gadgets and glossy cookbooks, still consign the carrot to mere soup stock and salad bar?

Miss Hughes offered, with a twinkle of domestic wisdom, a veritable parade of dishes: Crecy Soup, named for a French town rich in carrot lore; humble Mashed Carrots and Carrot Cakes, smooth and buttered; golden Carrot Croquettes, or “krow-kets,” crisped in the pan with cracker crumbs and egg; and indulgent Fried and Candied Carrots—sweetened with sugar, cinnamon, and a whisper of mace. She even turned her imagination to Parisian plates: French Carrots and Peas, delicately diced and dressed with oil. And for a supper dish, her Carrot and Celery on Toast—so practical, yet so charming.

As she wrote,

“Carrot and celery make another good combination... Boil the carrots till tender and drain. Scald the celery; mix the two and put to cook in a pint of milk... season with salt, pepper and butter and serve as soon as boiled.”

Can you not picture it?

The soft orange and pale green, steaming on toast beside a cup of tea—domestic bliss incarnate. How Lady Whistledown of her, to make the ordinary seem a whispered secret of refinement.

How very Martha, to urge the modern housekeeper toward resourcefulness and beauty in the same breath.

And how very Dora Hughes, to remind us that a garden’s reward need not be rare to be remarkable.

So, dear reader, might we glance anew at our vegetable beds this season?

If the carrot once “held high estate,” perhaps it awaits its coronation again—this time not in the court of Charles, but in the kitchens of those who still find poetry in the soil.