Voguish Vinaigrettes

In a time before indoor plumbing, when streets where filled with mud and manure, the umbrage of malodorous molestation was softened a bit by an innovative little devise known as the vinaigrette.

Small ornamental boxes usually made in sterling silver, vinaigrettes were quite useful. Inside one contained a little sponge soaked in vinegar and aromatic salts or lavender water. We all know that lavender is an essential oil used to improve one’s mood and most effective in calming the nerves.

Over the sponge was a pierced grille holding it tightly into place. The grille had a variety of intricate patterns such as flowers or foliage and secured by a hinge. When the lid of the box was opened, the scent would escape through the perforations.

Some of the earliest known examples date from the fifteenth century. But the vinaigrette didn’t become popular until in the mid-eighteenth century, and all the rage by the nineteenth. Though some made from gold or porcelain, most were made from sterling silver with a gold gilt washed interior preventing the acids in the aromatics from discoloring the silver.

It was used by the ladies to ward off a fainting spell, or more often when any person with a bad smell approached. And let us not forget the horses relieving themselves in the streets. The user held it to her nose and would give a light *sniff*.

The vinaigrette evolved from a solely functional object to one which became a fashion statement. Women carried them in their pockets or in a small handbag. They and also attached them to chains around their necks, dangled them from bracelets, or hooked them to chatelaines worn on their waist.

At first, they were made in a just a few forms -- circular shapes, oval, polygonal, sometimes in the shape of a heart or a shell. But as time went on and the vinaigrette became a fashionable accessory, these designs were to impress. They were used regularly and on view in various social situations. More impressive designs were desired. It was at this time that vinaigrettes took whimsical forms such as a shoe, or a book, bells, beehives, helmets, little hand-bags, nuts, horns, flowers, barrels... Some even included engraved scenes of notable landmarks.

(above) Argentum Leopard Head in San Francisco was offering this English sterling silver vinaigrette with a gilt washed interior by Nathaniel Mills, date mark of 1847. Sold, as someone snatched this little beauty up.

An English vinaigrette by an unidentified maker and made in Birmingham (the majority of British ones were) with the date mark of 1837. Available at Nelson & Nelson Antiques in NYC.

For those book lovers, here is one in the form of a book by Taylor & Perry, 1810. Currently offered by an antique store in Chesterfield, Missouri called Britannia.

American vinaigrette in the form of a letter. From Cowan’s Auctions, Inc. circa 1891.

Pictured casually sitting in a Hans J. Wegner, Folding Chair, 1949 and an Aero Saarinen Tulip table with marble top and white base.

Architecture: Is There An Ethos?

High-profile architects are creating innovative design and sustainable strategies which are changing the ways US cities look and operate. Last month I went to a lecture given by Moshe Safdie at the downtown library. 350 people filled the main hall to hear him speak about The Kauffman Center – a performing arts center he is creating in Kansas City.

"Beauty connotes humanity. We call a natural object beautiful because we see that its form expresses fitness, the perfect fulfillment of function." Safdie said quoting the morphologist Theodore Andrea Cook who uttered these words in 1917. The term "beauty" does not mean pretty, but an expression of fitness. "Fitness for Purpose," was the slogan for many modern architects early in the 20th century. Beauty is a form generated by growth -- a nautilus shell, spider wed, a changing tree throughout the seasons. Design gets closer to fitness as we get closer to beauty, Safdie pointed out.

For the Kauffman Center, Safdie's aim was to associate the building with music. His concept is based on the violin. The lobby will have cabled structures that will be anchored to the auditorium and conjure feelings of a stringed instrument. The back of the structure will swing in slight rotation, Safdie said, and provide a sense of musical progression.

The following day, I attended a meeting at JE Dunn, the construction company, and got to see the models of the structures. What an incredible program he has planned for us. And it is in the midst of construction scheduled to open in the Spring of 2009.

Before attending, I did a little research on his other structures. Safdie has an incredible way of marrying his buildings with the landscape. Browse his site, you'll see. Below is the new addition to the Peabody Essex Museum.

“Let the building be its defined purpose.” Safdie stated in the lecture. He believes design should be rooted to a place. Architects should consider the relationship of the site to the form of the building. It is the job of the architect to question whether the building belongs to its site in a way that is unique to that place. His works relate to the surrounding environment, weather playing off the land or in some instances incorporated part of the land with the structure. He relates the scale of his creations to the surrounding structures.

But Mr Safdie also designed this structure. And I think it is an eye-sore.

What the hell happened here?

The West Edge, it is called. 203,000 square feet of office space, a 103-room boutique hotel, a restaurant, an Advertising Icon Museum, a 300-seat auditorium and retail shops. There will also be and underground parking for 920 cars. I have to look at this thing every day. I read somewhere that this monstrosity was developed in response to the surrounding neighborhood. On the left is an apartment building which is very much in harmony with all the other buildings on the Plaza.

Safdie’s exterior panels are sparkly. And it casts a shadow over one of my favorite watering holes. Presently, the initial construction company has walked off the job. The building has been left hollow with a security guard puttering about shooing away any vandals or people interested in making a temporary home for themselves. A second construction company has been hired to finish structure. I am not sure when they will finish. Is there an ethos to architecture? If "ethos" is defined as the fundamental character or spirit of a culture, then I am frightened by this physical manifestation. Am I missing something here?

Photos taken from Kauffman Performing Arts Center website, Architecture Weekly, The Kansas City Star, and my overpriced, not that great cell phone.

Celebrating the Cellarette

Pardon me as I cannot seem to get off this alcohol theme. Holidays are around the corner and I must subconsciously be thinking about spending time with the family -- which means lots of alcohol. (I'm part Irish, you know.)

A few centuries ago, there was no Two Buck Chuck. In this country and in Britain, wine was a luxury. Such issues as weather, disease, weak grapes and aphids could not be controlled. Even though Franciscan missionaries had established vineyards in California, it was not until the nineteenth century that wine was really produced in America. People prized their wine and stored the bottles tightly away in lavishly decorated containers called cellarettes. They had lids and could be locked. They were usually made in the form of a wooden chest, lined with wood or lead and fitted with individual compartments. (Not to be confused with a wine cooler, which is open and metal lined, and often the terms are interchangeable.)

How convenient these things might have been, especially if on rollers. Wouldn't it be nice today to have a cellarette wheeled out to you to choose a bottle of wine? Isn't anyone curious about what the labels look like when you order off a menu?

Cellarettes existed in the late seventeenth century, sometimes made from marble or a solid metal, but it wasn't until the end of following century and into the first quarter of the next that they reached their heyday. The most common form is a hexagonal or oval body made from mahogany and often banded together with two or three brass bands.

Above is a George III figured mahogany cellarette. The lid opens to reveal a lead-lined divided interior. This failed to sell at Sotheby's in October 2007. Perhaps I'm reading into it too much, but I love the radiating heart-shaped form in the veneer. It is as if the little cellarette is saying 'I love wine'.

This example is the most common form. This British version is hexagonal in shape and banded in brass with carrying handles. Made from mahogany which was a popular wood used during the Regency period. It sits on three molded legs. Sold at Brunk Auctions this month.

Most cellarettes were predominantly mahogany, but other woods such as satinwood, rosewood or padouk were used.

Circa 1830, this American mahogany one is D-shaped with brass stringing inlay on the top and body. The body conforms in shape and decoration to the lid. It is raised on turned legs terminating in casters, which can be wheeled about. Sold at Charlton Hall Galleries, Inc. in June 2000.

An English mahogany sarcophagus form cellarette. With a renewed verve for all things Roman, the sarcophagus shape was very trendy during the first quarter of the nineteenth century. The rectangular top has canted corners over a conforming case with lead lining and supported by carved paw feet. Northeast Auctions, Ronald Bourgeault Auctioneer in May 2008.

Cellarettes fell out of fashion with the importance of the sideboard during the Victorian times. Often a cellarette type drawer was included in many of the massive pieces.

However, they remained popular in the American South even as late as the end of the nineteenth century. Drinking a little vino or spirit was seen as a healthy way to escape the dripping summer heat.

Brunk Auctions characterized the above cellerette as "An important North Carolina cellarette". Made of walnut with hinged top, it opens to reveal a fitted interior. It has a drawer underneath to tuck away utensils. This cellarette has blind dovetailing at all four corners. Note the sweet pierced brackets. This one was attributed to "WH" cabinetmaker, from the Roanoke River Basin in North Carolina, and dated around 1790-1800.

In January of this year it had an estimated value between $15,000 to $30,000. It fetched over $97,000. My my, an important cellarette indeed.

The Cocktail Cabinet was...

… a fashionable novelty to have in one's house in between the world war years. It brought a soupçon of sophistication into life of the bourgeois. The cocktail cabinet was not like its ancestor, the cupboard, which was a place to tuck away one's fancy wares. It was in response to the cocktail drink which became increasingly popular in nightclubs during this time.

The origin of the "cocktail" is fragmented. Allegedly it emerged from a variety of folklores. One story claims it was named after the Mexican Princess "Cocktel" another says it was after the Aztec goddess "Xochitl". Regardless, special alcohol concoctions were said to have been swigged by both. Other tales include a custom of putting a feather, specifically a cock's tail, into a drink to warn the teetotalers not to take a sip. But that sounds rather messy and unappealing. Another claims it was named after the act of docking a horse's tail to signify the horse was not a thoroughbred. Somehow the idea of "mixed breed" of a horse was adapted to the mixing of alcohol with other ingredients. Honestly, I don't like associating sipping a toddy with a horse's derrière.

After Prohibition, the "bright young set" were fans of the cocktail cabinet. It meant emancipation and freedom to drink, smoke and drive cars fast. But to the older generation, it was offensive to values of class and taste. Middle class home manuals warned against the vulgar display of liquor in the home. It was too much like a public bar. No self-respecting home would present itself like a private bar welcoming unsavory types.

During the interwar years, the cocktail party was popular and quite a stylish shindy to throw instead of a dinner party. Buffet style – one could serve themselves with much more time to drink. The cocktail cabinet became a symbol of modernity.

The cabinet took on a variety of forms from a two-tier arrangement of a cabinet over cupboard to a simple cabinet resting on a stand. Doors would open to reveal a fully fitted array of cocktail shakers, stemmed glasses, cherry picks and lemon squeezers. Sometimes discretely built into a wall or rolled out on a trolley to wheel about.

Lately, the cocktail cabinet has been reintroduced, mainly in smaller versions or a tray placed on a sideboard or chest to hold bottles and decanters. Even if people don't stock it full of their favorite spirit, it nevertheless alludes to bygone day.

In 2007 Skinner sold this circa 1930 cocktail cabinet accompanied by a cocktail shaker and three chrome pitchers.

From High Style Deco in NYC, is this circa 1935 bookmatched burled elm cabinet with reverse painted mirrored design. The tambour doors below offers storage for additional bottles of liquor.

Although English, TFTM in Los Angeles has this cocktail cabinet also from the 1930's. Satinwood and walnut. The center doors lock for those unruly teenagers at home. The doors open to reveal a mirrored back and glass shelves. There is also a pullout mirrored shelf in the middle for convenient mixing of your favorite potion.

Shaken, Not Stirred

Have you ever wondered why some drinks require a cocktail shaker while others need only a simple turn of the spoon?

Why did James Bond prefer that his martini was shaken and not stirred? How would one know the difference?

Nick Charles said: “The important thing when making a cocktail is the rhythm. A Manhattan you shake to fox-trot time, a Bronx to two-step time, a dry martini you always shake to waltz time.”

Alcohol concoctions have been around forever. Even certain recipes have been recorded as far back as the sixteenth century. But the cocktail shaker, as we know it today, was finally perfected in the 1920s.

After World War I was over, the mood was marked by optimism and bliss. And what better way to celebrate this than to get pickled. During the roaring 20s martinis were served in sterling silver shakers to those of high society. The less high-brow had to do with glass or nickel-plated artifices.

The manufacturing of cocktail shakers exploded after the repeal of Prohibition in 1933. Manufacturers began turning them out in droves. They were featured on the silver screen. Shakers and martini glasses were almost a character themselves. Stars were glamorously sipping cocktails and the cocktail shaker was depicted as a symbol of sophistication.

As the following decades unfolded, the cocktail shaker retained its vogue. A popular wedding gift for newlyweds throughout the 40s, 50s and 60s. It was the ultimate kind of elegance and only the skilled knew just how long to shake it. The sound something similar to an orchestra playing maracas.

This year Sotheby's NYC sold this 1934 silver plated cocktail set made by International Silver Company. It was part of the "International Giftware" series and sold as a set comprised of five cups, a shaker shaker and tray. The hammer price was over $10,000. Second thoughts on serving Pavlova in a plastic bottle in that one.
Norman Bel Geddes designed this "Manhattan" bright chrome cocktail shaker which was produced from 1936-1940. Note the raised vertical ribs for ease of gripping. In 2003, Rago auctions sold this one well under its estimate.

For those into the nautilus theme, Brunk Auctions sold this a cocktail shaker in the form of a Boston lighthouse in 2004. Circa 1920 Meriden Silver Plate produced it.

There were rooster and penguin-shaped shakers, zeppelins and airplanes, and even golf bags. The penguin with its tuxedo suit symbolized the good life.

But sadly, as we know, all good things must come to an end . . .

The Picture Window. Was It So Picturesque?

Post-WWII techniques made it possible to provide inexpensive single-family unattached housing for ordinary citizens. Two-bedroom homes could be built fast, cheap and in large numbers. Suburban homes popped up like dandelions spreading ferociously across the ground.

The picture window looked over them. Residential architects felt that a change in style was needed for the change in attitude after the war. Wasn't everyone filled with optimism? Homes and interiors reflected a renewed, forward-looking spirit. They were airy, open spaces filled with well-edited clean-lined furnishings and the latest appliances.

Having a picture window was being an American patriot. It was pastoral. It made for a humble home. It welcomed the landscape from outside. It was cozy, lofty, and let the sunshine in. It promised shared viewpoints and values with every other American in the neighborhood. It showed the insides of the every-day activities -- quiet routines of an idealized happy family.


House after house, street after street, neighborhood after neighborhood, city after city -- the picture window symbolized a kind of democracy. Didn't everyone want a harmonious family, social mobility and individual fulfillment? Isn't that what suburbia is all about?

A democracy of the same. Same houses, same families, same lives, same thoughts and same beliefs. After all, wouldn't social and cultural homogeneity develop a well-tuned focus on the progress of the group over the individual?

Television shows helped as a guide. Families were perfect. Nobody ever raised their voice and all problems were resolved equitably. Women were delighted to cook and clean. They dressed in pearls and high heel shoes. Their hair was always perfectly teased and sprayed, their lipstick cleanly in place and their waist-line trim as they waited for their husbands to arrive home. Their job was to keep their families and their homes running efficiently and to be desired by their husbands. Their husbands were men and worked hard to keep the family happy by affording things. This was the message shown to a generation who were supposed to grow up and emulate their parents.

Conformity doesn't foster tolerance or assistance. It suppresses problems. How could problems erupt within a supposed quarantined, perfect and protected space?

Is that all there is, is that all there is

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing

Let's break out the booze and have a ball

If that's all there is

~ Peggy Lee

Dynamic Dinette

Nearly three-quarters of a century before “Hot Topics” on The View, women sat around a small table and talked. Not on television, but among themselves. They needed to. Secrets were exchanged or complaints made. Perhaps about an inattentive husband or an unruly child as they sipped coffee and nibbled finger sandwiches. Maybe even sipped a much needed cocktail or two. They sat around this smaller table where they had dutifully served their husbands and children breakfast earlier that morning expressing their thoughts and having someone to listen to them. This smaller table provided intimacy. It kept secrets confined within a limited space.

The table was compact and used for a variety of different reasons. Mainly as a dining room table and often bought with a matching set of chairs. The dinette, as it was called, became very popular during the 1930s. During the Depression, it was too expensive to go out for a night on the town. Families were adapting to the financial crisis by turning inwards and entertaining more in their homes. Dining rooms were becoming smaller. People didn’t sit down to formal meals anymore and most families only used their dining rooms for a brief period each day. Architects and designers began questioning the need for a such a room. But Americans weren’t ready to let go. They wanted to keep some element of formal appearance.

The dinette occupied less space than a traditional dining room suite. It was designed so it could be outfitted with other multi-functional pieces of furniture. New to the American décor, it became so popular that it was the best-selling piece of furniture of the time. It could be made with two drop leaves -- collapsible when not in use and placed to the side of the room. It could even be turned to the side and used as a type of side board. The dinette was used to share family meals, for children to diligently complete their homework, for wives and husbands to discuss looming issues. It was a work table or multi-functional table. A plethora of uses then as we have now. What hasn’t changed it the need for women to sit around a small table and talk.


Gilbert Rohde's five-piece dinette set for Troy Sunshade comprised of a circular table with black top, bright chrome trim and tubular base, with four chairs upholstered in black vinyl. (David Rago/John Sollo Auctions.)

Eero Saarinen / Knoll Tulip dinette table with walnut top and two matching armchairs upholstered in red fabric. (David Rago Auctions.)

Still popular several decades later, Paul Evans designed this dinette table in brushed and polished chrome with marble top.

A Philippe Starck dinette table with square frosted glass top in four fin-shaped metal legs.