This, my friends, is a sugarloaf. In
Portuguese, we call it a pão de açucar. Until late in the nineteenth century you’d
find one in every household, but they virtually disappeared from family larders
when granulated and cube sugars were introduced.
There are records of sugarloaves existing
as far back as the twelfth century (in Jordan). They’ve been traced to Italy in
1470, to Belgium in 1508, to England in 1544, to the Netherlands in 1566 and to
Germany in 1573.
And guess what? You can still find them in Germany.
Where little ones are used to make a
traditional Christmas drink, feurzangenbowle.
The form of sugarloaves wasn’t decorative,
it was practical – and derived from the process itself.
Here’s how it worked: after the cane juice
was repeatedly boiled and filtered, it was poured into conical molds of
earthenware or iron. Each mold stood above its own collecting pot. Over the
next few days, most of the dark syrup drained through a small hole in the
bottom of the mold into the pot. Then, to further whiten the product, repeated doses
of loaf sugar dissolved in water (or sometimes white clay) were poured into the
broad end of the mold. This slowly drained through to a small hole in the
narrow end and thence into the collecting pot, taking any remaining molasses,
or other dark coloring matter along with it. The loaf was then tapped out of
the mold and, viola, a sugarloaf.
It was then wrapped, generally in blue
paper to enhance the whiteness.
The molds, and hence the loaves, varied
considerably in size. The smaller the loaf, the higher the quality of the
sugar.
Now look at this:
Note the similarity to the images above?
Okay, now you know why Sugarloaf Mountain
is called Sugarloaf Mountain.
She’s made of quartz and granite, stands on
a peninsula that protrudes into the Atlantic Ocean and soars 396 meters (1,299
feet) above the harbor.
A glass-walled cable car, with a capacity
of sixty-five passengers, runs between Urca Hill and the peak of the mountain
every twenty minutes.
It was originally built in 1912, re-built
in 1972 and again in 2008.
And riding it is an experience one never
forgets.
Rio anyone?
Leighton
- Monday
David took my picture in the cable car to prove to our daughter that, despite my vertigo, I was riding up there. Rio has the most beautiful aspect of any city. Oh, how I would love to see it again!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Leighton, until reading this I never realized why a mountain near my former home in Sunderland, Massachusetts was called Mount Sugarloaf!
ReplyDeleteOr where Saturday Night Live got its idea for the Conehead characters.
Fascinating, Leighton!
ReplyDeleteShame on you, Leighton--this blog purloins the plot of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind--including the final scene, which invites the characters to travel to another world.
ReplyDeleteWhat's with the female bloggers? They are consistently late or missing in action!
ReplyDeleteWell that's gonna be trippy if the glass breaks.
ReplyDelete