The Making of the Marshmallow
Yes, the marshmallow really is from the marshmallow plant. That’s what I say every time some asks me about marshmallows, which is a lot. It may be the name or the sticky texture that equates the marshmallow with something other than a plant. Even stranger (to them) is the marshmallow’s credible background. The marshmallow plant, or Althaea officinalis, is a relative of the hollyhock, with pastel-colored, papery flowers. The plant, especially its roots, have a sticky substance that once gave the marshmallow its taste and texture. Today, the root is widely available as a tea: the mucilage is like a syrup in hot water but thickens into a strangely sweet gel when cool.
The plant originated in Europe and West Asia where the ancients used it to treat coughs and sore throats. The marshmallow was also a sweet where the Ancient Egyptians boiled with sugar or mixed with honey around 2000 BCE. The result must have been very thick, very sweet, and very hard to make given the stickiness of the plant.
When the marshmallow appeared in the US is unclear, but the marshmallow candy originated in France around 1850 where confectioners blended the mallow root with egg whites, sugar, and water. Within thirty years, marshmallow candy was advertised as a penny candy. The recipes remained unchanged over time except for one omission: the marshmallow root. In its place was an ingredient that took the food world by storm. That would be the instant gelatin.
To understand the instant gelatin, you have to understand the process of making the non-instant gelatin which was typically made by women at home. They’d spend long days boiling hooves in a hot kitchen, a process that was demanding and tedious. Instant gelatin put an end to all that, although the early efforts were hardly triumphant. In 1845, industrialist, philanthropist, and inventor of the steam locomotive, Peter Cooper, made what he called Portable Gelatin. He didn’t do much with the product beyond patenting it, probably because he was actually trying to make
glue. Others soon followed: the Scottish import, Cox Gelatin, Boston’s Plymouth Rock Gelatin Company, and Charles Knox’s instant gelatin, the most successful of the batch.
For candy-makers, gelatin enabled them to do something they probably yearned for: kick the marshmallow plant out of the marshmallow. It was too sticky, too unmanageable, and too expensive to use. They replaced it with gelatin and, in words Peter Cooper probably would have been proud of, it was full steam ahead. The marshmallow was fun, tasty and eclectic, effortlessly crossing the lines between candy and other foods. Newspapers had ads for such unlikely possibilities as Pineapple Parfait with Marshmallows, Almond Marshmallow Fudge, and Marshmallow Delight with more ingredients than you’d want to know.
The marshmallow also appeared in the candy bar, the S’more and a turn-of-the-century phenomenon, the marshmallow roast. One article in 1892 described them as the “Latest Diversion to Amuse the Summer Girl…” and provided detailed advice on how to brown the marshmallow without burning it. “When done they are morsels for the gods,” the author wrote, “resembling in flavor the most excellent meringue, with a delicious nutty and crusty outside. They are a sort of sublimated combination of candy and cake, all in one bite.”
If you are not convinced, the author adds: “Marshmallow roasts are an excellent medium for flirtation, mutual regard between a young lady and a young gentleman being appropriately exhibited by nibbling the marshmallow off of each other’s sticks.” Personally, I never considered the marshmallow that way, but it does give you something to think about.
