Sweet Little Lies: The Curious Sally Lunn

Sally Lunn aka Boston Bun, image courtesy of and © Full Little Tummies blog.

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A friend turned up to stay for a couple of days, toting a pile of goodies for me – including a stack of early 1970s Woman’s Weeklies. In between reminiscing over the ads – the conversation quickly turned to fondly remembered baked goods of yesteryear – in particular from the Lane’s bakery chain including the classic crescent rolls and of course the ubiquitous Sally Lunn. (Lane’s was founded in the 1900s and, based around the central and north area of Auckland – had stores in Takapuna, Milford, Devonport, Browns Bay, and Greenlane – going out of business around 1979, according to records). I wondered out loud if the Sally Lunn was as uniquely New Zealand as I assumed it was – and imagined that like most of these classic Kiwi things from the Boomer and X generation I investigate – there wasn’t going to be any documentation on the actual origins to be found. Before I knew it my curiosity was piqued.

 The earliest publishing in a paper of the recipe for Sally Lunn. Evening Post, November 1881. I don’t know what is particularly “Darjeeling” about this bizarre styling of the recipe or what “burra consomah” means ( or even what language it is, one could assume it is Bengali, but apparently not). Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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Was there an interesting story there, or any story at all? And was Sally Lunn actually ever a real person ? Most importantly, was it a Kiwi creation we could claim as our own? Well, sort of to the first question, likely no to the second, and it seems a yes to that last one. The traditional Sally Lunn actually has its origins in Europe (likely France), and the “official history” is surprisingly well documented in that it is repeated in slightly different variations all over the place. In fact the house with the original bakery where it was supposedly created, going back to 1482, still stands in Bath, as a museum and eatery.

Pink Boston Bun, courtesy of and © Leigh C Russell, Rushleigh The At Home Chronicle blog.

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However the Sally Lunn that we are familiar with today has absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to what is considered the rather humble, genuine and quite particular British one. The original Sally Lunn, aka the Bath Bun, is a large, plain, almost saucer size bun (it looks a lot like a Wimpy burger bun to me) and similar in texture to brioche – which makes sense since apparently Solange Luyon was a French Huguenot refugee whom, escaping protestant persecution in her home country, arrived to Stuart period Britain in 1680 and found work at the bakery in Lilliput Alley (now North Parade Passage) – starting as a street hawker for the business. Soon enough her creation became a popular delicacy eaten with sweet or savoury accompaniments and she was relegated to the bake-house full-time to do what she did best.

Boston Buns in a Canterbury PAK’nSAVE. Image courtesy and © testpatern on Flickr.

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Anyway, opinion from historian quarters seems to be that this story – and the one about her original recipes being found hidden in a secret cupboard during renovation – is a bunch of hooey and there’s no proof that Sollie or her stashed scribblings ever really existed. Stories coming out of the museum wildly differ . One is that the secret recipe is locked away with the original house deeds. Another is that they were conveniently lost by an owner when the need arose to produce them. Not to mention that the cast iron stove they claim she cooked on – would not have existed – and therefore have not been in use until around 1800 when they were invented. It is suspected that the whole thing may be no more than a fanciful story created by artist Marie Byng-Johnson to create a bit of publicity (and ergo, cash) when she bought and renovated the building in the late 1930s and relaunched it as a business. In other words, “totally bogus” as my friend with the Woman’s Weeklies would offer.

Sally Lunn’s House and Museum. Image courtesy and © rmballde on Flickr.

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Another part of the apparent saga is that French chef, Antoine Careme who was the Prince Regent’s chef for a short time in Britain , cosied up to Sally and stole off with her bun recipe, transformed into a teacake which he renamed and presented in his home country as the Solilemme. Now I really think this one is nonsense. I doubt the French would steal gastronomy from the English! However the Solilemme, or Soleil et Lune (Sun and Moon Cake), does sound a lot like “Sally Lunn” when called out – so you can imagine that, in a similar fashion to my story a while back on how Hokey Pokey got it’s name through verbal distortion, it became what it is today via bad pronunciation, laziness, and lack of attention to detail. When in doubt – dumb it down.

The Dalmer version of the Sally Lunn story – in which she’s never mentioned as being French. Auckland Star, July 1933.Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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Regardless, the variation of the story with the poor put-upon foreign émigré and her white cloth-covered basket trolling the alleys is the most popular and has now entered common vernacular as “the real deal” well and truly – there is no going back. Sally undoubtedly had perky buns, but for all the tale’s persuasive cutesy charm she may have been an unattractive, foul-mooded old harridan – and possibly even the very individual that locked the baker apprentices in a cupboard (according to a museum sign). And maybe not French at all.

The Dalmer version of the Sally Lunn story – in which he writes a song about her that becomes popular and makes a fortune off buns and music royalties. Wanganui Chronicle, January 1912. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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To prove a point – the histories of her and her tasty creation I found in early New Zealand newspapers even wildly differed by a century. However in my experience, there’s usually a scrap of truth nestled in the origins of a ludicrous-sounding story somewhere. Like most legends that get passed from one source to the next they change dramatically in the re-telling and are embroidered upon or adjusted for maximum palatability until they barely resemble the original (basically, the main theme of this whole article). All that aside, as Diana Vreeland was known to have said – “it is permissible to lie if it makes the story more interesting.” I can’t see a problem.

Old Lilliput Alley sign in Sally Lunn’s House and Museum.

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From my research this story was being perpetuated in print in New Zealand as far back as the 1870s that I can find – disproving the theory that Byng-Johnson came up with it, at least – on her own – but no doubt gave it an almighty shove. However it is not the only story around if one cares to look into it a bit more. The bottom line is that a reference to the Sally Lunn did not appear until a century after they say she started making them (Dickens then mentions them in a short story in 1812), and published recipes following from the 1830s. By the 1870s the treat had been immortalized in song in the comic opera “The Sorcerer” – “Now for the muffins and toast, now for the gay Sally Lunn… the rollicking, rollicking bun…” So how did it metamorphisise from a fairly plain roll into a frosted, baroque fruit bun, more reminiscent of Easter on steroids – and more to the point -why?

Sally Lunn recipe, Clutha Leader, May 1890. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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The very earliest actual recipe I could find published in a New Zealand paper named “Sally Lunn” was in 1881. I am sure there are no earlier ones, since the first Aotearoa-published cookbook was 1887. Telling is a recipe given of April 1882 which begins by stating – ” The original and only genuine Sally Lunn is made thus…” insinuating that the tradition had already been corrupted by then. Another in the Otago Witness of October makes mention of the use of baking powder in the “so-called “Sally Lunn ” having little in common the genuine article…”  Certainly through the 1870s the Borwick’s company were captalising on the new-fangled chemical cooking assistance – by recommending use of their product to make them. By the 1910s the traditional Lunn seems to have fallen by the wayside. A newspaper recipe of 1916 describes it as ” a very old world dainty, now scarcely ever seen on our tea tables”, denoting that the original version had truly gone out of fashion by then. By the 1930s and on they are considered a retro curiosity, an Australian article of 1947 now describing it as a “food oddity.” Like New Zealand, there was a history of recipes along similar lines of the traditional version in that country – as well as in the U.S. where Sally Lunn was published as a recipe from 1845 onwards – first adopted by the Quakers and eventually the bread with a slight modification, became a somewhat Southern tradition. A New Zealand recipe of 1882 mentions it as “(the) genuine (recipe), as made in Virginia kitchens”, insinuating it originated there. At least they got it right in that it was the correct, traditional recipe even if their geographical history was shonky.

Home-made Sally Lunn. Image courtesy and © Jocelyn at Mamas Style blog.

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In summary, in not one recipe between the 1840s and the 1940s – anywhere in the world – are dried fruit, coconut or even icing mentioned. And at no point has someone taken a look at the (now considered classic) New Zealand version, stuck their hand up and said – “hey, this thing is NOT a real Sally Lunn”, except for Virgil Evetts who wrote along similar lines in his entertaining article “Sally Lunn, Moon & Sun”  here, questioning just about all the same things that I am now. The New Zealand version is a doughy fruit-studded round or log with thick white or sometimes pink icing spread generously over the top – finished with lashings of desiccated coconut. Sometimes food colouring is even added to the dough to make it pink in hue. At the tuck shop they were usually shaped in long finger buns for individual serving convenience. Something similar – iced, coloured and flavoured was known as the London Bath Bun and had developed in England over a number of decades – except in New Zealand of my youth it was called a Chelsea Bun and was quite a separate thing from the Kiwi Sally Lunn – being a flat, sweet spiral with currants and pink icing glaze. It was flavoured with cinnamon , and there was no coconut. The description, noted by the late 1970s at latest, sounds in theory very similar to the Sally Lunn of Aotearoa we are familiar with from our youth – yet is not the same thing side by side at all – the classic British iced finger bun is more similar to the New Zealand Sally Lunn as we know it.

Original and genuine Sally Lunn recipe, Otago Witness, April 1882. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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I was really hoping that the Sally Lunn was something that Aotearoa had taken from England and run with – but there doesn’t seem to be much evidence of any relation. It’s more likely that it is simply what is called a Boston Bun – ” a large spiced bun with a thick layer of coconut icing, prevalent in Australia and New Zealand. Traditionally the bun contained sieved potato, and sometimes raisins. It is served sliced, to accompany tea. The origin of the name is unknown. In New Zealand they’re often called a Sally Lunn, especially in the North Island…”, according to ever-reliable source Wikipedia.

Sally Lunn song from the comic opera “The Sorcerer.” Auckland Star, January 1878. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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Many of the recipes include mashed potato, which was frequently used to bulk out baking during the years of war time rationing. I started to develop this tenuous theory around war time restrictions in effect having to do with the modifications to the Sally Lunn that stuck, and compensations that were elaborated on – but doesn’t really account for the addition of sugar (of which only half the usual amount could be used by commercial enterprises at the time), dried, fruit, coconut, and heaps of butter, or even vegetable fat – all which would have been considered hard-to-get and/or luxury items that were limited as late as 1950. That said I could not find a single reference to the Boston Bun before the end of WWII.

Pink Boston Bun, courtesy of and © Leigh C Russell, Rushleigh The At Home Chronicle blog.

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All the contemporary recipes for Boston Buns I found do actually accurately resemble the Sally Lunn we know today (sugar, raisins, currants, icing, coconut) more than the British article ever even vaguely did. The Boston Bun has no relation to Boston, Massachusetts, in the United States that I could find, (I checked with a U.S. born and bred chef friend who has a penchant for the trashy and pop and she had never heard of such a thing) nor does there seem to be any association with Boston, Lancashire, anything in the history to hint at it, or a recipe for a British “Boston Bun” . However I did find some references to Australian recipes and I will make an assumption that the Boston Bun actually IS unique to Australasia and was probably developed in the 1950s or 1960s. Who came up with it and why they named it as such – we will likely never know.

Food fashion of yesteryear: Maoriland Worker, June 1916. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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The curious Lunn; a beguiling bun. In summary it turns out it is essentially not much more than the Boston renamed – probably because it sounded cute to school kids and rhymed with its namesake. Intrinsically Kiwi? It seems so, as long as you can ignore the fact that someone with a complete failure of their imagination named it after something that already existed and which had no resemblance to it – which is just irritating and rather stupid, not to mention misleading. And not so much “old school” it seems, if you are prepared to look further back than a couple of generations. So you can lower your napkin to half mast on the great history of the old treat. Regardless, it still brings back fond tuck shop memories for many though.

Sally Lunn, courtesy of and © Virgil Evetts, foodlovers.co.nz.

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Update, mid June 2015: A major breakthrough in the post 1940s  Sally Lunn story reared its  coconut-sprinkled head in the form of  some recipes from  one of the many  tomes issued by Maude Basham over the years. The ‘Aunt Daisy’s Favourite Cookery Book’ which was first printed 1952 by Whitcombe & Tombs (and re-issued for a number of years following) contained two recipes. One was ‘Sally Lunns with Baking Powder’ and the other was ‘Sally Lunns – Real.’  I haven’t seen the actual recipes so I have no idea what the difference was between them. Also, there was no recipe provided for  ‘Sally Lunns – Unreal’, which  is, ironically, a truthful statement, and may also have provided more clues. 

But more significantly, this advert dated  December 1952 from the Pahiatua Regent Theatre Film Schedule , which was printed regularly and distributed to every home in the district, funded by the local business advertisements within, shows that  the local home cookery had probably been making them for some time. We can assume this was before  Aunt Daisy got around to it in an official capacity by putting the recipe in print. 

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Packed With Good Memories

Front of a box for preserved ginger, probably dates from the late 1950s-early 1960s. The design never really changed over the decades. 
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Goldpack is a brand I remember well from the kitchen of my Gen X childhood. They were a regular in our house, for my mum often used the products for baking cakes, biscuits and sweets – back in the day when mothers actually had time to do that… as well as everything else, unlike now.
I loved the packets, with the lush bright cherries and the old-fashioned, exotic design of the ginger box that never seemed to update its slogan on the side – “a delicious sweetmeat, and after dinner aid to digestion”. Of course people had long stopped treating the product as an unusual, interesting dessert on its own, except maybe on Christmas time platters.
Like most kids I was constantly cutting bits of the boxes out to use for scrapbooks, collages and stuff when they were finished with… or sometimes even before. Cue parents yelling “WHO has been at this AGAIN?”

Front of a box for dried apple slices, probably dates from the mid-late 1950s. The artwork matches a label for Crest canned pie fruit which was in production about 1959.
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These images were lent to me for use by an Auckland historian who had previously worked in the industry for quite a a number of years (first at Butland, then at Heinz Watties), saw the blog and contacted me to ask if I’d be interested in some of the things that he had. It’s one of those moments that you live for when you do this sort of work. So of course I immediately said YES, as I had been wanting to get my hands on these for ages. I sort of remembered most of these in the back of my mind somewhere but it was a bit blurry at this point in time – and I had been longing to see them and take a trip down memory lane. Just as when I posted on Jay Tee patty pans back in March 2011:

https://longwhitekid.wordpress.com/2011/03/12/in-my-cups/

the minute I clapped my peepers on them it was an immediate sensory journey back in time. That’s true nostalgia.

Goldpack cake fruit, 1945
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I found an ad placed in the Auckland Star of 1929 where Goldpack Products of Rutland Street, Auckland central are advertising for “two girls, about 18”, and also a “respectable youth wanted”.  proving that they were already established and had at least one product by then. Goldpack tinned pears were on the market in 1930 until at least 1933 in 1 lb and bulk 22 lb tins,  by 1932 clover honey was for sale in bulk, and also in 1 lb wax pots – and ginger also in the stores in two different size packets; and it’s only by that year that archive dates indicate that it was formally registered as a business. Goldpack as a trademark came much later in 1935, when according to company literature, preserved lemon peel and cherries were rolling off the factory line for the first time in addition to the other products .

In 1938 the first mixed fruit product sold by individual box came out. Jack Butland was one of only two agents in New Zealand at the time who exclusively imported Australian dried fruit (the only other contenders I can think of are Sanitarium, Tasti Products which was established in 1932 and still going today, or the popular Celopak range from Wilson Foods Ltd). The sultanas, raisins and currants (and probably everything else in the range) were supplied to businesses in bulk, which, before the days of widespread self service meant your goods were divvied out by the grocer at your order – the usual procedure of that time.

Through the 1930s, ads were placed to dispense of “oak barrels, ex factory, 25 gallons, suitable (for) brewing, any quantity”. These were clearly what the preserved ginger was imported in either in syrup and then crystallised in the factory, or arriving as is and sorted into packets. This one was placed in 1938.
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Clearly tinned fruit and honey dropped by the wayside early on in the game. In 1945 the business was still registered at Rutland street, advertised as “a new, light and airy factory” – but at some point it moved to the corner of Newton Road and St Benedicts Street, in Eden Terrace (perhaps while the new Rutland Street factory was constructed).

Front of a box for crystallised cherries, probably dates from the late 1950s-early 1960s.  
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I don’t think much in the way of new products was added to this roster until the 1950s when presumably dried apple slices were tacked on ; I have posted the box front here. The only other example I have ever seen is in the General Store collection of the Ferrymead Heritage Park in Christchurch.

Clover honey, advertised in the Evening Post,April 1932

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By the 1960s Goldpack was producing preserved ginger, maraschino-style cherries by the jar to cater to the era of the still-existent cocktail hour, cake fruit mixture and crystallised cherries. I have a record of mixed peel being added in the 1970s although no doubt it was introduced much earlier since it was considered a cooking staple.

This curry probably replaced the Crest brand, possibly late 1960s

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A stock list of the whole range in late 1988 shows glacé cherries, maraschino cherries, mixed peel, crystallised ginger, diced ginger, whole and broken cherries, cocktail cherries, and a product named Red Cherrylike, which I am advised was made from coloured Mangolds, something I’d never heard of so I went exploring and, well – I learned something new, which is, while akin to huge white turnips – there’s nothing uninteresting about them.

Ginger box, in 1987

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The Mangerlwurzel, also known as the Fodder Beet (and as the Mango in nineteenth century America) began to be cultivated in the 1600s to feed cattle in the winter. Tough and sweet, but not fibrous, they are ideal to cut into shapes which dyed and flavoured – serve well as a cherry substitute. Mangelwurzel Hurling competitions are an old British tradition ( which continues today in the village of Sherston). They are also traditionally used to brew an alcoholic beverage. Knowing what I do of the British I would say the former was invented after over-imbibing of that latter.

A very rough illustration of the  crystallised ginger box, nevertheless it clearly shows the earliest incarnation of this product, from a Farmer’s ad of November 1929.

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Front of cake fruit box, possibly early 1960s

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Mangolds (also sold as their own product, Red Cherrylike, in bulk) were used as a substitute in the cheaper brand of cake fruit on the market also by Butland called Sunny Valley which was packaged in a poly bag; and marketed under a subsidiary name to give the impression that Butland didn’t have a complete stranglehold on the premium market. Whereas Goldpack, considered the choice brand, always had real (broken) glacé cherries in the mixture and was presented in a cardboard carton.

Most of the Goldpack range from a salesman’s portfolio, late 1980s.

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The agency duopoly on Australian dried fruits imported into New Zealand finished up in the late 1960’s when three others were introduced. These, now five, agents split up the country’s market into wholesalers for which each could exclusively supply at the same fixed price. Peter Michel says: ”I was a salesman for Butland selling the dried fruit in the mid 1970s to the wholesalers and merchants around the North Island. I think that none of my customers from then exist now. It was a very cosy arrangement that would be impossible to replicate today”.

Cocktail cherries by the jar, late 1980s – although – this label looks like it had not been updated for quite some time.

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I remember Goldpack Indian curry powder, pictured here from the late 1970s or early 1980s. I don’t know if there were other spices and herbs in the range at that time besides this. This product would likely have been a way for Butland to keep their former Crest curry powder in the marketplace after they had disposed of most their other significant interests to rival companies (canned goods like Crest Fine Foods, Blue Bonnet and Craig’s; and dairy products including Chesdale, Dixibell, and Dairylea to name some of the huge ones, although there were many more small brands with one or two products in the lines such as teas, condiments, personal products, etc).

“Gold Pack” (sic) Bartlett Pears  for sale at Woolworths in a 1 lb size, Evening Post, June 1933.

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This mixed peel box was in use from the late 1970s-late 1980s.

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The Butland story is quite a big one as a major, innovative New Zealand foodstuffs company in the second half of the twentieth century, which I briefly touched on when I wrote a fairly “low fat” post on Chesdale cheese back in December 2011 here:

https://longwhitekid.wordpress.com/2011/12/06/an-elaborate-process/

and as such I will save it for another chapter later on, because I reckon there’s at least two decent sized articles on that topic.

This mixed glace cherries box was in use from the late 1970s-late 1980s.

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By the 1980s Goldpack had moved to a division of Butland’s factory premises in Penrose. Kraft bought the business, including Goldpack, outright from Butland in 1989; they had owned 49% of the company for the eight years previous. When the factory moved from 644 Great South Rd in Penrose to 16 Dalgety Drive in Wiri, Manukau around 1991-1992, the brand was discontinued for good.

Label from maraschino cherries jar,  dates from the mid 1950s.

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“Goldpack Supreme Pudding” and “Goldpack Christmas Cake” are recipes still used today that are based on the brand’s mixed fruit in particular; although of course the ingredient is now substituted. I wouldn’t call them Kiwi classics (yet) but it’s an instance of how a much-loved brand enters the common vernacular and lodges long after the product is but a pleasant memory of hours spent in warm kitchens making sweet treats for special events – or just for pleasure.

This ginger box features a competition in the late 1970s-early 1980s.

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In My Cups

I bought a Jaytee Patty Pans box a while ago and it just arrived yesterday. So many great kitchen memories. I think kids obsess on baking cups because it means one of several things; and they’re all good (debatable), sugary things! well that is just an assumption to explain my fixation, anyway.

My latest purchase is pre-decimal (designed with a to-retail pice of 10 pence printed on the box). Produced before 1967, I estimate late 1950s to early 1960s.

I dug through my archives and to my surprise, and maybe horror, I actually have three other slightly different versions of the box. Yes, I’ll be appearing soon on that TV show “Hoarders”. In twenty years you will remember this post when a news report comes on about an ironically malnourished body being found under tons of antique (well, they will be by then) ice cream tins, candy boxes and snack wrappers. “VICTIM SPENT FOOD ALLOWANCE ON EBAY AND STARVED UNDER COLLECTION”
I can date this one between 1964- 1967 because it came from the family kitchen and it’s pre-decimal (marked with a price of 13 pence). Mum wouldn’t have any reason to  buy baking cups before she moved into the matrimonial home.

I thought the box was empty when I bought it, especially as I had asked for it to be flattened for postage… but it actually had the red wax paper and all the patty pans still inside, unused. The fact is that smell is the strongest sense linked to memory, and every time I open it and take a sniff, whoa! – it smells EXACTLY like Mum in the kitchen making Chocolate Crackles. It transports me right back there like I am standing in the kitchen of the family home. That’s the power of nostalgia, folks!

But it does make one wonder. How much of the smell that I remember was actual Chocolate Crackles? And how much was the actual patty pans? Seems like it was the latter in all honesty. It’s sort of like finding out late in life you were adopted. It’s a unique combo scent of paper, wax and vanilla that does not smell like anything else, I wonder if they scented them specifically?

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On the left post 1979, as McMeeking have taken ownership. I estimate early 1980s. On the right, I estimate early-mid 1970s as the founder is still specified. Both boxes nicked from the family kitchen in the late eighties.

Jaytee Baking Cups have been a household name since the 1930’s, when the company was founded by a printing engineer, James Thomas Williamson. Hence the name Jaytee. Since acquiring the company in 1979 McMeeking Manufacturing has been the largest supplier of Baking Cups in New Zealand with exports to Australia and the Pacific Islands. McMeeking still own it today, running the operation from Dunedin, Otago.

Because I have this information it’s easy for me to get a ballpark date on these boxes combined with the probability of purchases influenced by my parents setting up house and us children being born (the likelihood of  making cupcakes before you have squalling toddlers is pretty unlikely, after all – bake sales aside, who does stuff they don’t have to when they know they have twenty non-stop years of it in the near future?). The last image above are some modern designs from the company, produced within the last few years. You can still see remnants of the original box design as it’s morphed over the years.

OK, now let loose run to the nearest bakery and consume something in a patty pan. You know you can’t stop thinking about it now…

Addendum  mid Jan 2014: A Dunedin collector and reader of this blog kindly sent these images to me as a contribution the article. These arrived some months ago and I haven’t had time for quite a while to do all the updates I need to get around to. I’d say these two boxes date from the 2000s, and are still made by McMeeking in Dunedin. There can’t be too many things that are still made domestically these days. It just occurred to me that I’ve never seen any advertising at all for Jaytee. That’s quite unusual for a steadfast kitchen product that has been around for some decades. Both following images are courtesy of Owain Morris collection.

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All content of Longwhitekid copyright Darian Zam © 2013. All rights reserved.