Eau De Nil
Egyptian Mint Tea Ice Cream with Verjus Swirl
The first article I read for my masters program was about Lucy Worsley and her work as a public/popular historian. My mom had shared the New Yorker piece years earlier because she knew I’d be interested in Lucy’s recreation of historic meals. It was the first time I realized that food and history could come together in a career. But what stuck out to me this read around, besides a great admiration for Lucy, was this quote about her: “She likes hot water with lemon, cardigans, and the color eau de Nile.” Infatuated, I immediately looked up this color I had never heard of. My google images search revealed tiles of various shades that happened to resemble my mop of curly hair. A few weeks prior my hair stylist had made my dreams of light green hair a reality, but I couldn’t quite nail the color down. Was it mint? Pistachio? Melon?
Enter the flexible green color, eau de nil. Its history is a layered and mysterious as the color itself. French, for water of the nile, eau de nil was part of 19th century French Egyptomania. It’s no secret that France, along with the rest of Europe, has always turned to what they call the more “exotic,” “orient,” or “primitive” for cultural inspiration, placing their own ideas on those they’ve stolen in the process. Egyptomania encouraged myths about ancient Egypt and played on prejudices.
Many French writers described the sounds, scents, and colors they experienced while visiting Egypt, but none used the term “eau de nil” to describe the green-blue-beige tones of the river. But it was a color widely spoken about in 19th century France nontheless. Kathy Kelleher for “The Paris Review” writes, “Eau de nil is a tricky color to pin down precisely. It is a light-greenish hue, more saturated than celadon, less gray than sage. It has tan undertones and a cool bluish cast.” Different from Nile green, it doesn’t sit still. A quick search for paint colors with its name, concedes much variety, but they are all hues on the softer side. Some even treat eau de nil as a neutral shade. By the end of the 19th century, jewel-tones were out and lighter, paler ones were in.
Although eau de nil lost its prominence as a color in the 20th century, the obsession with Egypt continued and extended to America. My grandparents were tourists along the Nile and the trinkets they brought home, like the bright turquoise scarab figurine I now have tattooed on my left forearm, inspired an interest in me. Long before I considered being a historian, I was a sixth grader who wanted to be an Egyptologist.
The ever changing nature of eau de nil ensures that it is almost always in style. What was reportedly Alldred Hitchock’s preferred green, is being transformed for the modern era. Jadeite, or milky green glass, is entering kitchens, and modern mint suits are being worn by women. Like Lucy Worsley bringing the past into the present, eau di nil is doing the same.
