The fact
that the pilgrim characters in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales tell their stories in the hope of winning a free
meal suggests the heightened importance of food in medieval literature. Chaucer’s epic work - probably composed
between 1380s and his death in 1400 – is a collection of tales all held
together by a framing narrative of a group of 30 people going on pilgrimage
from London to the tomb of St Thomas Becket in Canterbury.[1]
At the suggestion of Harry Bailly, the
host of the Tabard Inn, the Southwark tavern from which the pilgrims set out on
their journey, to pass the time the pilgrims tell stories, knowing that whoever
“telleth in this caas / Tales of best sentence and moost solaas, / Shal have a
soper at oure aller cost / .../ Whan that we come again fro Caunterbury” (General Prologue ll. 797-801).[2] Had the promise of a free meal not been
there, would these varied and engaging stories ever have been told?
A 16th
century image of Chaucer’s pilgrims from a manuscript of John Lydgate’s Siege
of Thebes, a continuation of The Canterbury Tales
And the link
between food and storytelling continues with one of Chaucer’s storytelling
pilgrims being a cook. In the General Prologue, which acts as an
introduction to the anthology of stories, Chaucer introduces the pilgrims. They are a motley lot, representing a typical
range of professions and roles in medieval society, and include the Cook, a man
who can “rooste, and seethe, and broille, and frye / Maken mortreux, and wel
bake a pye” (ll. 383-84); he is a man skilled in a number of cooking processes,
namely roasting, boiling, grilling, frying, making stews or soups and baking
pies. The Cook’s culinary talents are,
however, somewhat overcast by the sore or abscess that he has on his shin: “on
his shyne a mormal hadde he” (l. 386). Chaucer’s
juxtaposition of this physical ailment with the comment that the Cook made the
best “blankmanger” (not the blancmange we think o f nowadays, but a dish –
white food –composed of minced fowl, cream, rice and almonds) creates a rather
unsettling and unsavoury image.
Chaucer’s Cook from
the Ellesmere manuscript of The Canterbury Tales (early 15th
century). The Cook holds a meat hook in
his left hand, and his weeping sore can be clearly seen on the lower part of
his left leg.
The
distasteful image of the Cook is developed in both the prologue to his story,
and the tale itself. According to Harry
Bailly, the Cook does not have a good reputation: he drains the gravy from his pasties - “For
many a pastee hastow laten blood” (l. 4346) – and sells repeatedly warmed-up
pies “That hath been twies hoot and twies coold” (l. 4348). Although only a fragment of The Cook’s Tale exists nowadays, what
there is – a young fast-living apprentice, Perkin the Reveller, who is
dismissed by his master for his riotous living and seeks accommodation with a
friend with similar tastes whose wife is a prostitute – suggests a story of
loose-morals with probably little comeuppance for the guilty parties.
But it is to
the Cook’s pies that I turn my attention, since I love both making and eating pies. The medieval cookbook, The Forme of Cury, - see http://pagetoplate.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/festivities-at-medieval-court.html
- includes recipes for meat pie (“tartes of flesh”) and fish pie (“tartes of
fysshe”), both of which instruct the cook to make a pastry case – ominously
referred to as a “coffin”, but apparently meaning a pre-baked pastry case. But no recipes for pastry appear to exist in The Forme of Cury; presumably it was
such a basic skill that it was taken for granted. Having read that hot water crust pastry is
the oldest form of pastry I used a 21st century take on it (à la
Paul Hollywood)[3]–
including butter as well as lard. And as
a filling I used the venison stew from my last post; probably far too decadent
a filling for the Cook to spend money on, but one that provides an appropriate
touch of luxury in the grey winter months of the English year.
VENISON PIE
Ingredients (serves 4 - 6):
1 quantity
of venison stew – see http://pagetoplate.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/festivities-at-medieval-court.html
For the hot water crust pastry
400g (14oz)
plain flour
80g (3oz)
strong white flour
100g (3 ½
oz) unsalted butter, cut into cubes
200ml (7 fl
oz) water
2 teaspoons
salt
120g (4 ½
oz) lard
Method:
Preheat the oven to 200C (G6).
Make the pastry by sifting the two flours into a large
bowl. Rub in the butter until the
mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
Bring the water and salt to boil in a saucepan, then add the
lard and stir until the lard has melted.
Pour the lard and water over the flour mixture and stir to
form a dough. Turn the dough onto a
floured surface and work into a smooth ball (work quickly as the dough needs to
remain warm). Cut off a third of the
dough for the lid, set aside, and roll out the rest of the dough to line the
base and sides of the tin or dish you are using (I use a cake tin with a
springform base). Don’t worry if the
pastry breaks, but just patch it up making sure there are no cracks or
holes.
When you have lined the tin, pack in the filling closely and
up to the top. Then roll out the
remaining pastry to make a lid, arrange it on top and pinch using your fingertips
to seal. Make a couple of holes or knife
cuts in the lid and paint with an egg wash (1 egg yolk, a tablespoon of water
and a pinch of salt).
Place in the oven and cook for 45 minutes – 1 hour until
golden brown on top.
Allow to cool in the tin and then release.
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