The Sweeter Side of Life

Most food that is referred to in medieval literature is savoury, hence the focus on fish, meat and pies in my previous posts.  However, in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, when Gawain is introduced to the ladies at Sir Bertilak’s court, they take him to sit by the fire in their chamber where they call for wine and “Spyce3” (l. 979, defined in the Middle English Dictionary as spices, sugar, spiced cake or sweetmeat).  With no indication of what exactly Sir Gawain is being fed by the courtly ladies, I turned to the medieval cookery book The Forme of Cury – see http://pagetoplate.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/festivities-at-medieval-court.html - which contains a number of recipes for sweet dishes, including “Crispels” (fried pastry rounds basted in honey), “Rysshews of fruit” (fried fruit rissoles) and “Daryols” (custard tart flavoured with saffron).  Honey is, not surprisingly a key sweetener in many of these recipes, but in some cases reference is also made to sugar.  

 A Medieval French market, with a merchant selling sugar on the right.  

Sugar is known to have been used in Polynesia more than 5000 years ago; however, it arrived far more recently in England.  Crusaders returning home from their travels to the Middle East in the late 11^th century referred to sugar, and there is documentation showing that the household of Henry III was using sugar in 1264.  But it was probably not more widely known in England until the 14^th century and even then, since it cost the equivalent of £50 per pound in today’s currency, sugar was very much a luxury item that could only bought by the most affluent households.  In 1448 Margaret Paston wrote to her husband John asking him to buy her “1lb of almonds and 1lb of sugar”.[1]  The Pastons were a Norfolk family and letters they wrote, spanning three generations and covering the period of the Wars of the Roses, have survived to the present and offer a fascinating insight into the family members’ lives, and into the political and social changes of the time.  The Pastons are an example of social mobility, rising swiftly from the peasantry to the gentry as a result of education, and becoming wealthy in the process.  John Paston, like his father, was a lawyer who worked predominantly in London, whilst his wife, Margaret, remained in Norfolk.  Her request for sugar and almonds indicates both the family’s wealth and the more ready availability of desirable foodstuffs in London compared to the countryside. 

We have no idea what Margaret Paston was planning to cook with her almonds and sugar.  Almonds were a widely-used ingredient in medieval cookery, and almond milk, made by steeping almonds in water, was commonly used as an alternative to cows’ milk, both because it did not go off as quickly and also because it could be consumed during dairy-free periods, such as Lent.  Looking through The Forme of Cury – available online at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8102 - I found the following recipe which contains both sugar and almonds, so could be what Mrs Paston had in mind, and which would, I think, make a suitably accompaniment to a glass of wine for a member of King Arthur’s court. 

The medieval recipe is as follows: 

FRYTOUR BLAUNCHED

Take Almandes blaunched and grynde hem al to doust, do þise in a thynne foile (a thin sheet of dough or pastry). close it þerinnne fast. and fry it in Oile. clarifie hony with Wyne. & bake it þerwith.

My 21^st century version uses an almond cream – made with ground almonds, butter, eggs, sugar and flour – rather than just the ground almonds of the medieval version.  I have eaten them with coffee but also as a post-dinner light-dessert, a la Gawain. 

MEDIEVAL ALMOND PASTRIES:

Ingredients (makes 24):

For the pastry:

200g plain flour

50g butter & 50g Trex or other vegetable shortening (alternatively you could use 100g butter) - diced

Pinch salt & cold water to bind

For the almond cream filling:

55g soft butter

55g caster sugar

55g ground almonds

15g plain flour

1 egg

¼ teaspoon almond essence

Warmed honey to glaze. 

Sieved icing sugar.

Method:

Make the shortcrust pastry by rubbing the fat into the flour using your fingertips until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.  Stir in the pinch of salt and then add cold water gradually until the mixture starts to come together.  Bring the dough into a ball, wrap in cling film and place in the fridge to rest for between 30 minutes and an hour. 

Make the almond cream filling by creaming together the sugar and butter until soft and fluffy.  Then mix in the beaten egg.  Add the ground almonds, flour and almond essence and mix until combined. 

When the pastry has rested, remove from the fridge.  Allow to return to room temperature and then roll out on a floured surface to a thickness of about ¼”.  Cut out rounds using a 3” (7.5cm) scone cutter.  Put one teaspoon of the almond cream filling on one half of the pastry circle, brush the outside rim with water (using a pastry brush), then fold over the pastry and seal – so you are making little almond parcels (they look like mini Cornish pasties). 

Place the pastry parcels on a floured baking sheet and brush each one with warmed honey (just put a couple of tablespoonfuls of clear honey in a small saucepan and heat gently until it becomes very runny and starts to bubble around the edges). 

Bake in an oven preheated to 200C for 15-20 minutes until golden-brown.  When cool, sprinkle with icing sugar.

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[1] From The Paston Letters selected and edited by Norman Davis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), p. 14. 

Food for Stories

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 16^th 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 15^th 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 21^st 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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[1] Becket, who was enthroned Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162, was murdered in 1170 by supporters of the king (Henry II) who was in dispute with the primate. 

[2] The Middle English text is cited from A. C. Cawley’s edition of The Canterbury Tales (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1975). 

[3] http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/hand-raised_chicken_and_12433

Festivities at the Medieval Court

As I promised in my last post, this post is going to be dedicated to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a late 14^th century chivalric romance.  Written by an unknown author, the poem is thought to originate from the North East (the dialect of Middle English used suggests an author from Lancashire, Staffordshire or Cheshire).  It is written in alliterative verse, with words in the same poetic line repeatedly beginning with the same consonant sound, a type of poetry that seems to have originated in Germany in 4^th century BC.  Anglo-Saxon poetry, including Beowulf  - see http://pagetoplate.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/an-anglo-saxon-banquet-tucking-in-with.html - was also frequently alliterative.  

In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight King Arthur’s knight, Gawain, pits his strength against the supernatural Green Knight in a Christmas beheading game.  The poem opens at Arthur’s court where the Christmas festivities are interrupted by the arrival of a huge green armed man on horseback who issues a challenge: if a member of Arthur’s entourage will behead him, then he (the Green Knight) will return the ‘favour’ in a year and a day at his own court.  Gawain volunteers for this ‘game’ and cuts off the knight’s head; picking up his own head by the hair, the Green Knight challenges Gawain to seek him in a year’s time, and off he rides.  

The beheaded Green Knight from the only

 surviving manuscript of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (British Library MS Cotton Nero A X)

London, British Library, MS Cotton Nero A X, f. 129v). - See more at: http://britishlibrary.typepad.co.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/2014/02/gawain-revealed.html#sthash.wZZzyizg.dpuf

London, British Library, MS Cotton Nero A X, f. 129v). - See more at: http://britishlibrary.typepad.co.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/2014/02/gawain-revealed.html#sthash.wZZzyizg.dpuf

Before the Green Knight arrives and spoils the Christmas celebrations, the narrator describes the abundance of food at Arthur’s court: there are so many dishes that they can barely fit on the table.  Specific reference is made to “ful dere metes” [fresh meat] (l. 121) and “sere sewes” [various stews] (l. 123).  And then when Gawain arrives at the court of Sir Bertilak (who is Gawain’s host one year later, and who turns out to be the mysterious Green Knight who can miraculously survive a beheading), there is even more food.  The profusion of food in both courts is testimony to their wealth and reflects that it is Christmas, a time of festivity and feasting (compared to the fasting discussed in my last post – see http://pagetoplate.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/the-middle-ages-from-fasting-to-feasting.html).  In Sir Bertilak’s court – where the food is described in even greater detail than in Arthur’s  – the descriptions help to create a picture of the generosity of Gawain’s host, which prevents him realizing that Sir Bertilak is his prospective executioner. 

The greater interest shown in food in medieval literature - compared to Anglo-Saxon literature - may reflect the fact that many medieval texts have more of a homely, domestic focus rather than the epic, heroic world of Old English literature.  This may in turn reflect the changing social picture of England in the 14^th and 15^th centuries: growing urbanisation, increased social mobility and the emergence of a new social class – an educated ‘middle’ class who earned their wealth through new professions such as trade and banking.  Perhaps this new sector of the population – who were holding greater economic power – were interested in reading literature that reflected their own lives and situations, hence a change of focus in the literature.  

That is obviously not the case with Sir Gawain and the Green Knight though, set as it is in the world of chivalry and supernatural happenings.  The emphasis on food in this text may be due to other factors.  The late 14^th century saw the publication of The Forme of Cury, the earliest surviving cookery book in English.  The authors refer to themselves as “the Chief Master cooks of King Richard II” and the book contains recipes that range from everyday basics through to spectacular table-pieces for banquets.  Amongst the more exotic ingredients are expensive, foreign spices like caraway and cardamom, and animals that we would probably hesitate to eat (well, I would!) like porpoise, whale and heron.  Since Richard II was on the throne at the time of composition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it may be that the descriptions of the food at both King Arthur’s and Sir Bertilak’s courts owes something to the eating practices of the ruler of England at the time.  

Whilst there is no mention of porpoise or whale being eaten in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, there is plenty of hunting.  At Sir Bertilak’s court, once the Christmas festivities are over – and since Sir Gawain does not have his date with an axe until New Year’s Day – he is invited to stay on and rest by his jovial host who suggests a ‘deal’: at the end of every day the two men will exchange whatever they have gained in the course of the day.  For Sir Bertilak that means handing over the gains of his hunting (deer, boar and a fox), whilst for Sir Gawain that means offering up the kisses that Sir Bertilak’s wife has flirtatiously bestowed on him.  So far, so good.  Sir Gawain’s downfall comes when he is persuaded by his host’s wife to take a girdle with magic powers that will ensure his physical safety; thinking that will protect him from the Green Knight’s axe, he conceals his acquisition from Sir Bertilak and thus, at the beheading ceremony, is punished by a cut to his neck for his cowardice and deceit.  Gawain heads back to Arthur’s court in a state of extreme mortification, only to be affectionately greeted with joy and laughter on his return.  Whilst the poem ends with no reference to food, you can be sure that a good feast would have been laid on in his honour.  And so, in honour of Sir Gawain, and to mark the hunting exploits of Sir Bertilak and his men, I offer you the following recipe:   

 VENISON STEW

Ingredients (serves 4-6): 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1 knob butter 2 medium red onions finely chopped 2 carrots diced or sliced 2 cloves garlic chopped finely or crushed 3 rashers bacon diced 1 kg diced venison 2 tablespoons plain flour 150 ml red wine 150 ml beef stock (approx) 150g chopped mushrooms.  Salt and pepper

Method:

Melt the butter and olive oil in a heavy saucepan or casserole.  Fry the onions until translucent.  Then add the bacon, garlic and carrot.  Fry for a couple of minutes and then add the venison; lightly brown and then stir in the flour.  Add the red wine, bring to a gentle simmer and cook for 45 minutes – 1 hour.  Add the mushrooms, beef stock, pinch of salt and a grinding of black pepper.  Continue to cook on a gentle simmer until the sauce has evaporated somewhat and the venison is tender – another 30 minutes approximately.  You may need to add extra stock if it becomes too dry.  Before serving, check again for seasoning.