Day 9: A Tart for Ember Day, a Luscious Cheese, Onion & Parsley Pie

Fasting days and Emberings be

Lent, Whitsun, Holyrood, and Lucie

old English rhyme

 

If I had to pick a favorite out of all the 12 Days of Feasting goodies I've made so far, this just might be the one.  After all, what's not to love about a fully-loaded quiche-style deep-dish pie?  Sure, there are some ingredients - currants, clove, and nutmeg, for example  -  that I probably wouldn't have thought to put in a savory dish before I started with all this medieval madness. But combined with the cheese, the onions, the parsley, and that buttery crust, it all works together beautifully.

First things first, however: I know you are all just dying to know why this is called an Ember Day Tart. According to Western Christian churches, Ember Days are sets of three days of fasting and prayer - a Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday -  that fall in the same week, and occur four times a year.  On these days, meat is forbidden, but eggs, dairy, and fish are allowed.  Frankly, I'm not sure I understand where the element of sacrifice comes in. I mean, if this rich and satisfying dish is meant for a fasting day, then I'm thinking I could probably fast every day, no problem.

Don't worry - you don't need to come out of a Christian tradition to participate in this delicious day of fasting.  Ember Days are likely much older than Christianity. The word itself, in fact, (and this part I got from Wikipedia, lest you become too impressed with my linguistic prowess!) probably comes from the Anglo-Saxon word ymbren, meaning cycle or revolution, almost certainly referring to the annual cycles of the year. The moral of this story? Whatever one's religion or philosophy,  I think we can all come together, get along, and enjoy a nice cheesy pie.

As for why this thing is called a tart and not a pie - I have no idea.  As with so many medieval recipes, the originals do not list ingredient amounts, and all of the translations I consulted cited amounts that would have literally spilled out of a tart shell. Plus, most modern versions call for a pie crust.

Actually, when it comes to dishes like this, medieval recipes often instruct the cook to lay the pie or tart filling in a "trap" or "coffin" in reference to the crust. Scholars speculate that this may be because the manner in which pies were baked could have rendered the crust inedible, and perhaps the rich ate the filling while the poor ate the crust. As for me? I'll eat it all, thanks.

The original recipe for my Ember Day Tart-Pie comes from two sources: the fourteenth-century manuscript Forme of Cury, and a slightly later manuscript, the Arundel MS 344.  I adapted my version from the translations and interpretations at Celt Net and Medieval Cookery.

A Tart for Ember Day

3 medium onions, chopped

2 small bunches of parsley, chopped

8 oz. extra sharp cheddar, grated

6-8 eggs, beaten

1 tbsp melted butter

8-10 saffron threads, ground

a few pinches of salt

2 small handfuls of currants

a few pinches of sugar

1/8 tsp ground clove

1/8 tsp grated nutmeg

5-7 sage leaves, chopped fine

1-2 tsp fresh thyme

pie crust*

* I used the pie crust recipe from the Mini Fig Pies of Day 1

The original recipe calls for you to "Take & perboile oynouns & herbis & presse out pe water & hewe hem smale." In other words, boil the onions and herbs, press out the water, and then chop. It wasn't very medieval of me, but I decided not to do this in order to preserve more of the punchy herb flavor and the crunch of the onions, because that's how I like it.  If you want to be a purist, by all means go ahead and boil away! The rest is pure simplicity: Just mix all the ingredients together, put the whole lot into your pie crust (in a greased pie pan of course) and pop it in a 350 degree oven until it sets, about 45 - 60 minutes.  I let it sit for about 10 - 15 minutes before I cut into it.

And guess what? This year the winter Ember Days fall on December 18 & 19, so if you're reading this post on Friday, you still have time to make your pie and start denying yourself and fasting with all that cheesy goodness. I had no idea that the timing would work out so perfectly when I was choosing medieval recipes for this series.

I hope you enjoy your Ember Day Tart - I can't believe there are only 3 days left in the 12 Days of Feasting! Vegetarians, you are going to hate me tomorrow, and I apologize in advance. I hope you'll let me make it up to you on Day 11 with a decadent sweet treat. Everyone else, I'll see you on Day 10!

Day 8: Fenkel in Soppes, or Fennel in Saffron and Ginger Sauce

Let us not forget to honor fennel. It grows on a strong stem and spreads its branches wide. Its taste is sweet enough; sweet too its smell.

from Hortulus, by ninth-century Benedictine abbot Walahfrid Strabo, trans. from the Latin by Raef Payne

I was initially attracted to making fenkel in soppes, or fennel in sauce, because I really can't think of anything else I've ever made where fennel was the center of attention. Sure, I've used fennel, most recently in my medieval salat, but I've never actually featured it as the main event.

But fennel was a big deal in the Middle Ages. Twelfth century mystic Hildegard of Bingen ascribed  medicinal properties to it, and believed it could treat coughs, colds, heart problems, and even body odor. My favorite supposed use for fennel was as an appetite suppressant and metabolism booster. I don't know about you, but after the holidays I think I'm going to eat fennel every day!

This is another recipe from our old fourteenth-century friend, Forme of Cury. The original calls for powder douce, a mix of cinnamon, sugar, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg or mace that I used in the Peas Porridge from Day 3. I found several translations that omit it, and so I decided to  try my fenkel in soppes without powder douce as well. I don't think it suffered for the absence, but next time I make this I'll probably use some, just to see if there's a big difference.

I'm not sure what I expected this dish to taste like - truth be told, in looking over the ingredients, I thought it might taste a little ... weird. And it definitely had a very unfamiliar flavor - this isn't exactly  a dish that most modern cooks would throw together. That said, the sweet fennel combined with the onions, saffron, and wine really grew on me, and I especially loved eating my thick slice of bread as it grew soft from absorbing all the savory sauce.

I adapted a translation of the recipe I found on a database of medieval and Anglo Saxon recipes hosted by Carnegie Mellon.

Fenkel in Soppes

2 bulbs of fennel with the tops trimmed off & cut into matchsticks

4-5 onions, thickly sliced

1 heaping tsp ground ginger

10 threads of saffron, crumbled

few pinches of salt, to taste

2-3 tbsp olive oil

2/3 cup each of dry white wine and water

thick slices of whole grain bread, for serving

Place the onions and fennel in a wide, deep skillet. Sprinkle the spices on top, and then add the oil and the liquid. Bring to a boil and reduce heat and simmer gently, covered, stirring occasionally, until tender but not mushy. Then, "take brede ytosted and laye the sewe onoward." Sorry! I mean, take toasted whole grain bread and serve your fennel and onions on top, along with a generous portion of sauce.

Aside from the new and surprising taste, I also love this dish because once you've chopped everything, it's a no-brainer as far as the cooking is concerned, and when things get hectic I really appreciate making a simple meal like this.

Enjoy your fenkel, and I'll see you tomorrow for Day 9!

Day 7: Medieval Gynger Brede

An I had but one penny in the world, thous shouldst have it to buy ginger-bread

Shakespeare, Love's Labours Lost

You saw that this post was about gingerbread, and so you probably figured you'd see photos of cute little gingerbread men, or fancy houses with icing trim, or at the very least some nice, fluffy cake.  Well, this is medieval gingerbread, my friends, and it doesn't play like that. 

In fact, if it weren't for the copious amount of bread crumbs that you use to make it, I would probably call this "Spicy Ginger Honey Candy," or something along those lines. Don't get me wrong: I love this stuff, but it's a bit disconcerting. It tastes quite like gingerbread - only much spicier, which I prefer - but the texture is unlike any gingerbread you've ever eaten. (Unless, of course,  you've been attending medieval feasts, as I suspect some of you have!) It's chewy, but solid - harder than, say, taffy, but much softer than peanut brittle.

It's so simple to prepare - after all, what could be easier than to "take gryted brede & and make it so chargeaunt?" -  and it's perfect for party favors or hostess gifts.  As an added plus, it's pretty rich,  so I think there's little danger of finishing off an entire batch on your own. (I've ... heard of such things happening, you understand.)

This recipe closely follows one from  a fifteenth-century manuscript, the Harleian MS 279. For proportions and amounts, I referred to Gode Cookery. The only trouble is, the author didn't include ginger! Scholars disagree over whether or not this was a mistake, and so some translations include it, others don't. While I certainly can't surmise what the author's original intent actually was,  I decided that I do want ginger in my gingerbread.

Additionally, the original recipe suggests, " And if thoue wolt haue it red, coloure it with Saunders y-now." In other words, if you'd like it red, color it with a few drops of food coloring (but not sandalwood, as is specified by the author!).

Medieval Gynger Brede

•  1 cup honey
  
• 2 cups of stale, ground-up bread crumbs, with extra standing by. These must be absolutely stale and dry.
  
• 1/2 tbsp powdered ginger
• 1/2 tbsp cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp white pepper, plus a pinch or 2 for extra zing
• a pinch of saffron, optional
• a few drops of red food coloring, optional
  

Bring the honey to a boil, skimming off any scum if necessary. Reduce the heat to low, and stir in the spices and saffron. Taste test it here to see if you'd like it spicier. (If it's too spicy, just add some more honey until you get it right.)  If you're using it, add the food coloring. Next, start slowly stirring in the bread crumbs. You want to achieve a thick consistency, like a big sticky blob. Transfer your sticky mass to a greased cookie sheet or casserole dish and spread it out evenly, about 1/4 - 1/2 inch thick:

 

At this point I thought it was going to be a disaster, because it seemed a bit lumpy and I couldn't imagine how this was ever going to turn into something edible. No fear! When it's cool enough to handle - but not cooled off entirely - you can begin to cut off pieces, about 1-inch square, and form them into little balls. I rolled mine in sprinkles and red sugar:

The traditional way to serve gingerbread was to cut it into squares, with a clove stuck in the middle. (Don't eat the clove!) To do this, once the sticky mass was cool, I turned the casserole upside down  and waited ... and waited ... and impatiently waited for it to come out. It took about 10 minutes.

 

Feel free to use your imagination here - play with shapes and textures, use a fun mold or stamp. There are so many possibilities! This is also a great cooking activity to do with kids - after all, it's a little sticky and little messy. They'll love it.

Enjoy your gynger brede, and I'll see you tomorrow for Day 8 -  I can't believe the 12 Days of Medieval Feasting are more than halfway over!

Day 6: Salat, a Crisp & Crunchy Medieval Salad of Herbs & Greens

Take persel, sawge, grene garlec, chibolles, letyes, leek, spinoches, borage ... fennel and toun cressis, rewe, rosemarye, purslarye; laue and waishe hem clene.

excerpt from recipe for salat from Forme of Cury, c. 1390

"Refreshing" may not be the first word that pops into your head when you think of medieval food, but that's exactly what this salad, or salat, is. After all, it's chock full of crunchy greens like watercress and fragrant herbs like the above-mentioned persel (parsley), sawge (sage), and rosemayre (rosemary).

It's also simultaneously familiar and surprising, insofar as greens with oil and vinegar are certainly not culinary news to anyone, yet the addition of the fresh herbs along with raw fennel, leeks, shallots, and garlic are not usually found combined in a modern salad, and it gives this dish a decidedly unique, yet pleasant, bite. I suspect that all the herbs and fennel were present not only for flavor, but perhaps for their breath-sweetening properties. I realize that the addition of raw leeks may tend to undercut my theory somewhat, but having eaten this salad, I found that the fennel really neutralized the onion breath quite a bit. (Others who encountered me that day may beg to differ!)

This is also a case where the general lack of ingredient amounts given in medieval recipes doesn't really matter that much - in fact,  there's a lot of wiggle room as far as what you put in this, as long as you follow the general idea. You want to include fresh herbs, fennel, greens such as watercress, purslane, and/or baby spinach, and some combination of shallots, leeks, and/or garlic.  According to one source I read, the garlic used - "grene garlec" - was referring to a wild garlic that's much less pungent than what is generally used in modern cooking. I certainly don't have a problem with eating raw garlic, but if you'd like to tone it down a bit, I think garlic shoots would do the trick.

One thing you don't want to include is iceburg letttuce, as it didn't exist in the Middle Ages. Frankly, I think that what the ancients may have lacked in mod cons, dental care, and proper footwear they nearly made up for by not being plagued with that most useless of lettuces, the tasteless iceburg.  But I digress.

So, don't feel that you have to stick to this recipe exactly - I read several versions and went with what I could find, and I just tossed in the amounts that seemed right. It  was crisp and crunchy and flavorful; such a nice dish to serve amidst all the heavy foods of the season!

A Salat of Herbs & Greens

 

1-2 leeks, chopped

2 medium shallots, chopped

1 fennel bulb, plus the leaves, chopped

2 cloves of garlic, or 3-4 garlic shoots

a handful of parsley, chopped

a handful of arugula, chopped (I used this as a substitute for purslane, a peppery green)

1 tbsp fresh mint, chopped

1/2 tbsp fresh rosemary, chopped

a few fresh sage leaves, chopped

1 large or 2 small bunches of watercress (and/or baby spinach)

olive oil

sea or kosher salt

red wine vinegar or malt vinegar

Combine all of the ingredients except the tender greens - the watercress, spinach if you're using it, and arugula. Drizzle enough olive oil to coat everything, sprinkle on the salt and stir. Let it sit for an hour or so to allow the flavors to incorporate.  When you're ready to serve, add the greens, give it a toss and sprinkle on a little more salt along with a few shots of the vinegar, to taste.

You're going to need this salad break, because tomorrow for Day 7, I made a very spicy and tempting sweet treat. See you then!

Day 5: A Dauce Egre, Fish with a Sweet & Sour Onion Sauce

Tak luces or tenches or fresch haddock, & seth hem & frye hem in oyle doliue. & pan tak vynegre & pe thridde part sugre & onyounnes smal myced, & boyle alle togedere, & maces & clowes & quybibes.  & ley pe fisch in disches & hyld be sew aboue & serue it forth.

Utilis Coquinario, fourteenth-century English culinary manuscript

The above text represents the entire recipe for dauce egre, or fish with a sweet and sour onion sauce, from the medieval culinary manuscript Utilus Coquinaro.  So now that you've got the recipe, what do you need me for? Kidding!  I don't know what I would have done without all the many excellent translations and interpretations that are available in print and online - though I must say that Middle English is starting to look a bit less foreign to me now, and I even rather enjoy reading it. (That said, I do not see historical reenactments in my future, as much as I do love a good wimple.)

I'm not going to lie, some of these dishes I've cooked up for the 12 Days of Feasting have been a little labor intensive, and at times I really have felt like an ancient serving wench or maid. (Or is that "mayde"?) Not that it hasn't been fun and worth it! Sometimes, though, it's nice to make something fresh and flavorful that's also simple. This dish totally fits that bill,  plus it tastes surprisingly modern. 

When I first tasted the sauce, I was afraid that the sourness was going to be absolutely overpowering, but after it reduced a bit, the sugar mellowed it out, the onions added their subtle sweetness, the spices gave it a kick, and it became very well-balanced. And once  I tasted the sauce and the fish together it all made sense  - the buttery mellowness of the fillet was the perfect vehicle for the pungent sweet-and-sour  sauce.

In the spirit of making a full medieval meal, I served this with peas porridge. It was a perfect match, as the herb-y, earthy flavor of the peas was an ideal foil for the bold sauce and melt-in-your-mouth fish.

A Dauce Egre: Fish with a Sweet & Sour Onion Sauce
serves 2
adapted from Celt Net and Gode Cookery

• 2-3 fillets of a firm white-fleshed fish, such as haddock or cod, about a pound total. (There was no haddock the day I shopped, so I bought hake instead. It was really good, but it wasn't quite firm enough, as it just barely survived the poaching process in one piece.)
• 1 1/2 cups red wine vinegar
• 4-plus tbsp sugar
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 1/2 tsp fresh ground nutmeg or mace
• 1/2 tsp ground clove
• 1-2 tbsp olive oil
  
• 1 tsp ground cubeb pepper or black pepper* 

(*Thank you so much to readers telesilla and lostpastremembered for pointing out web sites such as the Spice House and Mountain Rose Herbs where hard-to-find spices can be purchased. It was too late for me to order them by the time I had to start cooking, but I definitely plan to in the future!)

First, poach the fish in water for about 5 minutes.  When poaching fish, never let the water boil - you just want it to simmer gently so the fish doesn't fall apart.  Also, use enough poaching liquid to just cover the fillets. For added insurance - especially if you're worried that the fish isn't quite firm enough - you can wrap it in cling film before poaching to make sure it holds together:

Drain the fish and set aside. Combine the spices, onions, vinegar, and sugar.  Bring to a slow boil and reduce the heat to a simmer. Taste to make sure there's a sweet/sour balance. It's going to have a very strong flavor  at this point  - don't panic! Let the sauce reduce by about 1/3-1/2 and everything will be fine. Meanwhile, in a skillet fry the fish in olive oil for about 2 minutes on each side.  To serve, just plate up the fish and pour the sauce over.

That's it - you're welcome for a really easy medieval dish! This is a snap, and it would also be a fun new menu item to include in a traditional Christmas Eve Feast of the Fishes.

See you tomorrow for Day 6 in the 12 Days of Feasting! And to my vegetarian friends, if you've made it this far, I promise you'll be happy with tomorrow's dish - and so will you meat eaters, it's a good and flavorful one!

Day 4: Clarrey, Spiced White Wine with Honey

He drynketh yppocras, claree, and vernage

Of spices hoote, to encressen his corage

Chaucer, The Merchant's Tale, from the Canterbury Tales
 

For me, part of the appeal of making clarrey, a medieval spiced white wine with honey, was the thought that I would get to drink something similar to what Chaucer may have quaffed while writing his Canturbury Tales.  After all, he does mention clarrey - or "claree" - in both the Knight's Tale and the Merchant's Tale. If that's not bringing history and literature to life, I don't know what is.

The fact that it's alcoholic didn't hurt, either. I mean, all this medieval cooking really works up a thirst - a wench has got to drink, after all. (That said, I think this could easily be adapted if you don't drink or if you'd like to make it for kids, which I'll discuss in a bit.)

Many people are familiar with hippocras, a red mulled and spiced wine, but using white wine is far less common, and that's another reason I decided to try it. I was afraid that the honey would make it too sweet, as I'm generally not a fan of overly sweet spirits, but the spices - particularly the white pepper - balanced the drink perfectly. In fact, this beverage has quite a kick to it, and produces a pleasant burn on the back of the throat.  You're supposed to ferment it for at least a month, and can even do so for up to a year. While I do have quite a bit left,  I wanted to try it right away to make sure it was good, which it is. No sacrifice for this blog is too great,  even drinking under-fermented clarrey!

I took the recipe from Gode Cookery; the original comes from Forme of Cury, which you can find in Curye on Inglisch, a collection of fourteenth-century culinary manuscripts. 

Clarrey

• 1 750 ml bottle of sweet white wine. *
• 1 cup of honey
• 1 tbsp each of cinnamon, galingale, and cardamom (you can substitute ginger for galingale, but you can usually find it in Asian supermarkets.)
• 1 tsp white pepper
• cheesecloth

*For a non-alcoholic version, I suggest substituting an unsweetened white grape juice, and for kids, also reducing or eliminating the white pepper

Slowly bring the wine and honey to a boil, skimming any scum off of the surface.  Turn off the heat, add the spices, cover and let sit for 24 hours. The next day, using a ladle, strain the drink through 2 or 3 layers of cheesecloth. The spices will have left a rather nasty scum on the bottom; try to scoop up as little of it as possible. Bottle the strained wine and let it sit for about a month - though it's really good right away! While I photographed it in a clear bottle to show its pretty golden color, I stored the clarrey in a tinted bottle on the chance that the light would have a bad effect on it.

I really hope you try this one! It may be an ancient recipe, but it's absolutely accessible, and so perfect for the holidays. See you tomorrow for Day 5, when I'll discuss what I served with the peas porridge from Day 3!

Day 3: French Iowtes, or Peas Porridge with Onions

Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot, nine days old.
Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old.
Nursery Rhyme, origin unknown

Don't worry - these peas are not actually nine days old! In fact, they barely lasted one evening, with a little left over for lunch, as Poppa Trix and I gobbled them up in short order - they were that good.

This is another 600-year-old recipe from Forme of Cury, as interpreted by Gode Cookery. And while I haven't been able to find a direct connection between this dish and the modern British classic mushy peas, what with the mint, mashed up peas, and onion,  I find it hard to believe that none exists. But despite its apparent connection with modernity, as with so many of these medieval dishes, there is that little twist of unexpected seasoning that causes a brief head-scratching moment. In this case, it's the addition of saffron and powder douce, a spicy, just slightly sweet combination of cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, cardamom, and ginger that gets sprinkled over the peas just before serving.

Once again, Gode Cookery did not provide amounts, and so I fussed with ingredients until the whole lot tasted right.

French Iowtes, or Peas Porridge with Onions

• 2 cups dried split peas, rinsed (There's no need to soak them.)
• 12-15 pearl onions, peeled and left whole (if you can't find them fresh, I think either frozen ones or rinsed cocktail onions could work.)
• An assortment of fresh herbs: parsley, mint, sage, basil, & thyme. I used about 2 tbsp each.
• 5-7 strands of saffron
• Powder douce, to taste (see recipe below)
  
• butter and/or olive oil, as needed
• salt, to taste

First, in a deep skillet, gently simmer the dried peas in 4 cups of water until tender. (You may need to add more water if they start to dry out.)  Meanwhile, parboil the herbs, pat them dry, and give them a rough chop. Next, boil the onions until tender.  When the peas are tender, drain excess water if necessary. Mash them up right in the skillet and add the oil and/or butter until moist. Season with salt, add the saffron, herbs, and onions and cook until the flavors come together.  I had to keep adding oil, as the peas sucked up moisture like a sponge. Transfer to a serving bowl and sprinkle with powder douce.

Powder Douce

Like powder fort, this was a medieval spice mixture that cooks would have had on hand, much like you might always have Cajun seasoning or herbes de Provence in your spice cupboard. It's simply a combination of cinnamon, sugar, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg or mace. The amounts aren't set in stone, but you don't want it to be too sweet. I was afraid it would impart too much of a cinnamon-y flavor to the dish, but luckily it didn't. In fact, Poppa Trix said that the combination of spices with the savory peas reminded him a bit of Indian cuisine, and I can see his point.

Enjoy your peas in the pot, and please eat them while they're hot and don't wait until they're nine days old! I'll see you on Day 4, when I introduce a little alcohol into the feast. Cheers!