ferval wrote:

And what is shisting? Changing?

I believe so, yes .......Oh the joys of ʃeventeenth century orthography ... I think it's actually "shifting", and so as you say, it means "changing" the water ...  and so that particular bit of the process I took to mean a sort-of softening, preliminary cook.

But I agreed it does seem odd and un-necessary, if not actually unhelpful.

My problem is usually to get the stuff to set without excessive boiling - which not only darkens the colour but can muck up the flavour by caremellising the sugars. But then I'll freely admit that I tend to work rather fast and loose with quantities and times ... I'm not very good at following recipes and being exact.

ferval wrote:

Yes, in jams and jellies it's usually one pound of sugar to one pint of juice, not equal weight to weight of pulp as in the Hugh Platt example, my marmalade recipe uses twice the weight of sugar to weight of fruit so for 1 kg of oranges (and added lemon) the juice is made up to 2l with water and boiled with 2kg sugar. That's very close to the ratio in the first recipe.

Yes indeed ... but doesn't that mean that Sir Hugh Platt's marmalade would likely be even runnier? Certainly his sweetmeat wouldn't be stiff enough to Delighte to any Lady.

Today is Trifle Day - BBC Breakfast has been reporting this just now. Do not stifle the trifle, we are urged.

I love trifle - a very old favourite from childhood. But who invented trifle?

Trifle has been around for quite a long time. Giovanni Florio (who was a language tutor at the Court of James I and a possible friend of Will Shakespeare) in his Italian/English dictionary 'A World of Words' (first published in 1598) has: 'Trifle' "a kinde of clouted creame called a foole".

Robert May has this recipe in his book, 'The Accomplisht Cook' (1660):

To make a Triffel.
Take a quart of the best and thickest cream, set it on the fire in a clean skillet, and put to it whole mace, cinamon, and sugar, boil it well in the cream before you put in the sugar; then your cream being well boiled, pour it into a fine silver piece or dish, and take out the spices, let it cool till it be no more than blood-warm, then put in a spoonful of good runnet, and set it well together being cold scrape sugar on it, and trim the dish sides finely.

More modern-style trifle recipes first appear in the mid eighteenth century. This is Hannah Glasse's trifle recipe from 'The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy' (1747):

To make a trifle.
COVER the bottom of your dish or bowl with Naples biscuits broke in pieces, mackeroons broke in halves, and ratafia cakes. Just wet them all through with sack, then make a good boiled custard not too thick, and when cold pour it over it, then put a syllabub over that. You may garnish it with ratafia cakes, currant jelly, and flowers.

No jelly, then?

Apparently the English obsession with class extends even to the preparation of trifle: middle-class trifle never - but never - has jelly in it.

Proper trifle, on the other hand, as served in the best of working-class or lower-middle households at Christmas always had jelly, preferably raspberry jelly, at its base. Cake, usually slices of Swiss roll (or some those special dreadful "sponge fingers", split open and spread with raspberry jam), liberally soaked in cheap sherry and mixed with a tin of "fruit salad", would be allowed to set within the jelly mass.

A layer of custard, then one of cream, then hundreds and thousands sprinkled all over. It was lovely, even if something of a culinary abomination to the trifle purist.

I once had a trifle made with orange jelly and a tin of those old-fashioned mandarin orange segments - with crushed Cadbury's flake sprinkled on top of the cream. This tangerine concoction really was the mother of all abominations. Yet Jamie Oliver has done something similar:

Mrs Beeton's recipe ('The Book of Household Management', 1861) doesn't have jelly either, although that's probably because cheap gelatine wasn't available then, but she does have plenty of sherry and brandy!

TO MAKE A TRIFLE.
1489. INGREDIENTS. - For the whip, 1 pint of cream, 3 oz. of pounded sugar, the whites of 2 eggs, a small glass of sherry or raisin wine. For the trifle, 1   pint of custard, made with 8 eggs to a pint of milk; 6 small sponge-cakes, or 6 slices of sponge-cake; 12 macaroons, 2 dozen ratafias, 2 oz. of sweet   almonds, the grated rind of 1 lemon, a layer of raspberry or strawberry jam,½ pint of sherry or sweet wine, 6 tablespoonfuls of brandy.

.... and only Mrs Beeton could serve it in such a preposterous dish, although she was of course very lower-middle class:



PS : Re the hundreds-and-thousands ...

Mrs B in 1861 said, "..... The whip being made the day previously, and the trifle prepared, there remains nothing to do now but heap the whip lightly over the top: this should stand as high as possible, and it may be garnished with strips of bright currant jelly, crystallized sweetmeats, or flowers; small coloured comfits are sometimes used for the purpose of garnishing a trifle, but they are now considered rather old-fashioned."

Meles meles wrote:

.... and only Mrs B could serve it in such a preposterous dish:



She was of course very lower-middle class.

No one that preposterous could be described as "lower-middle class" - surely? Those serving dishes are wonderful   . But I believe Beeton and Queen Victoria are now jointly held by historians to be responsible for the creation of the English middle class? Middle-middle, or upper-middle, that is, definitely not lower-middle, or even upper-lower-middle. The leap from upper-lower-middle to middle is still huge and difficult in England.You need two degrees, an Aga and one of those retro fridges to qualify these days. Jelly or no jelly in the trifle is the least of one's problems. I fail on all three counts (although I do have a genuine, ancient 1962 Sylvia Plath-style gas cooker in my kitchen, of which I am justly proud).

What would Mrs Beeton say to this "individual festive trifle in a brandy glass"? I like the way they've done the cream to look like snowy peaks.

Do you remember (with a shudder) this? Bird's Trifle Mix






I must be middle class then, never any jelly at home and, of choice, tinned white peaches on the sponge. Posh or what?

Tinned white peaches, ferval? Really, not home-bottled? I shall say no more, but here is the shocked emoticom.



The irony, of course, is that if Harry Stow-Crat's old nanny, living in her bungalow in Bournemouth before she "passed on", used to serve up Bird's Instant Trifle (unlikely, but you never know) when he visited her, Harry would consider it to be the best trifle ever. It would be the way to win his heart. Odd lot, the British aristocracy and not at all snobby.

When the British left the subcontinent there were some who didn't. One,, an ancient genteel lady of no means, born there,  a lifelong companion/ governess and  by then totally supported by transient British company families  only ever quietly asked  one thing of us.....for 'Bird's Trifle.' This we duly carried in our meager weight allowance of those days. Not that it had ever been in the shops there, she had seen it in magazine adverts and said it was the closest thing to a proper trifle as served by the Raj at grand dinners.

10 December 1936 – The Abdication of Edward VIII.

King Edward’s declared intention to marry Wallis Simpson - an American socialite who was divorced from her first husband and was pursuing a divorce from her second - was opposed by the governments of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth. Religious, legal, political and moral objections were all raised. As King, Edward was the nominal head of the Church of England, which did not then allow divorced people to remarry in church if their ex-spouses were still alive. For this reason alone, it was widely believed that Edward could not marry her and remain on the throne. Wallis Simpson was also perceived to be politically and socially unsuitable as a prospective queen consort because of her two failed marriages. It was widely assumed by the Establishment that she was driven by love of money or position rather than love for the King. Despite the opposition, Edward declared that he loved her and intended to marry, whether his governments approved or not.

The widespread unwillingness to accept Wallis Simpson as the King's consort, and Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his abdication. He was succeeded by his brother Albert, who took the regnal name of George VI. Edward was given the title of 'His Royal Highness the Duke of Windsor', got a generous stipend, and married Simpson the following year. They lived out the rest of their lives, together, as international socialites.


The wedding of Mrs Simpson and the Duke of Windsor at the Château de Candé in France, 3rd June 1937.

Five months after the abdication and a week before their marriage, the Australian Women's Weekly carried a lengthy article on that ‘Baltimore girl’, (mostly I suspect, copied directly from an American magazine article, although they didn’t admit that). But, rather than dealing with the issues of the abdication or the imminent marriage, the report focussed entirely on her love of food and cooking. Slender and severe, Wallis Simpson is the last person one would generally expect to have enthused about sturdy home cooking. Admittedly she was already well known as a society hostess, famous for her parties and lavish dinners, but as always with celebrity cooks one wonders exactly how much she actually did herself. Nevertheless in this article she claimed to have won over the king with simple, almost rustic, home-cooked, southern American dishes … like bean soup, gumbo, rabbit casserole, fried chicken and chocolate cake.

From Australian Women's Weekly (22 May, 1937):

Cookery that charmed a king

Mrs Wallis Simpson, or Miss Wallis Warfield, as she now desires to be known until her marriage to the Duke of Windsor, makes chocolate cake and other famous Maryland and Baltimore dishes for former King Edward. The recipes given in newspaper reports provide a homely sidelight on the romance that has stirred the world. "I have a wonderful recipe for pudding and another for apple cake", - Mrs Wallis Simpson told an interviewer. In that remark is revealed the spirit of the proud housewife for her favourite recipes. The most talked-of woman of the age confesses that she likes cooking and has a first-hand knowledge of this ‘way to a man's heart’. 

[The article goes on in the same gushing manner, reporting that shortly before the abdication she had] …baked a chocolate cake for King Edward,  as intense cold and fog kept the King’s guests indoors at Fort Belvedere, his country estate [at Windsor].  Mrs Simpson’s chocolate cake has since become a favorite delicacy of His Majesty, who also praises her salads and luncheon dishes. As King Edward is partial to American cooking, business methods, and music, Mrs. Simpson’s cookery appeals greatly to the royal palate.

The article goes on to praise the cuisine and produce of the Southern American states in general - and Maryland dishes especially - and then finally gets around to the recipes, including that favourite cake of the King …. whether or not it was finger lickin’ good, it certainly seems to have been abdicatin’ good.

Chocolate Sandwich Cake.
Two and one-quarter cups flour; 2 ¼ teaspoons baking powder; ¾ teaspoon salt’ ½ cup butter; 1 cup sugar; 2 eggs, well beaten; ¾ cup milk; 1 teaspoon vanilla.

Sift the flour; measure, and sift three times with the baking powder and salt. Cream the butter, add sugar gradually, and cream until light and fluffy. Add eggs and beat well. Add flour alternately with the milk, a little at a time, beating after each addition until smooth. Add vanilla. Bake in 2 greased inch layer pans in moderate oven (375 deg. F.) for 25 minutes. Spread chocolate frosting between layers and over cake.

All-round Chocolate Frosting.
Four tablespoons butter; 3 cups icing sugar; ¾ teaspoon vanilla; ¼ teaspoon salt; 3 squares unsweetened chocolate, melted; 4 tablespoonfuls hot milk (approximately.)

Cream butter well; add part of sugar gradually, blending after each addition until smooth. Add vanilla, salt, and chocolate and mix well. Add remaining sugar alternately with the milk, until of the right consistency to spread, beating after each addition.

Known for their Nazi sympathies, the Duke and his wife spent the majority of the war in the Caribbean (he was made Governor of the Bahamas to keep him out of the way). They performed their roles competently, with Wallis working actively for the Red Cross and other charities and she even produced a cookbook to raise money for the British War Relief Society (of America). ‘Some Favorite Southern Recipes of the Duchess of Windsor’ (publ. Charles Scribner & Sons, NewYork, 1942) is full of dishes not typically associated with royalty, but rather of sturdy, cheap, plebeian fare, and carefully adapted to the conditions of America’s wartime rationing, with its shortages of eggs, meat, butter and fats … and an emphasis on dried, tinned and 'alternative' ingredients . Although she wrote in the book’s introduction, "It is the simple dishes of my homeland which are the most popular … and which are the ones most frequently served at my table", I doubt any of these recipes ever actually graced the Windsor’s table. (Perhaps rather tellingly the book’s copyright was held, not by Mrs Simpson, but by the well-known American food campaigner and journalist, Marie M Meloney).



Anyway, as a contrast to the king’s (pre-war) favourite chocolate cake, here’s an intriguing cake recipe with a somewhat brutist name, taken from Wallis Simpson’s 1942 cookbook.

The Duchess of Windsor’s Pork Cake.
½ pound fat salt pork, ground; ¾ cup boiling water; ¾ cup molasses; ½ cup of firmly packed brown sugar; 2 cups raisins; 1 cup currants washed and dried; 3½ cups sifted flour; 1½ teaspoon baking soda; 1½ teaspoon cinnamon; 1½ teaspoon cloves; 1½ teaspoon nutmeg.

Place pork in a mixing bowl and add boiling water. Add molasses, brown sugar, raisins and curranst and cool. Mix and sift the flour, baking soda and spices together three times. Add to the molasses mixture and beat until smooth. Turn into a long narrow bar pan (10 x 4 x 3 inches) and bake in a slow oven (325 F) 1 hour and 15 minutes.

I’ve not tried it but I imagine it would be rather heavy and puddingey, rather than light, spongey and crumbly, and I suspect it would taste caramel-sweet, rather than fruity-sweet … and then each chewy mouthful finishing with an interesting porcine aftertaste.

That's very nearly a clootie dumpling (with extra oink) baked rather than boiled in a cloth or even a meaty Christmas pud. An adaptation facilitated by the availability of ovens perhaps?
Either way it's certainly redolent of 17th c. and earlier mincemeat recipes, I wonder how many other dishes from that area still carry resonances of the early settlers' food habits?

An interesting thought, Ferval. I really don't know that much about regional differences in American cooking but I think one could say that things like pumpkin-pie and corn-bread, as well as being based on local produce, certainly reflect 17th century English/colonial cuisine. Are these sort of dishes more typical of the original 13 states? I really don't know. What is certain is that the traditional cuisine of the southern states - with their one-pot rice dishes like jambalaya; the use of hot peppers and okra in dishes like gumbo; sweet potatoes; fried spiced chicken; and dishes of seafood mixed with poultry and pork saucisse - clearly are redolent of old-style creole and cajun cooking, which in turn reflects major Spanish and French influence, as well as that from the Caribbean and Africa, primarily from the 17th and 18th centuries.

PS

Yes the availability of ovens ... which tend to be a big communal investment (even if actually owned by a baker, he still has to have a reasonably large community close by to make it worth his while building and operating one). Also maize - although a staple of the native people along the eastern seaboard and then of the colonists - is not really suitable for making into bread loaves (as a flour, like oats and barley, it lacks sufficient gluten to produce a 'risen' loaf), and so it is far easier to cook as a porridge, a flat-baked bannock, or as you say, as a boiled-in-the-bag pudding.

Meles meles wrote:

Yes the availability of ovens ... which tend to be a big communal investment (even if actually owned by a baker, he still has to have a reasonably large community close by to make it worth his while building and operating one). Also maize - although a staple of the native people along the eastern seaboard and then of the colonists - is not really suitable for making into bread loaves (as a flour, like oats and barley, it lacks sufficient gluten to produce a 'risen' loaf), and so it is far easier to cook as a porridge, a flat-baked bannock, or as you say, as a boiled-in-the-bag pudding.

Oh that's interesting to know, Meles meles; since my enforced conversion to gluten free fare I have noticed that the "free from" breads and crumpets are a bit crumbly (although barley is also on the forbidden list).  Still, I can't remember whether it was yesterday or the evening before I had some soup (lentil) which I thought was okay but I hadn't realised that wheat flour was used as a thickening agent and last night I had stomach (or maybe small bowel) pains and an eruption on my arm which I think must be down to the wheat flour as I've been okay up till now in the few weeks I've cut out the gluten things.  I'll just have to be more careful reading the ingredients of stuff - or maybe cook more from scratch.  I keep saying I'm going to do so.

Ferval ... I can find printed 'pork cake' recipes dating back to least the 1840s, all of which come from the area of the original 13 States (and of course it is well accepted that dishes are generally cooked for years if not decades before they are found in formal print sources). With your post about 'poetic recipes' in mind (Historical Bake-off thread), I thought you might like this particular one ... it's from 'The Home Monthly' (Boston, 1861):

Pork Cake
By 'The Invalid'.

First, take one pound of good salt pork,
From stripes of lean quite free,
And chop it with your chopping-knife,
As fine as it can be.

Then add one cup of water warm,
One of molasses too,
And one of sugar, clean and brown,
That will for sweetening do.

You may add spice to suit your taste.
Cinnamon, allspice, clove,
With raisins, and some citron too,
That it quite rich may prove.

Oh, I'd quite forgot to say,
You must add too, in a trice,
One teaspoonful of soda, that
It may rise light and nice.

You need not measure out the flour,
But mix it very hard,
Or else you'll find 'twill be so short
You'll not have your reward.

Now all is ready, — bake quite slow,
And on my word may take,
That when 'tis done, you will confess
That you've a nice "Pork Cake."

MM wrote:

King Edward’s declared intention to marry Wallis Simpson - an American socialite who was divorced from her first husband and was pursuing a divorce from her second - was opposed by the governments of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth.

I'm not sure that all the Commonwealth Dominions did oppose the marriage.  (Why won't the italics let themselves be changed?)  There was an article about this in the NZ Listener last week by a historian, Redmer Yska, and he said our PM at the time, Michael Savage cabled to Baldwin, "The great affection felt in New Zealand for His Majesty and the desire of the people in this country for his happiness inspire the thought that some such arrangement [ie a morganatic marriage] might be possible. If some solution along these lines were found to be practicable, it would no doubt be acceptable to the majority of the people of New Zealand."   He goes on to say that "Baldwin, fibbing through his teeth, informed the crestfallen king that the Dominions unanimously opposed a morganatic marriage."


I gather Churchill supported the marriage.  There is no mention in this article of Parliament's discomfort with the King's connections with Germany, which I thought was part of the problem.

Caro ... You are right that the decisions were far from unanimous, and the arguments considerably more complex, than I suggested in the above summary (which I freely admit I largely took direct from wiki).

Michael Savage (NZ PM) in his cable to Baldwin certainly rejected a royal marriage but thought that a morganatic marriage might be possible ... although he then ended by saying that he, "would be guided by the decision of the Home government".

However I don't think Churchill ever actually supported the marriage (he certainly never, neither publically nor privately, supported a royal marriage ... although he may have countenanced a morganic one). As I understand it, Baldwin had sounded out the principal opposition politicians - Attlee, Sinclair and Churchill - well before the issue had become public knowledge. Sinclair and Attlee agreed that a royal marriage, whether morganatic or not, was unacceptable. Churchill said he thought a morganatic marriage might still be an option, but he agreed to abide by the government's decision. I always thought Churchill personally disliked Wallis Simpson, being rather of the opinion that she was just after the wealth and titles. Churchill certainly advised the King's legal council to try and delay things as much as possible, and not to persue the legal matters too fast, such as by not pushing too quickly for Mrs Simpson's divorce. He wrote a private letter to the editor of 'The Times' suggesting that any delay would be beneficial because, given time, the King might fall out of love with her, which would of course have solved everything. Once abdication seemed to become the preferred government stance, there was I believe some talk about the King's supporters forming a new political party with, so it was rumoured, Churchill as the leader, but Churchill quickly distanced himself from that idea, and in the event it all came to nothing.

I'm sure there were Government fears about Edward's and Wallis's Nazi sympathies (subsequently shown to be well founded fears) ... but in 1936 would these have really been grounds for denying His Majesty's marriage? Britain had started to re-arm in 1933, albeit rather slowly, but even in 1936 there were still few, other than Churchill, who were particularly vocal against Nazi Germany. And there were many Americans besides Mrs Simpson, not least in the US government itself, who in the mid-1930s were very sympathetic to Hitler's Germany.

After a year and a half it's starting to get difficult to find suitable dates/dishes, however there is this ...


14 January 1486* – the marriage of Henry VII to Elizabeth of York. (*EDIT - actually it was the 18th - my mistake).

      

Here is the first course (of two courses) from the bill of fare for their wedding banquet, as given in 'Account of London', by Thomas Pennant, published in 1790.


 
For those of you who are not hard-core food historians, at first glance (and maybe also at second and third) this bill of fare may be more than a little mysterious but if you have any interest in food history I urge you to read through as it certainly gives a 'flavour' to the time. Below are my interpretations and explanations and a few old recipes. Some dishes are obvious and many are well-known from old texts, but there are still quite a few where I’m basically guessing.

So if you fancy a historical-culinary-linguistic challenge you might like to tackle some of these. Any corrections, comments or suggestions would be very welcome.


A Warner byfor the Course –  I suspect this is some sort of ceremony, dramatic display, announcement or fanfare, just before (byfor) the  first course is brought in but I’ve never encountered the term before and so I’m really not sure.
Sheldes of Brawne in Armor  - Sheldes are shields - and also by association the shoulder (joint) usually of a pig -  and so it possibly means heraldic devices constructed from pieces of light and dark meat set in brawn (basically chopped and compressed pork head meat) and maybe formed into the shape of a suitable heraldic shield, badge or blazon. But I’m mostly guessing.
Frumetye with Venison –  This is a common, standard medieval dish - in the way that one would readily recognise and understand duck à l’orange, or beouf  bourgignon on a modern French brasserie or  English pub menu board. It’s hulled wheat boiled so that it is like stiff porridge or pilaff, and served to either accompany slices of venison, or with the meat mixed in.

To make frumente. Tak clene whete & braye yt wel in a mortar tyl þe holes gon of; seþe it til it breste in water. Nym it vp & lat it cole. Tak good broþ & swete mylk of kyn or of almand & tempere it þerwith. Nym ȝelkys of eyre rawe & saffroun & cast þerto; salt it; lat it nauȝt boyle after þe eyren ben cast þerinne. Messe it forth with venesoun or with fat motoun fresch.

Bruet riche – A rich giblet broth/soup.
Hart powdered graunt Chars – No idea - something using ground venison?
Fesaunt intram de Royall – Pheasant (roasted). 'Intram' I take to mean 'entrain', ie with its long tail feathers displayed.
Swan with Chawdron – Swan with a rich meaty giblet sauce made from the swan’s blood and offal.

Chawdroun for Swan – Sle a swan. Scalde hym, draw hym; mak clene þe mawe, galle þe lyvere, pyk of þe suwet of þe guttes & ritte hem, skour hem with salt & water. Tak þe feete & þe wyngges; cast al into a pot & seyth al togeder tendir. Tak þan & hewe þe gutts & þe mawe & þe livere. Pyk out þe smale bones of þe feet. Mynce oynȝons & cast þerto. Draw blood & bred soket þorw a streynour.
Cast þat þou hast hewyn into a posnet with þe same broth it was sodden in. cast pouder of peper þerto & of canel; boyle it. Stere it. Cast þerto þe livere till it be somdel chargeant: ȝif it salt. Seþ it & set it fro þe fyr, þan scharpe it with vinegar. Þan set a foot in a dysche, or a wynge; cast above þe chaudron & ȝive it forth.

Capons of high Goe – Capons of high gout, ie very tasty/well seasoned?
Lampervey in Galantine – Lamprey in sauce, another standard medieval dish:

For to dyȝte a fresch laumprey. Tak & open hym atte naule & lete hym a litel blod, & gadere þat blod in a vessel & do awey þe galle & scorche hym & wasch hym wel. & mak a paste of dow & put þe launprey þerynne with good spycery; & þan mak a laye with bred & temper it with wyn or with vynegre & medele þe blod with al, & put galentyn þerwith al raw & a tuel aboue. & set it in þe ouene til it bake, & if it be rosted diȝte hym in þe same manere but þat þou seethe þe galentyn with oynounes. & if þe laumprey be salt, wasche hym in hoot water & in whete bran, & aftere þat do hym in hot water al a nyȝt & a morwe scorche hym & seth hym with oynounes riȝt wel, & mak þe galentyn be hyself: for why he schal be serued cold & þe galentyn hot kendlich.

Crane with Cretney – Roast crane in a cream sauce.
Pik in Latymer Sawce – Pike in a piquant sauce made from fish innards with red wine and often dried fruit, yet another standard meat with sauce combination:

Pyk in Latymer Sawse – splat þi pykes. Drawe hem and quarter hem eche on fowr; wasche hem. Mynce oinhouns; hachem small. Tak mynced dates & reysynges of coraunce. Seþ reed wyn in a panne over þe fyr. Tak powder of peper & pouder of ginger & of canel & sawndres. Boyle fygges; grynde hem, draw hem up with good ale or wyn. Take stunnyd clows & stunnyd maces. Cast oinhouns & herbis & al þis spices into þe panne, & þe drawgt of fygges; boyle al þis togyder. Þan cast in þi pike, þe bove side downunwar. Seþ hem a good qwyle, & salt hem, & ley above a chargeour, þan set it bysyde.
Þan wasche þe refet; chop it small raw. Cast it into a panne & put þerto wyn & no water. Seþ it & colour it with sawndris & saffroun. Cast þerto powder of peper & canel & salt; boyle al togeder. Pour sum of þis broþȝ þat þe pykes wher sodden in into anoþer panne. Cut bred þenne for broweys; cast into þis panne. Þan tak it up; ley it in dyschys. Pour of þis surryp of þe refeet above þe breed; ȝeve forth.
Tak þan up þe pyke. Ley hem on dyschys dryȝe. cast þis surryp above of þe refeet, & ȝeve forþȝ.

Heronusew with his Sique –  Young heron ... with his skin and plumage put back on?
Carpe in Foile - Carp baked  in thin pastry and possibly also gilded with gold leaf.
Kid reversed -  Roast young goat obviously, but while there exists in another recipe collection, a recipe for eel stuffed and ‘reversed’ this doesn’t actually indicate how one was supposed to ‘reverse’ the eel before cooking. Roe deer reversed also appeared at Richard III’s coronation banquent of just a few years earlier. I wonder if it means turned ‘inside out’ such as how one transforms a rack of lamb chops into a ‘crown’ of ribs.
Perche in Jeloye depte – Perch, dipped (set) in jelly?
Conys of high Grece – Fat, possibly even force fed, rabbits (can one force feed a rabbit?).
Moten Roiall richely garnysed – ‘Royal Mutton’ richly garnished.
Valance baked – Valence was a bitter medicinal compound, so what this means I have no idea.
Custarde Royall – A custard tart, probably coloured gold and/or red with saffron and sandlewood, and usually containing shredded meat or fish.
Tarte Poleyn - A tart certainly but of what I'm not sure.
Leyse Damask – Leche damask, a rich tart made of soft fresh cheese, butter and egg yolk, baked in a pastry shell, and flavoured with rosewater and usually also dried fruit.
Frutt Synoper and Frutt Formage – Presumably fruit desserts. Frutt Synoper could be spiced pears or apples, baked in a sugar syrup or sweetened wine, while frutt formage (ie fromage) might be set fruit jellies made from the sweetened juice of quinces, like modern quince paste candies.
A Soteltie, with writing of Balads. As it says: an ornate subtelty.

The wedding banquent consisted of two courses ... I'll give the second tomorrow once the copious and rich fare of the first has been digested.

At first I read 'Lampervey in Galantine' as lamprey in gelatine i.e. a variant on jellied eel, until realising that galantine is not gelatine. It's interesting (not to mention slightly obscene) that the recipe uses the blood of the lamprey, as many species of lamprey are themselves bloodsuckers. For that reason lamprey has always filled me with revulsion as a notion and even as a word. The exhortation in the recipe to 'wasch hym wel' only seems to serve to reinforce that. 

I'm obviously in need of some aversion therapy here so a trip to the fishmonger's is in order. I don't, however, fancy trying lamprey in galantine or even in gelatine but I might try grilling it (after having washed it well first of course). In fact I might grill it reversed - if only we could find out what exactly 'reversed' actually means here. Inside out, however, does seem to be as good an interpretation as any.

I assumed it meant inside out, but I can't quite see what that would mean in practice. What would be the point of going to the trouble of pulling an eel-like fish inside out?  (I see another form of this species is hagfish which is a word I find much more distasteful.)

Yes indeed, lampreys aren't the most beautiful of creatures are they....

    

... and as Ferval pointed out in relation to the dish-of-the-day for 1st December 2015 (after Henry I's demise in 1135 from a "surfeit of lampreys") they produce a toxic secretion, hence all the strict instructions then and now to clean them well and remove the skin before cooking. But anyway I doubt you'll find them at the fishmongers as they are now a protected species in the UK, however I think they are still abundant around the Baltic and are considered a delicacy in Estonia.

Vizzer wrote:

At first I read 'Lampervey in Galantine' as lamprey in gelatine i.e. a variant on jellied eel, until realising that galantine is not gelatine.

In modern French cuisine a galantine means a dish of boned meat or fish, which has been poached and then is served cold set in aspic or gelatine. That's a bit different from that 15th century recipe, not the least in that the old recipe said the fish was to be served cold but the sauce hot, which of course wouldn't really work with something set in aspic.

That list of dishes has something of the menu degustation or tasting menu which is a' the go at the minute in aspirational restaurants. Not quite of the same order but I'm going for a 7 course version next month. Nothing reversed on the carte though but I did find this on line:

One of the most intriguing recipes in The Good Wife’s Guide is for “eels reversed.” Eels are skinned and deboned, then sliced lengthwise and flattened into long rectangles. They are then filled with a mixture of meat and spices and sewn back together, inside out. The eel is then cooked, often in red wine, and served.  

Presumably then one skins and bones out the kid, stuffs it and then reassembles inside out but why? There's plenty of recipes for poultry and joints of meat where the process is the same up to the point where it's put back together but never any that I can think of where the inside becomes the outside. Surely it couldn't change the taste nor make it any more visually attractive? Maybe it's just because it's difficult and time consuming so therefore emphasises the status and resources of the host.

Meles meles wrote:

I doubt you'll find them at the fishmongers as they are now a protected species in the UK, however I think they are still abundant around the Baltic and are considered a delicacy in Estonia.

I can't decide whether I'm disappointed or relieved at now not having to face my 'food hell'. I think I'm relieved. We went to Finland a few years ago and didn't knowingly see lamprey listed on any menu. If ever I'm in Tallinn or St Petersburg or some such place in the future, however, I'll make sure I recall ferval's post regarding the end of Henry Beauclerc as a valid historical reason not be be inclined to tempt fate.

Continuing from yesterday ... (*EDIT  and note I made a mistake with the date -  they were actually married on the 18th).

14 January 1486* – the marriage of Henry VII to Elizabeth of York. Here's the second course of their wedding banquent.



A Warner byfor the Course – like that for the first course but what exactly?
Joly Ypocras – Ypocras or hippocras is spiced wine, but is it jolly?

To make Ippocras – Take of chosen Cinamon two ounces, of fine Ginger one once, of Graines [of paradise] halfe an ounce, bruse them all and stampe them in three of fower pints of good odiferous wine, with a pound of sugar, by the space of foure and twentie houres, than put them into an Ipocrasse bagge of woollen, and so receive the liquor. The readiest and best way is to put the spices with the halfe pound of sugar, and the wine into a bottell, or a stone potte stopped close, and after xxiiii [24] houres it will be ready, then cast a thinne linnen cloth, or a piece of boulter clothe on the mouthe and let in so much run through as ye will occupie at once, and keepe ye vessell close, for it will so well keepe bothe the spirite, odour and virtue of the wine and spices.

Mamane with Lozengs of Golds – I take this to be the dish usually known as mawmenny, mammeny or mamarny etc. that is a set pottage of shredded chicken, sweetened wine, nuts, dried fruit, and spices, and; frequently  coloured red with sanders or yellow with saffron, and here clearly decorated with pieces of gold leaf:

Mawmone - Put reed [red] wyn into a pot. If þu have a galon of wyn, tak ij liber [2 lbs] of sugar; breke it small & cast to þis wyn. Tak canel [cinnamon] & clows [cloves] & grynde al þis in a mortar; drawe it up with wyn & set it in a vessel. Leche [slice]  gynger & galingale. Tak þanne brawne of fesauntes or of capoun rostid [shredded meat of roast pheasant or capon - but the brown meat of the thigh and wing rather than the breast], or of a bipece [second quality bit] of wel [veal] rostid; cut it on peces & ley it on a plater. Tak half a pound of pynys [pine nuts], if þou make with a galon of wyn; wasche hem in lewk water clene & dry hem in a cloþ. Drawe þan half a pound of flour of ryse [rice] to a galoun of wyn; cast in to þe pot pynys, also lechyd [sliced] ginger, & galingale.
Cast also þe drawght [mixture] of þe canel & clows & greynys [grains of paradise]. Cast to þi flesche; boyle it wel togedere over a soking [slow] fyr, & stere [stir] it wel & salt it. But it be chargeaunt [if it be not thick], cast to flour of ryse. Boyle a lytyl wyn with sugar. Qwahn þu schalt dresse [when you serve] þi potage with a sawser, wete þi sauser in þis wyn & sugar sodden, or elles þi potage wyl cleve on þe sauser [first wet/coat the saucer with the wine mix or else your pottage will stick to the saucer]. Plat it in dyschys.
A galon of wyn with oþer substaunce as þu may se wele serve for xl. [40] dyschys.

Pekok in Hakell – Roast peacock with the skin and feathers put back on so that it resembles a live bird:

Pecok rosted. Take a Pecok, breke his necke, and kutte his throte, And fle him, þe skyn and the ffethurs togidre, and the hede still to the skyn of the nekke, And kepe the skyn and the ffethurs hole togiders; drawe him as an hen, And kepe þe bone to þe necke hole, and roste him, And set the bone of the necke aboue the broche, as he was wonte to sitte a-lyve, And abowe the legges to þe body, as he was wonte to sitte a-lyve; And whan he is rosted ynowe, take him of, And lete him kele; And þen wynde the skyn wit the fethurs and the taile abought the body, And serue him forthe as he were a-live; or elleȝ pu him dry, And roste him, and serue him as þou doest a henne.

Bittowre - Bittern
Fesawnte - Pheasant
Egrets in Beorwetye - Roast egret, presumably accompanied by the sauce known as borewys which is generally thought to have been based on ale/beer rather than wine.
Browes – Brows or brews were a type of small bird, probably a species of small wading bird since the correct term for carving them is the same as for a curlew:  one untaches a brew or curlew, but one unbraces a mallard, breaks an egret, unjoins a bittern, displays a crane, dismembers a heron, allays a pheasant,  etc.
Cokks – Chicken but the bigger meatier cocks rather than the hens.
Patrieche - Partidge
Sturgyn freshe Fenell – Sturgeon baked with fennel.
Plovers – Plovers of course.
Rabett Sowker – Suckling or new born rabbits.
Seyle in Fenyn entirely served richely - A seal … 'in fin entirely', ie probably meaning cooked whole to be ceremonially carved at the table. An exotic showy dish indeed – though perhaps rather an acquired taste.
Red Shankks – Redshanks, or curlews, whimbrels, dotterels, or similar wading birds.
Snytes - Snipes
Quayles - Quails
Larkes ingraylede – Larks, cut into small pieces (probably bones and all) made into small patties, like mini-burgers or rissoles, and then fried.
Creves de Indence –  Creves are shrimps or prawns etc (cf  the modern French, crevette), but these are  'en douce', so here it specifically means freshwater crayfish.
Venesone in Paste Royall – A grand venison pie or venison en croute.
Quince Baked – Quince, probably baked whole with sugar and spices
Marche Payne Royall – Marzipan, made from ground almonds, sugar and rosewater but at this time still very cake-like and not fully evolved into the modern confection. But rather than being just a another sweet dish, 'the marchpane' was viewed as a major centrepiece on the top table (much like how a Christmas cake is presented now) and to enhance this grand role it was frequently decorated with carefully moulded/painted  heraldic motifs, and often even  gilded with gold leaf (showy and edible, but very expensive).
A colde bake Mete flourishede – Hmmm … a cold cooked dish, which I’m guessing might have been in form like a big quiche,or tart (mete means food rather than meat particularly) with presumably the topping ingredients carefully arranged in an heraldic or allegorical design. But that is mostly a guess.
Lethe Ciprus – A ‘Cyprus’ jelly/custard perhaps?
Lethe Rube – Red? Fruit? jelly/custard?
Fruter Augeo - Presumably an especially showy, enriched fruit dish of some sort.
Fruter Mouniteyne – Is this a mountain of fruits, probably not fresh but candied or covered in sugar and syrup.
Castells of Jely in Temple wise made – Jellies in the shape of castles.
A Soteltie -  A final fancy subtelty.

(I haven't given detailed references but all the quoted recipes are English from the late 14th to late 15th centuries ... with the exception of that for hippocras which dates from 1584).

Warners: They seem to be a visual equivalent of the dinner gong.

But the most visually alluring pieces at the table were special sugar sculptures known as sotiltees (or subtleties). These sculptures came in all sorts of curious forms - castles, ships, famous philosophers, or scenes from fables. Sotiltees were also known as 'warners,' as they were served at the beginning of a banquet to 'warn' (or notify) the guests of the approaching dinner.

from the British Library   http://www.bl.uk/learning/langlit/texts/cook/medieval/medieval2.html

Get to it, MM, spin that sugar. We expect a photo. Perhaps one of nordmann in philosophical mode might be appropriate.

Well done for finding that Ferval (... that British Library site looks interesting too). I sort of expected "a warner" to warn/announce the meal but I didn't think it would actually be a dish, however subtle/unsubtle, in its own right. I was perhaps thinking of coronation banquets which always traditionally started with the monarch's champion riding into Westminster Hall, in full armour on a richly caparisoned horse, to literally thown down the gauntlet against any would-be challenger to the incumbent's rightful claim to the throne. It was always a good bit of drama* immediately before the signal was given to serve the first course of the coronation banquet, which was itself always ceremonially brought in to the accompaniment of trumpet fanfares and the singing of choirboys etc.


* Re. the theatre of the King's Champion at the coronation banquet ... I know its not really relevant here but I can't resist recounting the tale of the last King's Champion to throw down his challenge.

The hereditary ancient title of King's/Queen's Champion is held by the lords of the manor of Scrivelsby in Lincolnshire, and since the coronation of Richard II in 1377 this title has been held by the head of the Dymoke family. The last time they were called upon to perform their ancient service was in 1821 for the coronation of George IV. At that time the lord of the manor of Scrivelsby was Sir Henry Dymoke, who was then just a plump middle-aged, rural squire who had hardly ever ridden a horse in his life. As he was required to ride in full armour, into a hot, noisy and crowded Westminster Hall, and seeing as he wasn't a good horseman, it was decided to find him a well-trained horse that was well used to crowds and noise .... and so a veteran circus horse was duly found for the task.

At the appointed moment in the ceremonies, the two of them cantered into Westminster Hall and Sir Dymoke, as King's Champion, loudly proclaimed his challenge and threw down his gauntlet. When there was no answer he solemnly leaned forward in the saddle to bow to the King. His well-trained horse picked up on the movement and prompty dropped to its knees and also performed an elaborate equine bow. At this the audience bust into rapturous applause. The horse, well-used to judging his audience, perceived that an encore was called for and so launched itself into its usual dance routine ... pirrouetting, trotting backwards, side-stepping, rearing up and dancing on two back legs ... while Sir Dymoke could only hang on and hope he didn't fall off. Eventually the horse's handler intervened and the animal, with the rather pale King's Champion clinging grimly to its back, was led away.

George IV's successor, William IV, held no coronation banquet in 1831, and at the Coronation of Queen Victoria in 1838 it was decided not to include the traditional ride and challenge of the Champion. The same Sir Henry Dymoke, now some 17 years older and fatter, was made a baronet in recompense.

 
Our hero is an Irishman (of course) – a big, brave man, a man prepared to risk his very livelihood, not to mention an international incident, for his principles. The story takes place on St. Patrick’s Day 1911, in the United States. The Washington Post considered it newsworthy and I repeat their story here: 
 
 
Though his patriotic feeling nearly cost him his job, Dennis O’Shea, one of the chefs in the Columbia University commons, where most of the students on Morningside Heights eat, flatly refused to profane Friday by making orange sherbet as the dessert for the evening meal. He told Clarence R. Jones, the manager, that he would prevent any of the other chefs from doing so as long as any breath remained in his body.
Jones made out the bill of fare on Thursday evening, and when he put down orange sherbet it did not occur to him that the dish would hardly be appropriate for March 17. O’Shea noticed the offending dish at once. He said nothing to Jones at the moment, but went to work with rebellion in his heart, and as he made up the different dishes he tried to think up a way out of the difficulty. He finally solved the problem by making raspberry sherbet, although he knew that the students had been eating raspberry sherbet every night for a week, and were beginning to get tired of it.
The first Jones knew of the substitution was when he made a trip through the dining room. The first thing he saw was a mournful student studying the menu to see if his eyes had not deceived him. Jones made a dive for the kitchen, where he sought out O’Shea and demanded why his orders had been disregarded.
“’Tis the 17^th of March and no orange sherbet shall be made here if I can help it” was O’Shea’s reply. Jones argued and threatened, but in vain. O’Shea was obdurate, and when Jones ordered a Greek waiter to freeze some orange sherbet the militant Irishman sat down on the big freezer and dared Jones and the Greek to come on. O’Shea won out.
 
Had our hero had sufficient advance warning, he would of course have made a green sherbet. I feel sure it would have contained a suitable amount of spirits too. Perhaps a tot of Irish whiskey could be added to the other spirits in the following recipe.
 
Mint Sherbet.
Put ten sprigs of fresh mint to soak for an hour in one cup of half each brandy and sherry. Strain and add three cups of water and two cups of sugar which have been boiled to a syrup, two teaspoons of granulated gelatine dissolved and the whites of four eggs beaten stiff. Freeze stiff.

Good Housekeeping Everyday Cook Book, 1903


Credits: I've borrowed this tale from The Old Foodie website:

The Old Foodie - A food history story and recipe for every weekday of the year

... a great site with hundreds of quirky tales about food, cooking and dining throughout history. It has been a rich source - and a rich sauce - of ideas for this thread.

MM wrote:

Credits: I've borrowed this tale from The Old Foodie website:

The Old Foodie - A food history story and recipe for every weekday of the year

... a great site with hundreds of quirky tales about food, cooking and dining throughout history. It has been a rich source - and a rich sauce - of ideas for this thread.

Just been reading Feed the Brute from your The Old Foodie site, MM - these Americans do have some funny ideas about us...

Well, of course, I'm repeating to you the conversation of just one group of men. Tastes may differ. But I think this group voiced the opinion of the sex in general. Have you ever noticed what specialties are featured in men's clubs? They're usually dishes like roast beef and Yorkshire pudding or beef and kidney pie or some other plain substantial food. This is the kind of food universally served in England where everything is planned to please the men.

But then it must be admitted men do seem to prefer lots of cholesterol-rich meaty meals, despite all the health warnings. Is/was this just an English male thing though, copied elsewhere?  Surely not.

I remember reading somewhere that Catherine of Aragon was considered very odd when she tried to introduce salad greens to the Tudor court - one can't imagine Henry VIII and the Duke of Norfolk enjoying "clean eating". That said, the information from a "clean-eating" site actually does not ban meats (see below) - and Tudor meat dishes, all from "natural" (i.e. hunted/freshly slaughtered) sources and obviously prepared without nasty additives and chemicals, would possibly pass the "clean" tests? Moderation in all things is the key, I suppose.

Include Meats – Eat meats that are whole and straight from the butcher. Don’t buy pre-packaged meat products because you never know what’s in them. When possible, buy whole meats and grind them yourself. You’d be surprised what’s in ground turkey meat! You can also select a few turkey breasts and ask that the butcher grind them for you. Many butchers are more than willing to accommodate.

I bet Henry would have loved curries, plus beer - ugh!

Temperance wrote:

I bet Henry would have loved curries, plus beer - ugh!

Actually a lot of late medieval cuisine was very similar to modern British curryhouse-type curry ... pieces of cooked meat served in a very spicy sauce which was thickened with ground almond. The spices, for those that could afford them, were the usual mix of pepper, ginger, coriander, mustard, nutmeg, cardamon etc ... and only chili would have been notably absent since, along with tomatoes, aubergines and potatoes, they had yet to arrive from the New World.

The Tudor court also consumed huge quantities of ale/beer, it being the standard drink for working people, although I always get the feeling that Henry was more of a red wine man (probably claret from Bordeaux rather than a Chateauneuf-du-Pape, at least after about 1534).

Temperance wrote:

But then it must be admitted men do seem to prefer lots of cholesterol-rich meaty meals, despite all the health warnings. Is/was this just an English male thing though, copied elsewhere?  Surely not.

I remember reading somewhere that Catherine of Aragon was considered very odd when she tried to introduce salad greens to the Tudor court - one can't imagine Henry VIII and the Duke of Norfolk enjoying "clean eating".

There could be something in this. I think that it's in Malaya and/or Java where the local language and culture actually distinguishes between "men's dishes" and "women's dishes". The belief being that certain food types are better suited to the differing physiology of the sexes. And let's not forget that in all cultures throughout the world the dietary recommendation for pregnant and nursing mothers differs to that for others with some foodstuffs being encouraged while others are eschewed.

There's nothing particularly English about young men eating meals predominantly based on carbohydrates and protein. These are the basic dietary requirements providing energy for building and maintaining muscle mass. Although we know that greens and fruits and very important for the blood and also for eliminating free radicals (which speed up ageing and can cause cancer), conversely anyone seeking to build muscle actually needs some free radicals in order to stress said muscles. Without stress (and protein) muscles simply won't grow. This has generally been known (instinctively or otherwise) since ancient times with bodybuilding practiced by warriors and athletes in Egypt, India and Greece etc.

In terms of sourcing protein from meat (rather than from pulses, nuts, fish and dairy etc) then the ancient Greeks were probably the first to widely promote this. For example in the 6th century BC, the wrestler Milo of Croton is said to have had a diet consisting of huge amounts of meat and bread ... washed down with copious quaffs of wine. Needless to say such reports need to be taken with a proverbial pinch of salt but the basic message is that the link between meat protein and manly strength was well known to humans over 2500 years ago.

I see that this thread (of which the OP was June 2015) still seems to be frequently viewed even in late 2019. Accordingly, if you haven't already found it, I direct anyone interested to go to its continuation thread:

Dish of the Day - II

Furthermore, now that I've got a bit more time on my hands, at least for the next few months, I hope to re-start posting something on that thread. Although of course it's not a personal blog and so I invite anyone interested to chip in with their own posts, suggestions, corrections, or other food history stuff.