Cooking is a great love of mine, as many who know me can attest. I enjoy sharing my love of cooking with the populous, by teaching and cooking. I started cooking in Tear’s Sea Shore (oh, so many years ago), mainly helping in the kitchen; but then, it was still a budding interest. I actively started researching cooking about a decade ago, while I was in Aethelmearc, and the bud went into full bloom. I found it a challenge, even exciting – deciphering the thought processes of the medieval cook and the history of food, also how it was used to assist the physician in maintaining the health of the medieval family.
I would like to share with you a recipe that is one of my favorites and my take on it. The redacted recipe has some things missing, so, I added them in parenthesis.
Sowpys Dorry (from Pleyn Delit, ref. Diversa Servisia*)
2 oz. Ground almonds (½ cup) or more (blanched, but not toasted)
1 bottle (750 ml) dry white wine or ½ wine, ½ water
3-4 large onions minced or thinly sliced
Salt to taste
2-3 Tbsp Oil (not mentioned in the ingredient list, but mentioned in the body)
Toasted bread (rounds, optional) for sops
Parboil the onions in (enough) water (to cover) for 5 minutes; drain, reserving the water. Draw up the almond milk (explanation follows), using the almonds, ½ cup of the reserved cooking water, and ½ cup of the wine. Heat the oil in a large stew pot and stir in the onions; cook over low heat for 5-10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the rest of the wine to the onions, cover the pot and simmer 15 minutes. Add almond milk and cook a few more minutes (5-10 minutes just to “marry” the flavors). Salt to taste. Place a slice of toasted bread in each serving bowl and pour the soup over the toast.
Making almond milk: (my abbreviated version)
Soak the almonds in the hot liquid for about 5 minutes then strain through layers of cheesecloth, muslin, or a fine mesh strainer. You can use the remaining paste in other recipes. Note: the finer the mesh or cheesecloth (or muslin), the less grit in the milk. The longer it drains, be more “milk” is produced. I can get a couple cups out of a ½ cup of ground almonds.
I have a nut-free version I make for some of my friends.
5-6 large onions, thinly sliced
1 bottle white wine
1 qt. Vegetable broth
2-3 Tbsp Olive oil
Salt to taste
1 pint heavy cream
One shot Cream Sherry (opt)
Toasted bread
In a large stew pot, sauté the onions with the oil and a pinch of salt. When the onions are golden, add the wine and ½ the vegetable broth. Simmer for 15-20 minutes on medium heat. Turn the heat down to low. Mix together the cream, broth, and sherry (opt) and slowly mix into the onion mixture. Bring up to medium-low and simmer another 10 minutes. Serve over the toasted bread or float the bread on top.
*Curye on Inglysch : eds. Constance Hieatt and Sharon Butler. The Diversa Servisia is one of several recipe collections in this work.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Bardic Arts: Songwriting by Vincent D'Orleans
ERIN
When Erin was a little boy, proper raised was he
All his wild and wicked play was punished on the knee
A man of sure refining, exciting as a stump
He never would have dared be seen partaking in this dump.
CHORUS:
Then Erin fell out of bed
He landed right on his head
And now poor boring Erin is the life of the party instead
Now, Erin is a friend of mine, he says such marvelous things
Ever since that bit of luck one stormy night last spring
Erin rarely takes a drink, he has a permanent drunk,
And when he speaks, he speaks a lot of every thought he thunk
CHORUS
Erin came into the pub wearing not a stitch.
We asked him why, he quick replied, “To better scratch an itch.”
He climbed up on the table to let lose with a song,
And would not let us have our beer till we all sang along.
CHORUS
Erin is a buddy pal, though some would say it’s a shame.
He buys me beer and makes me laugh, but can’t remember me name.
He has no hesitation to find a maiden fair,
And point out happily to us all. “She makes a lovely pair.”
CHORUS
When Erin was a little boy, proper raised was he
All his wild and wicked play was punished on the knee
A man of sure refining, exciting as a stump
He never would have dared be seen partaking in this dump.
CHORUS:
Then Erin fell out of bed
He landed right on his head
And now poor boring Erin is the life of the party instead
Now, Erin is a friend of mine, he says such marvelous things
Ever since that bit of luck one stormy night last spring
Erin rarely takes a drink, he has a permanent drunk,
And when he speaks, he speaks a lot of every thought he thunk
CHORUS
Erin came into the pub wearing not a stitch.
We asked him why, he quick replied, “To better scratch an itch.”
He climbed up on the table to let lose with a song,
And would not let us have our beer till we all sang along.
CHORUS
Erin is a buddy pal, though some would say it’s a shame.
He buys me beer and makes me laugh, but can’t remember me name.
He has no hesitation to find a maiden fair,
And point out happily to us all. “She makes a lovely pair.”
CHORUS
Luminaries Illuminated: Baroness Morwenna and Baron Bardulf
How were we kidnapped by the gypsies? Did I say kidnapped? Well, not really kidnapped…. It’s a bit more complicated than that.
Have a seat my friend, and for the price of an ale, I’ll tell you a tale…..
By nature, I’m an ordinary seaman with just enough talent to be a second mate. While not a lavish life, it was tolerable enough. Tolerable enough until I happened to take a shine to a Cornish lass.
That girl had a mind for merchanting. ‘Tis known that not many need a keg of nails and fewer yet have the money to buy a keg of nails - but everyone needs a few nails now and then.
It wasn’t long before she discovered that when you sold nails by the dozen, you could earn more than the money it cost to buy the same number of nails by the keg. Pretty soon, we had a profitable ship chandler business.
What does any sailor with too much money buy? No, not whiskey - a ship! We bought a run-down, old merchantman that brought us a tidy profit in trade with the Dutch - which of course we used to buy another ship - and in turn, another!
Do you remember that splendid little war we had with the French a few years back?
I do.
Some sorry Frog man-o-war boarded my ship and stole my cargo!
Facing ruin, I did what a man had to do. I turned privateer - I was not a pirate you understand; all my vessels had a proper letter of marque - signed by the King himself! We showed the damned French what happens when you steal from an Englishman!
That privateering was rather rewarding made the revenge sweeter. Riches and honors came in abundance. My lady & I were proclaimed Baron & Baroness by the King - however, with no Baronial lands they were perhaps empty titles….
So far, so good. ‘Tis said however, that good fortune will test you as surely as any adversity.
Well, the old king (God rest his soul) dies and his idiot son marries a French princess, and just like that, the French are now our allies! -
And just like that, French ships are no longer fair game and I’m now a pirate! How’s that, you ask? When the they steal your cargo, it’s a “prize of war” - when you return the courtesy, well, that’s piracy!!
It seems the Frogs were also a bit upset that I sank a few of their ships.
How many? - perhaps a dozen, maybe more…..
Not finding a gallows to my liking, we hid from the French in the only place a Frenchman would never look…..
France.
One dark and stormy night, the Baroness and I took our comfort in what might be generously deemed a tavern - it was “The Old Brown Cow” - or some such name. While the ale was tolerable enough, the port sherry truly pleased my palate and I indulged more than a gentleman should. That’s the only excuse I have for what follows….
The “entertainment” on that evening was an odd lot of gypsies. One woman danced and tried to coax a few coins from the patrons. Three others tried to coax a danceable tune from instruments that had clearly seen better days.
The dancer might have succeeded were it not for a man that sat close by. He seemed pleasant enough, but would always favor any patron that paid too much attention to the dancer with a deadpan glare that warned any man to keep his distance. That he also kept a rapier within arm’s reach didn’t help her income a bit.
The Baroness yawned, looked bored, and excused herself.
Moments later, ‘twas then that six men entered…..
By the look of them, they were the Sheriff, four bailiffs, and a somewhat aggrieved-looking farmer.
“That’s her! - That’s the thieving wench!”
The dancer froze but a moment, then ran for the kitchen door - and right into the arms of a waiting bailiff. He spun the woman around, seized her by the scruff of the neck and pinned one arm behind her back.
“Release her.”
It was the fellow with the rapier who spoke. It was a simple, dry, matter-of-fact command that a prudent man would heed.
Prudent men were in short supply that night.
“Or what?”
May the Gods save us from such idiots. The idiot in question was the youngest bailiff. The youth compounded his lunacy by drawing a sword and turning to face the seated man.
With a speed I would not have credited to a mortal, the man rose, and unsheathed the rapier. One fluid blow stuck the sword from the bailiff’s hand and the return stroke pinned the fool against a wall.
When everything stopped moving, the room was full of bared steel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the silver-haired gypsy woman that had played the fiddle had chosen her targets and was quietly readying two throwing knives.
“Gentlemen…..”
I stood and walked to the center of the room, clearly unarmed and brandishing only my purse.
“….there’s no need for this to end badly.”
I held out the purse to the farmer and shook it so that all could hear the coins inside. I saw no reason to reveal that those coins were but a handful of coppers.
“What was taken? A few eggs - perhaps a chicken or two? Surely those things are not worth a man’s life.”
“The first man who moves, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
A familiar feminine voice - the Baroness had returned. She stood in the kitchen doorway brandishing a wheel-lock that I had given her some time ago.
“Put the pistol down, my dear - there’s no need for that. I’ll explain later.”
Have a seat my friend, and for the price of an ale, I’ll tell you a tale…..
By nature, I’m an ordinary seaman with just enough talent to be a second mate. While not a lavish life, it was tolerable enough. Tolerable enough until I happened to take a shine to a Cornish lass.
That girl had a mind for merchanting. ‘Tis known that not many need a keg of nails and fewer yet have the money to buy a keg of nails - but everyone needs a few nails now and then.
It wasn’t long before she discovered that when you sold nails by the dozen, you could earn more than the money it cost to buy the same number of nails by the keg. Pretty soon, we had a profitable ship chandler business.
What does any sailor with too much money buy? No, not whiskey - a ship! We bought a run-down, old merchantman that brought us a tidy profit in trade with the Dutch - which of course we used to buy another ship - and in turn, another!
Do you remember that splendid little war we had with the French a few years back?
I do.
Some sorry Frog man-o-war boarded my ship and stole my cargo!
Facing ruin, I did what a man had to do. I turned privateer - I was not a pirate you understand; all my vessels had a proper letter of marque - signed by the King himself! We showed the damned French what happens when you steal from an Englishman!
That privateering was rather rewarding made the revenge sweeter. Riches and honors came in abundance. My lady & I were proclaimed Baron & Baroness by the King - however, with no Baronial lands they were perhaps empty titles….
So far, so good. ‘Tis said however, that good fortune will test you as surely as any adversity.
Well, the old king (God rest his soul) dies and his idiot son marries a French princess, and just like that, the French are now our allies! -
And just like that, French ships are no longer fair game and I’m now a pirate! How’s that, you ask? When the they steal your cargo, it’s a “prize of war” - when you return the courtesy, well, that’s piracy!!
It seems the Frogs were also a bit upset that I sank a few of their ships.
How many? - perhaps a dozen, maybe more…..
Not finding a gallows to my liking, we hid from the French in the only place a Frenchman would never look…..
France.
One dark and stormy night, the Baroness and I took our comfort in what might be generously deemed a tavern - it was “The Old Brown Cow” - or some such name. While the ale was tolerable enough, the port sherry truly pleased my palate and I indulged more than a gentleman should. That’s the only excuse I have for what follows….
The “entertainment” on that evening was an odd lot of gypsies. One woman danced and tried to coax a few coins from the patrons. Three others tried to coax a danceable tune from instruments that had clearly seen better days.
The dancer might have succeeded were it not for a man that sat close by. He seemed pleasant enough, but would always favor any patron that paid too much attention to the dancer with a deadpan glare that warned any man to keep his distance. That he also kept a rapier within arm’s reach didn’t help her income a bit.
The Baroness yawned, looked bored, and excused herself.
Moments later, ‘twas then that six men entered…..
By the look of them, they were the Sheriff, four bailiffs, and a somewhat aggrieved-looking farmer.
“That’s her! - That’s the thieving wench!”
The dancer froze but a moment, then ran for the kitchen door - and right into the arms of a waiting bailiff. He spun the woman around, seized her by the scruff of the neck and pinned one arm behind her back.
“Release her.”
It was the fellow with the rapier who spoke. It was a simple, dry, matter-of-fact command that a prudent man would heed.
Prudent men were in short supply that night.
“Or what?”
May the Gods save us from such idiots. The idiot in question was the youngest bailiff. The youth compounded his lunacy by drawing a sword and turning to face the seated man.
With a speed I would not have credited to a mortal, the man rose, and unsheathed the rapier. One fluid blow stuck the sword from the bailiff’s hand and the return stroke pinned the fool against a wall.
When everything stopped moving, the room was full of bared steel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the silver-haired gypsy woman that had played the fiddle had chosen her targets and was quietly readying two throwing knives.
“Gentlemen…..”
I stood and walked to the center of the room, clearly unarmed and brandishing only my purse.
“….there’s no need for this to end badly.”
I held out the purse to the farmer and shook it so that all could hear the coins inside. I saw no reason to reveal that those coins were but a handful of coppers.
“What was taken? A few eggs - perhaps a chicken or two? Surely those things are not worth a man’s life.”
“The first man who moves, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
A familiar feminine voice - the Baroness had returned. She stood in the kitchen doorway brandishing a wheel-lock that I had given her some time ago.
“Put the pistol down, my dear - there’s no need for that. I’ll explain later.”
“I step out for a moment to visit the loo and when I come back you’re surrounded by armed men while holding your purse out! And this is the thanks I get? I’ll be damned if I ever save your sorry Saxon arse….”
She never finished the tirade because a deafening report filled the room. The Sheriff’s hat was shredded, but thankfully the head below it was spared.
I really did intend to have the pistol repaired someday. Whenever the clockwork was over-wound, the trigger pawl had a nasty habit of slipping, causing the gun to fire without actually pulling the trigger.
In truth, I can remember but snippets of what followed - things did happen faster than the most even-tempered of men could observe.
I’ll give the gypsies credit for being a quick-witted lot - everyone of them seized whatever opportunity the confusion provided.
The dancer broke free when she came down hard on her captor’s toes with her heel. She then wheeled about and settled a private debt. While I didn’t witness what she did to his nethers, his bulging eyes bespoke the result.
I don’t recall which of them grabbed the Baroness & I and pulled us out the door.
We were guided along a path through the woods that I could not have found, let alone followed in the dark. Presently, we entered their encampment and were given food and drink and a place to rest.
“The Sherengro wants to meet you two. Address her as the ‘Rani Bari’. She’s been told what happened at the tavern.”
The woman sat at the edge of a campfire and barely took note of our approach. Her attention centered on some cards that were spread out on a small carpet.
“You two are bit old for brawlin’, eh?”
“I fear we’re at the mercy of your hospitality, Rani Bari. Everything we had is back at the Tavern. We dare not return for it.”
“This Kumpania honors its debts and its friends.”
The woman fell silent and scowled at the cards. She gathered them up and laid them out again. Whatever was divulged did not please her, for she quickly gathered them up again. Suddenly, her face brightened - as if seeing something obvious for the first time.
“Well damn me for being a fool! The cards can’t reveal unless I know your names!”
“We are Bardulf and Morwenna, Baron and Baroness at your service.”
The Sherengro paused. Clearly she suspected the vagabonds before her were of a couple of loons. She then favored us with a gently tolerant smile that is used in the company of small children.
“Baron? Baroness?? Forgive my lack of manners! I’m Dulcinaya, The Queen of Egypt! Welcome to my royal court!
Dulcinaya shuffled the cards one more time and laid them out.
“The cards say you’re going to stay with us for a while.”
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