For my part, I’ve long fancied studying the cuisine of the Middle Ages, in Europe especially, that lengthy time between the Dark Ages and the first tendrils of the Renaissance (roughly 500-1500 A.D.). It was an era of enormous paradigm shifts in the way people lived, interrelated and, indeed, cooked.
What did common persons do for food in, say, England or France when the temperature outside (and, in their day, inside as well) was a scorcher? They had no chilled melon salads to eat, nor certainly any chocolate chip mint ice cream.
The Middle Ages were ‘the eon of hot soup’
Except for the cooking at court or that for ecclesiastics (all those famous monks that came out of medieval times), it’s a fair question because you could call the entire Middle Ages “the eon of hot soup.” Every home or hut had a hearth, and the hearth had its pot, a vessel (typically earthenware) warmed 24/7, into which was tossed all manner of comestible and from which was drawn its heated mix.
A “green porray,” as a French cookbook called it in the late 1400s, of cereals, grains and cabbage (with water) would have been a mainstay—indeed, most every single day’s eating — augmented now and then by salted pork or a meat scrap or an egg. And always, the porridge was hot.
Cooling foods for summer in the Middle Ages
I did find a few recipes from the Middle Ages for foods served cool or at room temperature and, from among them, a sort of salad of vegetables in a sweet and sour (what we would call) dressing. It’s very delicious and quite cooling, in its way, due especially to the vigor of its dressing’s flavorings, energized as they are by acidity and piquancy both.
Typical of that age, the recipe gives no measurements or timings, so I tried to emulate medieval style. For example, a Jedi might say about this recipe that “the cinnamon is strong with this one,” cinnamon being favored by medieval cooks only second to black pepper as a spice. So, in cinnamon goes markedly (especially for a cooled vegetable dish). It’s pretty tasty, in truth.
Translating the original Old English of the recipe was a fun challenge. I cannot give you the entirety, of course, but here’s just the beginning: “Compost. Take rote of persel, of pasternak, of rafens, scrape them and waische them clene.” (“Composed salad. Take parsley root, parsnip and radishes; peel and wash them clean.”)
When the recipe states “whan it is colde” (“when cold”), it means cool enough to handle after a blanching. For preparing this recipe, we moderns are able to use ice baths or very cold running water and even refrigerators.
But “do lat alle thise thynges lye al nyyt.” (“Do let all these things lie together all night.”) It’s important to follow the direction to let the initial seasonings marinate the vegetables overnight. Doing so develops the many flavors.
What medieval recipes can teach modern cooks
Ancient recipes, and especially the manner in which they were eventually written down, teach the cook much more than mere translation skills.
In truth, the listing of measured ingredients in a recipe in English is a very modern phenomenon. It came about from both Mrs. Beeton’s 1861 “Book of Household Management,” and in Fannie Farmer’s 1896 “The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book.”
Letting go of the precision of measurement is not only somewhat scary, yes, but it’s also liberating. When you can go without measurement, you know you’ve graduated to expert cooking: to sense, in your own stew pot, when a little of something needs adding, or to know, ahead of time, the amount of a medium necessary for boiling, or sautéing, and the like.
Old recipes teach other lessons about cooking. For example, when cooks in the Middle Ages wanted to add color to a food, they used “dyes” already available to them in other foods. For instance, saffron gave them yellow, or spinach or parsley leaves, green.
Finally, an important cooking lesson taught by older recipes is the ease of substitution. A modern person may panic when the precise ingredient isn’t in the pantry or even at the grocery.
Cooks of old(e) knew that sweetness comes by way of many elements (dried fruit, honey, boiled down juice); salt via many a food already preserved or washed in it (anchovies, ham, cheese, sauerkraut and — for Asian cooks — seaweed); and acidity, always in vinegar, of course, but also from sour grape juice or tart wine and, later, citrus and the tomato.
In the recipe here, I substituted celery root for parsley root (the latter is hard to come by hereabouts). The original recipe doesn’t indicate how the vegetables are prepped, so I cut them into large julienne for a sort of matchstick “white salad.” (It’s after Memorial Day; you’re allowed to eat white.) If you want more color, you might cut up red instead of white radishes, carrots in place of parsnips, or even purple over green cabbage.
Just be strong in the cinnamon with this one.
Sweet and Sour Parsnips and Pears (Compost of Pasternak and of Peeres)
From “The Forme of Cury,” compiled about 1390 A.D. by the master cooks of King Richard II. Serves 2.
Ingredients
- 1 cup parsnip, peeled and large julienne
- 1 cup celery root, peeled and large julienne
- 1 cup white radish, cleaned and large julienne
- 1 cup inner leaves green cabbage, large julienne
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 cup Bosc pear, peeled and large julienne
- 1/4 cup green or golden raisins
- 1/2 teaspoon fennel seed
- 1 teaspoon powdered ginger
- 1 tablespoon rice or white wine vinegar
- 1 tablespoon white grape juice or apple juice
- Few threads saffron
Dressing:
- 1/4 cup white wine or apple juice
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1 teaspoon sweet mustard (brown or “ballpark”-style)
- 1/2 teaspoon ground or powdered cinnamon
- Outer or large leaves of green cabbage
Directions
Blanch (to your desired level of crunch) the parsnip, celery root, white radish and cabbage; drain and plunge into an ice bath or very cold water. Drain and pat dry on kitchen or paper towels. Add to a bowl, sprinkle with the salt, then add the pear, raisins, fennel seed, powdered ginger, vinegar, juice and saffron. Toss, cover, and refrigerate overnight.
Make a dressing of the remaining ingredients, except the large outer cabbage leaves, by heating them together in a small pan or pot, simmering for a few minutes, then cooling the mixture. (You also may heat the dressing in a microwave, then cool it well.) Toss with the refrigerated vegetables and serve in bowls lined with the large cabbage leaves.