Medieval Meals: Barley Bread

What do you get when you mix heavy-duty monastery prayer, clergy who thought themselves too ascetic for "fine white" bread, and an environment where ale is always available? 

Cloister Barely Bread. 

It sticks to your bones, people. Want fiber? Check.
Whole grains? Check. 

A bread that a few bites will take you ten minutes to chew? Check. 

Look at all those chewy whole-grains. There they are, just begging to keep you regular.

Here are the culprits, my friends. Strong whole wheat flour (the recipe called for "wholemeal", whole wheat is similar), barley (anxiously waiting to be ground), rice flour, active dry yeast, honey, a good brown ale, salt, and some warm water.

Guaranteed to help you avoid sinning.

Maybe. 

 Now, if you want to get really fancy, you can grind your own barley. I did, but I cheated and used a coffee grinder. I'm fairly certain the monks would have looked down on me for this.

Result: 225 grams of scrumptious ground barley flour.

 Next, mix together the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Enjoy the smell of fresh flour.

Mix the ale and yeast together until they form a nice cream. 

(Monks love ale. Yeast loves ale. Happiness abounds) 

Then mix with 1 1/2 cups of the warm water and honey. 

 Stir the wet mixture into the dry goods and mix to form a firm dough (this will be very sticky) and add extra water as needed. I found that the 1 1/2 cups was more than enough. Knead until the dough feels elastic and thoroughly mixed. Cue the large bowl.
Shape into a ball.

Lift the dough out of the bowl, oil the inside of the bowl, and replace the dough. Cover with a damp cloth and let rise for about an hour in a warm place. I like to boil a pan of water, place it in a cold oven, and then add the covered dough. The steam from the pan allows for a warm happy environment for rising.

Punch the dough down and shape into two round loaves. Place in two baking pans (I used 9 inch cake pans). Use some extra whole wheat flour and sprinkle the top. Then, for extra authenticity, make criss-cross slits on the top of each. Re-cover and let rise.

 Preheat the oven to 450 °F. When heated, take the now twice-risen dough and place in the oven for 20-25 minutes. If done, they should sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. 

Let cool on a wire rack and cut when cool. 

Enjoy your healthy prayer-sustaining loaves and allow extra time for thorough chewing.

Barley Bread

from: Maggie Black, The Medieval Cookbook (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1992), 55-56.

Ingredients

500 g strong wholemeal flour

225 g barley flour

25 g rice flour

1/2 tablespoon salt

1/2 oz/2 packets fresh yeast

1/3 cup brown ale

2 cups warm water

2 teaspoons clear honey

Preparation Instructions

Mix the dry ingredients in a warmed bowl. Blend the yeast to a cream with a little ale, then mix with 1 1/2 cups of the water and honey. Stir mixture into the dry goods and mix to a firm dough, adding extra water as needed. Knead until the dough feels elastic. Shape it into a ball. Lift it out of the bowl and oil the inside of the bowl lightly. Return the dough, cover it loosely with oiled polythene and leave the bowl in a warm place until the dough has almost double in bulk. Punch it down, then shape it into two equal-sized oblong or round loaves. Place in two bread or deep cake tins. (For traditional round loaves, use deep cake tins with removable bases.) Make a cross-cut in the centre of round loaves. Pre-heat the oven to 450 degrees F.

Cover the dough lightly with a cloth and leave in a warm place until well risen. Bake the loaves for 20-25 minutes; they should sound hollow when turned out and tapped underneath. If they need a few minutes longer, cover them lightly with greased foil and lower the oven heat slightly. Cool them under a cloth, on a wire rack. Do not cut until quite cold.

Medieval Meals: Almond Milk Flan

In theory, this should have been a fabulous recipe.

It should have been my favorite.
It is a dessert after all.

But, my stories of how I learned to cook are littered with kitchen failures. The Great November 2011 fire of the Almond Milk Flan was no exception.

Enough of a teaser?

We have here our soon to be infamous cast of characters: almond milk, sugar, salt, rice flour, almond extract (the recipe calls for saffron, a spice that was relatively easy to get in medieval times, but is now extremely expensive. Almond extract is an accepted alternative), and pre-made pie crust.

Seems innocent enough.
Let's keep going.

 Prepare pre-made pie crust for a single-crust 9 inch pan. 

Prick with a fork and place in the oven for 10 minutes at 375 degrees F.

Such a pretty baked pie crust. Put it aside and begin making filling.

In a sauce pan, bring almond milk just to boiling point.

Add sugar and dissolve. Add salt and almond extract.

Everything still seems routine.

Add 1/2 of the hot mixture to rice flour while stirring.
This is more difficult that it seems.

Combine with remaining hot almond milk.

See the white flour chunks? This is where we start to go wrong.

Pour custard mixture into prepared pastry. Bake 20-25 minutes at 375 degrees F, until a light crust appears on surface.

Alright, so see that silver poking out? That, my friends, is a cheap pie pan. 

It also had a hole it. 

Therefore, when I placed it in the oven, not only did some spill onto the side, but unbeknownst to me, there was a steady dripping into the oven.

Cue me opening the oven door to check the flan and getting blasted with black billowing smoke. 

While the flan itself was unscathed, it was shrouded in thick smoke that filled not only the oven but my kitchen, my living room, and got irrevocably into my hair.

I managed to save the flan while my fiance desperately tried dissipate the smoke by opening every window/door in my house, all the while trying to hold back his giggles.

I was less than amused.

However, not all seemed to be lost. 

The Flan had developed a crust!!

 It would be delicious despite adversity!

False. Only the top had a crust.

The bottom stayed the same liquid consistency and I was left with only a top layer of Flan.

Here lies my sad Flan that only has a solid top layer. I tried to spruce it up with some berries but it was no good.

You win some; you lose some.

Flan: 1

Emma: 0

Almond Milk Flan

from: D. Eleanor Scully and Terence Scully, Early French Cookery: Sources, History, Original Recipes and Modern Adaptations (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1995), 281-282.

Ingredients

1 pre-made pie crust

1 cup ground almonds + 1 1/4 cups water OR 1 1/4 cups pre-made almond milk

1 1/2 sugar

pinch salt

pinch saffron OR 1/8 teaspoon high quality almond extract (Saffron is extremely expensive)

1/4 cup rice flour

Garnish:

2 tablespoon blanched sliced almonds or fresh fruit or pomegranate seeds or candied orange peel

Preparation Instructions

Combine almonds and water well (blender may be used). Strain through several layers of of damp muslin or cheesecloth to obtain almond milk. (Skip this step if you are using pre-made almond milk.)

In a sauce pot, bring almond milk just to boiling point.

Add sugar and dissolve. Add salt and saffron (or almond extract).

Add 1/2 of this hot mixture to rice flour, while stirring. Combine with remaining hot almond milk.

Pour custard mixture into prepared pastry. Bake 20-25 minutes at 375 degrees F until a light crust appears on surface.

Sprinkle with sliced almonds and return to oven until almonds are toasted.

Medieval Meals: Cormary: Roast Loin of Pork with Red Wine

"I cook with wine. Sometimes I even add it to the food." -W. C. Fields

Ok, I'll admit. W.C. Fields was nowhere close to a medieval presence.
b. 1880
d. 1946

But the quote was too good to resist.

The red wine in this recipe adds a subtle complexity to the pork and mingles beautifully with the spices.

In fact, the marinade would wonderfully season a beef roast as well. 

So raise your glass to cooking with wine as the cooks in the Middle Ages did!

A+ for authenticity. 

There it is, my friends. Behold the deliciously marinated pork. Though the red wine gave the chops an interesting color, the taste was phenomenal. I made four of them. 

Three were gone in less than 20 minutes. 

Though not as cool as a convocation of eagles (yes, that is the collective noun), here are our delicious ingredients: 

4 pork loin chops, equaling about 3 lbs, red wine, broth, garlic, coriander, caraway, pepper, and salt.

In a glass dish, make a marinade with the wine, garlic, coriander, caraway, and pepper. Since we are using pork chops instead of one large roast, there is no need to tie them.

Season the sides of the chops with salt. Place the chops in the marinade and soak for a few hours or overnight. 

(I marinated them overnight and while the flavor was spectacular, the color was odd. It's your call on what is more important.)

The next day, preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Roast the pork for about an hour, basting frequently.
When you baste, be sure to take deep breaths of that tasty aroma. There's nothing like it.

When the chops are done, remove them from the pan and let sit in a warm place, while you make the sauce. (I turned off the oven, covered the chops with tin foil, and placed them back in the oven.)

Over medium-low heat, bring the pan juices to a boil and add the broth. Return to a boil, let reduce a bit, and taste for seasoning. Serve with the meat.

(The picture is of unfortunate quality, but the broth is next to the pan.)

Be prepared for people lining up for this flavorful twist on the traditional pork chop!

Note: My Iowan Fiance still contends that these would be enormously better with "Iowa chops". 

I guess those Middle Ages cooks and I will never know.

Cormary: Roast Loin of Pork with Red Wine

Primary source from: 

Constance B. Hieatt and Sharon Butler, eds., Curye on Inglysch: Five MS collections of fourteenth-fifteenth-century recipes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), CI. IV. 54.

Modern recipe from: Odile Redon, Francoise Sabban, and Silvano Serventi, The Medieval Kitchen: Recipes from France and Italy, trans. Edward Schneider (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998), 107-108.

Primary Source

Cormarye. Take colyaundre, caraway smale grounden, powdour of peper and garlec ygrounde, in rede wyne; medle alle this togyder and salt it. Take loynes of pork rawe and fle of the skyn, and pryk it wel with a knyf, and lay it in the sawse. Roost it whan thou wilt, & kepe that that fallith therfro in the rostyng and seeth it in a possynet with faire broth, & serue it forth with the roost anoon.

Modern Recipe

Ingredients

1 loin roast of pork, bone-in, a generous 3lbs (I used 4 pork loin chops)

1 cup good red wine

scant 1/2 cup broth

4 large cloves garlic, crushed

1 teaspoon ground coriander seeds

1 teaspoon ground caraway seeds

1/3 teaspoon ground pepper

salt

Preparation Instructions

In a glass or other nonreactive ovenproof dish, make a marinade with the wine, garlic, coriander, caraway, and pepper. Tie the roast neatly, pierce it all over the the point of a knife, and season with salt. Place the roast in the marinade, turning it to coat all over. Marinate for a few hours or overnight, turning occasionally.

Preheat the oven 350 degrees F. Roast the pork for about 90 minutes (if using chops, roast for 60 minutes), basting frequently. When it is done, remove the roast from the pan and let it rest in a warm place while you make the sauce.

Over medium-low heat, bring the pan juices to the boil and add the broth. Return to the boil, taste for seasoning, and serve with the meat.

Medieval Meals: Chickpea Soup

When I walk into a grocery store, I am met with a plethora of protein choices.

Chicken, beef, pork, turkey- you name it, I bet it could find it somewhere.

Peasants in the Middle Ages were a little less fortunate.
Animals were spendy and killing one tended to leave you bereft of whatever economic benefit they were producing for you and your family.

Enter Legumes: The Medieval Protein Staple.

Legumes of all kinds were easy to produce, lent needed nutrients back to the soil, and were a solid source of vegetable protein. Medieval cooks of this time period had both red and white chickpeas to choose from, and once dried, these legumes would last for a long time.

Fortunately for me, I can get a can of chickpeas and skip the step of soaking them to restore them to their natural suppleness. I love technology.

So if you are sitting there, wondering what to make on a chilly winter night and wishing you could be both trendy (vegetarian seems to be in right now) and historical (Hurray! Chickpeas!),

Chickpea Soup is the meal for you!

Here it is. Hearty, homey, healthy. Heavens!

Enough Hs?

Here's our band of soup brothers: Chickpeas, flour, olive oil, black peppercorns, cinnamon, sage, parsley, carrots, and salt.

Do you feel like the cinnamon is the odd man out? 

Me too.

Whisk together the flour, oil, pepper, and cinnamon in a soup pot.
Such a pretty autumn color.

Drain the chickpeas and add them to the pot. Mix with your hands.

We are really getting back to basics with this one.

Add cold water to cover and bring to a boil.

Add sage, the leaves and roots of a handful of parsley, a diced root vegetable.
The recipe suggested a parsnip, but I decided on carrots.
There's something about bright colors in my food that gets me every time.

Though this and the picture about it look very similar, I can assure you that they are from two distinct time periods.

The second picture was taken after the soup had simmered for about an hour, allowing the flavors to mingle.

Salt to taste.

Serve and enjoy.

Side note: I found the cinnamon to be a disconcerting flavor in this soup. While my other taste-testers didn't mind, I kept expecting something like basil instead. Therefore, if desired, feel free to replace the cinnamon with whatever spice you like better. (Just know, this will void you from the self-righteousness gained from saying you made a hundreds of years old recipe.)

Chickpea Soup
Primary source from:
Maestro Martino, Libro de arte coquinaria, in Arte della cucina, Libri di recette: Testi sopra lo scalo, il trinciante e i vini dal XIV al XiX secolo, ed. Emilio Faccioli (Milan: Il Polifiol, 1966), 1: 115-204. 

Modern recipe from: Odile Redon, Francoise Sabban, and Silvano Serventi, The Medieval Kitchen: Recipes from France and Italy, trans. Edward Schneider (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998), 56-57.

Primary Source: Translated


Grodo of red chickpeas. To make eight platefuls: take a libra [1 libra - about 10 1/2 ounces (300 g)] and a half of chickpeas and wash them in hot water, drain them, then put them in the pot in which they will be cooked. Add half an oncia [1 oncia = about 1 ounce (30 g)] of flour, i.e., "flower" [of wheat], a little good oil, a little salt and about twenty crushed peppercorns and a little ground cinnamon, then thoroughly mix all these things together with your hands. Then add three measures of water, a little sage, rosemary, and parsley roots. Boil until it is reduced to the quantity of eight platefuls. And when they are nearly cooked, pour in a little oil. And if you prepare this soup for invalids, add neither oil nor spices.

Modern Recipe
Ingredients

1 1/4 cups dried chickpeas (or one can of wet)

1 tablespoon flour

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

10 peppercorns, coarsely crushed

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

fresh sage

parsley or parsnip (I used a handful of parsley and one carrot)

salt

Preparation Instructions

Try to get chickpeas that are no more than a year old. The day before, pick through the chickpeas for stones and debris, and wash them. Soak them in warm water over night. (Skip this step if you have canned chickpeas.)

The next day, whisk together the flour, oil, pepper, and cinnamon in your soup pot. Drain the chickpeas and add them to the pot; mix well with your hands. Add cold water to cover. Bring to a boil, skimming away any gray scum that may rise to the surface of the water.

Add a generous sprig of sage (ground works as well), a branch of rosemary, and a handful of parsley or one parsnip, diced. Simmer for 2 hours over very low heat, until the chickpeas are very tender. When done, add salt to taste. It is hard to predict how long the soup will take to cook; much depends on the quality and freshness of the chickpeas.

Medieval Meals: Carrots and Leeks with Sesame Paste

Medieval recipes from France and Italy? Been there, done that. 

Early French Cookery? Yawn.

Cloister Bread? So yesterday.

I can just picture you, my readers, sighing at yet another Middle Ages recipe.What more could there be, you ask. After having one European recipe, you've had them all, right?

False!
I am bringing you a traditional medieval ISLAMIC appetizer recipe. 

PLOT TWIST!

That's right. You forgot about all of those lovely areas in the Middle East that coincided happily with the Byzantines, and not so happily with the Crusaders.

Their exotic spices and tastes crept into the medieval taste palate slowly in the West and with all the force of rampaging stirrup-using feudalism-loving Knights in the South.

Therefore, I present to you: 

Carrots and Leeks with Sesame Paste

Looks pretty yummy, right?
At the very least, it has a bit more color than those other Western dishes I've been whipping up.
So let's get started smelling that Tahini!

Our ingredients for this dish are few but powerful. Leeks, carrots, and Hummus Tahini. (I also used a sprinkle of Sesame Oil later on. It will soon make a happy cameo.)
Fresh. Mildly exotic. Delicious.

Now, for a few words about why the hummus is here. The original recipe called for tahina (English: Tahini-  see here's that sesame paste you read in the title), vinegar, and some atraf tib (assorted spices).
So... the original recipe was basically making hummus, minus the chickpeas.

And since this is a blog about ancient recipes with a modern twist, I substituted the hummus from my local Holy Land Bakery.
It turned out spectacularly well.
Let's move on.

Slice the carrots (I used 3 good-sized carrots) and boil them for ten minutes, until tender.
I added a pinch of salt.

Meanwhile, clean and slice the leek.
Leeks were new to me so I have included a link that describes how to clean and slice a leek much better than I could replicate here.
Cleaning and Cutting Leeks
Then place in a sauce pan and boil in lightly salted water for 10-15 minutes.

Boil the leeks and carrots separately.
Apparently, the two do not enjoy sharing a sauce pot.
Perhaps they both were only children?

Drain and dry both the carrots and the leeks.
Then place leeks back into sauce pan and sprinkle lightly with sesame oil.
Stir.
See it told you the sesame oil would guest star!

Place the drained carrots and sesame-oiled leeks into a pretty serving dish.
The boiling allows them to be happy and tasty friends.

Add the Hummus Tahini to the dish. Mix if desired.
Serve warm or cold.
Side note: I served this to three different people and after each peered at it with much distrust, they all ate every bit on their plates.
Score one for Medieval Islamic Appetizers!

Carrots and Leeks with Sesame Paste
from: Lilia Zaouali, Medieval Cuisine of the Islamic World, trans. M. B. Debevoise (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 66-67.


Ingredients 
(The original recipe lacked a formal ingredient list. I have included mine)


3 Carrots, sliced
1 large Leek, sliced
3/4 cup Hummus Tahini


Preparation Instructions
Get some carrots, [the] white [part of some] leeks, sesame butter [tahina], wine vinegar, and atrif tib.
Slice the carrots and boil them. Take the [green] tops of the leeks and boil them separately, then drain them and soften them in sesame oil.
Put the tahina in a dish, sprinkle it with boiling water, and mix it by hand so that the sesame oil can express itself; then add a little vinegar, honey, and some atraf tib.
Put the drained carrots and leeks in a serving dish and add the tahina.
You must do [this] in such a way that the quantity of carrots and leeks suits that of the condiments.

Medieval Meals: Spicy Pomegranate Drink

Pomegranates.
Dictionary Definition:

 |ˈpäm(ə)ˌgranit; ˈpəm-|

noun

1 an orange-sized fruit with a tough reddish outer skin and sweet red gelatinous flesh containing many seeds.

2 the tree that bears this fruit, which is native to North Africa and western Asia and has long been cultivated. • Punica granatum, family Punicaceae.

ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French pome grenate, from pome ‘apple’ + grenate ‘pomegranate’ (from Latin (malum) granatum ‘(apple) having many seeds,’ from granum ‘seed’ ).

Translation: Costly to obtain in the Middle Ages.

Anyone in possession of these seed-filled fruits, not to mention the many spices (also quite expensive) would have also been in possession of a lot of money.

Or powerful friends.

Probably both. 

So this Spicy Pomegranate Drink was most likely only drunk by very wealthy nobles at very posh feasts, who would then go home and brag to their very jealous friends for weeks.

I, on the other hand, took an hour out of my day, popped over to my local grocery store, and bought the necessary luxuries.

The modern world has its advantages.

Pretty tasty looking, right? It reminded me of a non-alcoholic version of mulled wine. With its deep burgundy color, multitude of spices, and toasty temperature, it warmed my heart.

And my hands. 

Glass goblets turned out to be a less than stellar idea. 

Next time, I have resolved to serve it in a mug.

Here are our tasty comrades: the ingredients!

Pomegranate juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves, and a whole lemon.

(The recipe called for sugar but since the juice I was using already included sugar, I left it out. However, if you use real pomegranates, add the sugar. Or if you are one of those people who drink their Kool-Aid with 3x the amount of sugar, you can too. I won't judge.)

In a large pot, combine the water and spices. Bring to a boil and simmer at medium heat for seven minutes. (If you are using whole cloves, remove them now.)

Finely grate the lemon peel and put it in a dish for later. A zester is particularly helpful for this step. However, if you are cheap or just strapped for cool kitchen gadgets, cheese graters also work just fine.

Cut the lemon in half and squeeze out one half's juices. 

Reserve.

Add the quart of pomegranate juice and the lemon juice to the pot of boiling spice water. 

(Be careful of splattering. Boiling hot liquid is a dangerous thing.)

Bring to a slow boil, and then simmer for two minutes.

Serve warm and garnish with the lemon peel you zested (or grated) earlier.

Dazzle all your friends with your ancient alternative to spiced apple cider.

Spicy Pomegranate Drink

from: Madeleine Pelner Cosman, Fabulous Feasts: Medieval Cookery and Ceremony (New York: George Braziller, Inc., 1976), 153.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups Water

4 Whole Cloves (or an 1/8 teaspoon of ground)

1 cup sugar

1/2 unblemished lemon

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/8 teaspoon ginger

1 quart fresh pomegranate juice or 6 to 8 medium-sized pomegranates, skinned, the pith removed, seeds squeezed, pulverized and strained.

    

Preparation Instructions

In a large enameled pot combine water, sugar, and all spices. Bring to boil and gently simmer for 7 minutes. Remove the whole cloves.

Finely grate the lemon peel and reserve it. Squeeze the juice from the lemon.

Add the pomegranate juice and lemon juice to the spiced hot fluid. Bring to slow boil, then simmer 2 minutes.

Serve warm with garnish of grated lemon peel for each glass. Or serve cool, garnishing each glass with peel and a small wedge of fresh lemon.