The Goldsmiths’ Feast.

On Sunday it will be Saint Dunstan’s Feast Day, and therefore day when the Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths used to hold their annual elections and feast, Dunstan being their patron saint.

In the year 1444, it seems from their account books that the goldsmiths must have had a fine old time with plenty of music and wine and a nice clean hall for their feast.

	₤	s	d
To minstrels	1	6	8
Their hoods and dinner	0	12	8
18 lb of spices	1	1	0
200 pepyns [pippins]	0	1	8
400 blanderett	0	3	8
16 gallons of wine	0	18	8
Bread	0	9	4
Ale	0	9	8
1 hogshead of wine	1	16	4
Keeping of the cupboard	0	0	8
Hire of earthen pots	0	0	4
3 pikes and a jowl of fresh salmon	0	7	8
5 lampreys and 2 green [fresh] fishes	1	10	8
7 crabbys [crabs]	0	0	7
10 roches	0	0	6
Bread	0	0	6
1potel wine, to the cooke	0	0	5
1 quartr coles [coals]	0	0	7
Washing of napery	0	0	7
For white cupps	0	0	9
For making clean the hall	0	0	2

This all-fish meal was presumably held on a ‘fast” day. The account does rather seem incomplete – there is not much food for the quantity of wine and other beverages, and of spices? On the other hand, I don’t know what “blanderett” are, and neither does the Oxford English Dictionary. The nearest word I can find is blaundrell (“a kind of white apple formerly very much in repute” – but with the pippins, it would have been a real apple feast, which does not seem likely. Any ideas?

From The Forme of Cury, the manuscript cookery book of the Master Chefs of King Richard II, compiled around the year 1390, I give you a nice dish of salmon in an almond milk broth with leeks and saffron.  

Cawdel of Saumon.

Take the guttes of Samoun and make hem clene. perboile hem a lytell. take hem up and dyce hem. slyt the white of Lekes and kerue hem smale. cole the broth and do the lekes therinne with oile and lat it boile togyd yfere . do the Samoun icorne therin, make a lyour of Almaundes mylke & of brede & cast therto spices, safroun and salt, seethe it wel. and loke that it be not stondyng [stiff, or thick.]

Extreme Kitchen DIY: Dripping.

Many, many stories here over the years have included a mention of “dripping” and it is an important ingredient in many of the recipes on the blog. It can be used to make any number of delicious things, including margarine and Dripping Pudding, and should you want or need to, you can even preserve it for long keeping (as on a voyage, for example.)

Dripping is a very versatile, if old-fashioned and not nutritionally-PC, ingredient in the kitchen, but as with so many things, simple is best. Some of you will remember the simple joy of bread and dripping, especially if you scored the crunchy bits on the bottom of the bowl. The best dripping of course does not have crunchy bits at the bottom, it is pure, clean fat. And for that, one needs to know how to clarify it. And for instructions on that, one needs to go to a book of Hard-Time Cookery. Luckily for us, a book with just that title was published in Britain in 1940 by the Association of Teachers of Domestic Subjects.

Clarified Dripping

Put the dripping into a saucepan with enough cold water to cover it, Bring gradually up to the boil, removing any scum as it arises. Strain into a bowl and put aside to get cold. The fat will set on the top of the water. Take it off, scrape the bottom. Put the fat into a saucepan and heat it gently until all the water in it has evaporated. If water is left in the fat it will not keep. Dripping beaten up to a soft creamy consistency is excellent for making cakes, pastry, etc.

Clarified Fat.

Cut the fat into small pieces. Put into a saucepan, cover with cold water and bring to the boil. Skim well. Boil until nearly all the water has evaporated. Reduce the heat and stir occasionally to prevent the fat from sticking. When the pieces look dried up and sink to the bottom of the melted fat, remove the pan from the fire. Cool slightly and strain through a fine strainer.

Things to do with Fresh Coconut.

Yesterday’s post got me thinking about coconut, and how we are both helped and cheated by the easy availability of packaged desiccated coconut. I have no doubt that for convenience and availability the trade-off is flavour and texture.  If only I had a bulk supply of coconuts and a kitchen slave to remove and grate the flesh I would never again purchase a packet of the too-sweet usually too-dry flakes and would make the following three recipes in a flash:

From The Nabob's Cookery Book, Indian Recipes, by P.O.P. (1870):

Cocoa Nut Pudding.

Procure an exceedingly fresh cocoa nut, and after removing the dark rind, grate it very finely. Chop up an ounce of candied citron very small, and grate the rind of half a lemon; put these ingredients into a basin, adding to them a quarter of a pound of sifted white sugar; oil over the fire two ounces of fresh butter, and pour it over the other ingredients; mix well, and put to them the yolks of three or four eggs ; add a squeeze of lemon, and pour into a tart dish lined with paste, and bake in a slow oven.

Cocoa Nut Cakes.

Grate a fresh cocoa nut, and leave it to dry; add to it a few sweet almonds and one bitter almond, also grated, two or three ounces of sifted white sugar, and sufficient well-beaten white of egg to make the whole into a stiff paste; roll it into round balls, and bake on a greased tin until they are quite dry, and the top of them slightly browned. Then put them off on to a cold dish.

Cocoa Nut Biscuits.

Three quarters of a pound of grated cocoa nut, the same quantity of pounded loaf sugar, and one teaspoonful of arrow root. Mix with one egg, and bake on buttered papers.

I am sure that I would not make the following recipe, although it might be pretty good made with chicken instead of the oysters:

Curried Oysters.

Let a hundred of large sea oysters be opened into a basin, without losing one drop of their liquor. Put a lump of fresh butter into a good sized saucepan, and, when it boils, add a large onion, cut it into thin slices, and let it fry in the uncovered stew-pan until it is of a rich brown; now add a bit more butter, and two or three tablespoonfuls of currie-powder. When these ingredients are well mixed over the fire with a wooden spoon, add gradually either hot water, or broth from the stockpot, cover the stewpan, and let the whole boil up.

Meanwhile, have ready the meat of a cocoa-nut, grated or rasped fine, put this into the stewpan with a few sour tamarinds (if they are to be obtained, if not, a sour apple, chopped). Let the whole simmer over the fire until the apple is dissolved, and the cocoa-nut very tender; then add a strong thickening made of flour, and water, and sufficient salt, as a currie will not bear being salted at table. Let this boil up for five minutes. Have ready also a vegetable marrow, or part of one, cut into bits, and sufficiently boiled to require little or no further cooking. Put this in with a tomata or two; either of these vegetables may be omitted. Now put into the stewpan the oysters, with their own liquor, and the milk of the cocoa-nut, if it be perfectly sweet; stir them well with the former ingredients: boil the carrier, stew gently for a few minutes, then throw in the strained juice of half a lemon. Stir the currie from time to time with a wooden spoon, and, as soon as the oysters are done enough, serve it up, with a corresponding dish of rice on the opposite side of the table. This dish is considered at Madras the 'ne plus ultra of Indian cookery.'

The edible mollusks of Great Britain and Ireland, with recipes for cooking them (1867)

by M.S. Lovell.

These are another definite:

Cocoanut Cheesecakes.

Pare off the rind from a fresh cocoanut, grate the white part, and put it into a perfectly clean saucepan with its weight in sifted sugar and the milk, or, if this is not quite sweet [?], two or three spoonfuls of water. Let this simmer, stirring it gently until tender. When the mixture is cool, add the yolks of two eggs welt beaten and a spoonful of orange-flower water. Line some patty-pans with good puff paste, and put a little mixture into each; bake in a good oven. Sift a little sugar over the cheese-cakes before baking them.

Morning Bulletin (Rockhampton, Qld.) September 12, 1887.

Coconut Bacon.

For bacon lovers and coconut lovers: I give you this:

Coconut bacon.

For this breakfast dish fry some bacon and keep hot. Beat thoroughly one or two eggs, and allow to each egg one small tablespoon flour, 2 small tablespoons coconut, 3 tablespoons milk, a little pepper and salt. Mix well, and fry in bacon fat till brown. Cut into pieces pile on bacon, and serve hot.

The Courier-Mail (Brisbane, Qld.) September 6, 1950

Who’d have thought it? An interesting combination, Yes? I love coconut and I love bacon, and I may well try this.

If your tastes in coconut are rather more conservative, here are a few other recipes from Australian newspapers of the past:

Cocoanut Pie.

Two rich, somewhat extravagant, but delicious cocoanut pies can be made by following these directions: Grate one pint of fresh cocoanut quite fine; beat one quarter of a pound of butter and one of sugar to a cream-like froth; add a tumbler (of ordinary size) full of wine, strongly flavoured with rose water; stir in the cocoanut, and, lastly, put in the whites of five eggs beaten to a froth. Those pies should be baked in deep plates, with a thin lower crust.

The North Eastern Ensign (Victoria) March 2, 1883.

Cocoanut Pie.

Ingredients: One pint of milk, four ounces of desiccated cocoanut, sugar, two eggs, a lemon, a little butter, puff pastry. Method: Boil this milk, shake in the cocoanut and stir it well, let it boil for ten minutes. Pour it into a basin to cool, add the sugar, butter a grating of lemon-peel and a little of the juice, beat up the yolks of the eggs and add them. Line a pie-dish with puff pastry, put in the mixture and bake in a good oven for nearly an hour, whisk the whites of the eggs to a stiff froth and add a little sugar. Put them over the top of the pie and let it just get slightly brown. Serve quickly.

Gippsland Times (Victoria) April 1, 1915

Coconut Bread Pudding

One cup breadcrumbs, 1 cup coconut, 1 pint milk, 2 eggs, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 tablespoon butter, pinch salt, nutmeg, vanilla essence.

Soak the crumbs and coconut in the milk for 15 minutes. Add the beaten eggs, sugar, melted butter, and essence.

Pour into a well-greased pie-dish. Sprinkle with nutmeg. Bake in a moderate oven till the custard is set. Serve either hot or cold.

Australian Women’s Weekly, April 20, 1935

Sangaree, Anyone?

As you know, I do love a description of a “foreign” meal. I have a very interesting one for you today from Extracts from a Journal Written on the Coast of Chili, Peru, and Mexico, (1826) by Captain Basil Hall.

A Mexican Convité.

In Tepic.  On the 12th of April, I made one of a great dinner-party, a sort of feast, or, as it is called in Spanish, a convite. The hour named was one o'clock, but it was half past one before the company were all assembled. We were first invited into a side-room to take a whet, which, to say the truth, looked more like a substantial luncheon than a sharpener of the appetite; for in the middle of the table was placed a goodly ham, flanked by two huge bowls, one filled with punch, the other with sangaree—a mixture of wine, sugar, lemon-juice, and spirits, and a favourite beverage of all hot climates. At each end of the table stood a dish of cheese, ingeniously carved into the shape of radishes and turnips; and at the corners a dish of olives covered with slices of raw onions, floating about in vinegar. I need not add, there was aguardiente and wine in profusion. Such ample justice was done to this whet, that the dinner, I thought, stood a poor chance of being touched, but in this I was much mistaken.

Forty people sat down to one table. At the top were placed the two principal ladies; on their right sat the military Commander-in-chief, while I was requested to sit on the other side, next to the lady of the house. Then came the Alcalde, the chief civil authority, and so on. The master of the house would on no account sit down, but served at table in the capacity of waiter, assisted most good-naturedly by four or five gentlemen, for whom there were no places, or who preferred making themselves useful in this way to dining in another apartment along with ten or a dozen young men, equally shut out by want of room.

At first a suspicious kind of calm prevailed; but the soup had scarcely been removed before there appeared symptoms of an approaching storm. While we were discussing the olla, the dish which always succeeds the soup, a principal person in company rose up and shouted out," Copas en mano!" handle your glasses! But such was the noise and clatter of plates and tongues, that he had to repeat his mandate several times, and to stretch out his tumbler brim-full of wine, before the distant parts of the company stood up in honour of the toast, which I had expected was to have had some point, but was merely one of the common-places of the day, "Union y Libertad." After this signal there was kept up during the whole dinner a constant discharge of toasts and sentiments; and upon an average, towards the end of dinner, there could be no less than ten or twelve gentlemen on their legs all speaking at once, at the full stretch of their voices, and accompanying every remark with some theatrical gesticulation. Others kept their seats, thinking perhaps that they might thereby have a fairer aim at the table, which rung from end to end with the blows by which these jovial orators sought to enforce their arguments.

Meanwhile the dinner went on as if nothing remarkable was passing; the plates and dishes were changed by the servants and the amateur waiters, with such singular dexterity, that in spite of this vast disorder, the bottle passed in safety, and more and more rapidly; the noise increased; the bawlers became more numerous; and by the time the dinner was well over, the party fell to pieces, and all seemed uproar and confusion ; groups of four or five, and sometimes twice that number, might be scene clustered together, all speaking or singing at once. I never was more astonished than at seeing men, on all other occasions perfect models of decorum, suddenly lose their formality, and act like professed topers and merry-makers. At first, judging by the analogy of Europe, I thought this must needs end in blows, and stood prepared to avoid the bottles and glasses, which were soon likely to be flying about. But after a little while, it was easy to discover more sounds of mirth than of anger; and as the ladies, who must have been accustomed to such scenes, sat very composedly, viewing it all with great delight, I became reassured, and kept my place.

It was a difficult choice, but sangaree is the topic of the day. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, sangaree is “a cold drink composed of wine diluted and spiced, used chiefly in tropical countries” and the first reference in English is given as occurring in 1736. The word is a corruption of the Spanish sangria, which literally means “bleeding” and refers (according to the OED,) to “a drink composed of lemon water and red wine.”

Historically, the word sangaree has been applied in the English-speaking world to a whole range of mixed drinks, as shown in How to Mix Drinks, or The Bon-vivant's Companion, (1862) by Jerry Thomas.

Port Wine Sangaree.

(Use small bar glass.)

1 ¼ wine-glass of port wine.

1 teaspoonful of sugar.

Fill tumbler two-thirds with ice,

Shake well and grate nutmeg on top.

Sherry Sangaree.

(Use small bar glass.)

1 wine-glass of sherry.
1 teaspoonful of fine sugar.

Fill tumbler one-third with ice, and grate nutmeg on top

Brandy Sangaree.

(Use small bar glass.)

The brandy sangaree is made with the same ingredients as the brandy toddy (see below), omitting the nutmeg. Fill two-thirds full of ice, and dash about a teaspoonful of port wine, so that it will float on top.

Gin Sangaree.

(Use small bar glass.)

The gin sangaree is made with the same ingredients as the gin toddy (see below), omitting the nutmeg. Fill two-thirds full of ice, and dash about a teaspoonful of port wine, so that it will float on the top.

Ale Sangaree.

(Use large bar glass.)

1 teaspoonful of sugar, dissolved in a tablespoonful of water.

Fill the tumbler with ale, and grate nutmeg on top.

Porter Sangaree.

(Use large bar glass.)

This beverage is made the same as an ale sangaree, and is sometimes called porteree.

Brandy Toddy.

(Use small bar glass.)

1 teaspoonful of sugar.

½ wine-glass of water.

1 ditto brandy.                          

1 small lump of ice.

Stir with a spoon.

For a hot brandy toddy, omit the ice and use boiling water.

Gin Toddy.

(Use small bar glass.)

1 teaspoonful of sugar.

½  wine-glass of water.

1 ditto gin.

1 small lump of ice.

Stir with a spoon.

Things to do with Curds.

Milk curds find their way into most of our refrigerators these days in the form of “cottage cheese” – a product with a pure-white, squeaky-clean, virtuous, low-fat, health-food sort of reputation. I like cottage cheese, don’t get me wrong, but I am sure you will agree that it has not a shred of naughtiness associated with it. But it could, Oh! It could, if it were tempted with the right amount of eggs and butter and sugar.

Here is a marvelous yeast-leavened “cake” or sweet bread made with curds and flavoured with ginger, then soaked in melted butter after baking:

To make a great Curd Loafe.

Take the Curds of three quarts of new milk cleane wheyed and rub into them a little of the finest flower [flour] you can get, then take half a race of Ginger, and slice it very thin, and put into your Curds with a little salt, then take halfe a pint of good Ale yeast and put to it, then take tenne Eggs but three of the whites, let there be so much flower as will make it into a reasonable stiffe Past [paste], then put into an indifferent hot Cloath, and lay it before the fire to rise while your Oven is heating, then make it up into a Loaf, and when it is Baked, cut up the top of the Loaf, and put in a pound and a halfe of melted Butter, and a good deale of Sugar in it.

The Compleat Cook (1655).

Or how about this version, with extra sin added in the form of fried snippets of dough?

To Make a Cheese Loaf

Take three chopins of new milk; put in as much runnet [rennet] as will make it curdle; press the whey gently from the curd; break the curd, and take equal quantity of grated bread and curd; beat the yolks of a dozen of eggs, and six of the whites; season with beat cinnamon, nutmeg, and fugar; mix in half a mutchkin of sweet cream and a glass of brandy; mix the bread and curd all together, and put a very little salt in it; work it all up to a paste, and dust in two or three spoonfuls of flour as you work it up; take out a piece of it, and roll it out thin to fry; then make the rest up in the shape of a loaf, and fire it in the oven; cut the fried paste in little bits to put round the loaf; cut a hole in the top of the loaf, and pour in some beat-butter, cream, and sugar; send it hot to the table.

The New Practice of Cookery, Pastry, Baking, and Preserving: Being the Country

Housewife's Best Friend (Edinburgh, 1804)

Things to do with Luncheon Meat.

I had reason to look up “luncheon meat” in the Oxford English Dictionary recently. That venerable resource is not always fabulous in its culinary definitions. It defines luncheon meat as  “a type of pre-cooked meat containing preservatives” and gives the first reference in 1945, in the context of canned meat. I strongly suspected that if luncheon meat was already a canned item at the time, that there would be earlier references.

The term is older than I, and the OED, thought.  There was a spate of advertisements in Queensland newspapers in 1879 for “luncheon meats” in a context which seems to suggest that the phrase was used in a generic fashion to indicate a range of canned meats of perhaps a higher quality than we usually expect from the term. The advertisements read:

Pressed Ox Tongues, Sheep Tongues, Corned Beef, Fitzroy Luncheon meats (in 2 lb. and 4 lb..tins), Rounds of Beef (in tins), Camp Pie, Picnic Pies, Potted Meats of all kinds comprising -Ham, Tongue, Strasbourg, Anchovy and Bloater Pastes, Jugged Hare, Roast Grouse, Roast Partridge, Turkey, Chicken, Extract of Meat, &c.

Canned Australian meat became a huge industry in the second half of the nineteenth century. It solved the dual problems of a meat surplus in Australia and a meat shortage in Britain. By the 1940’s the situation had changed however (I am not sure of the factors involved yet) and luncheon meat became an economical product for domestic use. In the 1950’s luncheon meat was a common topic in cookery columns.

Luncheon Meat Patties

To serve a tin of pork luncheon meat and make it really attractive for the family calls

upon one's ingenuity, but why not try this novel and tasty way of serving tinned luncheon meat which is so attractive that guests as well as members of the family will praise you.

The following ingredients are given for making the patties for six people from a tin of luncheon meat containing 12 ounces.

You will also require half a cup of porridge oats, a cup milk, 2 tablespoons of tomato ketchup, 1 teaspoonful of prepared mustard, three cooking apples.

Combine, first, the ingredients with the exception of the apples. When thoroughly mixed (the luncheon meat will, of course, have been chopped or minced), shape into balls and fry until brown.

The cooking apples in the meantime should have been prepared in the usual way for baking with sugar and a drop of water. When these are done, take out carefully and cut in half, placing a meat

pattie on each half. Bake for a further two or three minutes and serve hot.

Morning Bulletin (Rockhampton, Qld) of Janaury 5, 1952

Luncheon Meat Cakes with Tomatoes, Eggs.

Solve the meat problem with a tin of luncheon meat. Eggs and tomatoes add extra flavour to this interesting dish.

Ingredients:

1 lb tin luncheon meat.

Sweet pickles or chutney.

3 large tomatoes.

Pepper and salt.

1 egg for each person.

2 tablespoons chopped parsley.

1 level dessertspoon butter.

Pepper and salt.

1 tspn. lemon juice.

Method: Open both ends of luncheon meat tin, push out contents to keep shape. Cut into five or six thick slices (one for each person). Arrange slices on well-greased lamington tin. Spread with

pickles or chutney. Cut tomatoes in halves, arrange with cut side up on luncheon meat. Sprinkle with pepper and salt, bake in mod. Oven until meat is thoroughly heated and tomato cooked

(about 20 minutes). Poach or fry eggs until cooked. Place an egg carefully on each meat and tomato cake. Mix together melted butter, parsley, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Put a spoonful on top of each egg just before serving.

Sydney Morning Herald of September 17, 1953.

Breakfast Scramble is Curried

Ingredients:

1 tin luncheon meat (about 4 to 6 oz).

1 level dstspn. butter.

3 eggs.

1 tblspn. milk.

1 level tspn. curry powder.

Method: Grate meat into long shreds, using a coarse grater, melt butter in sauce-pan, add luncheon meat, shake until browned a little. Beat eggs, milk, curry powder, add to luncheon meat, scramble till eggs are lightly set. Serve on hot buttered toast.

Sydney Morning Herald, on September 3, 1953.

I now officially declare the Luncheon-Meat Recipe contest open. Let us see what delights and monstrosities we can find made from this versatile ingredient.