Category Archives: Historical

Dandelion Cordial

[Post first published on Patreon]

In the first warm days of spring, when the ground is still soft from thaw and the trees are just beginning to bud, the meadows burst into gold with dandelion blooms. Though often dismissed as weeds, these cheerful blossoms were once treasured as signs of renewal—gathered by herbalists and hedge witches alike to make tonics that stirred winter-sleeping bodies awake.

This dandelion cordial is inspired by 17th–19th century English flower syrups and cordials, where blossoms were infused into sugar water or vinegar for health and flavor. It captures the fleeting floral sweetness of early spring in a syrup that’s as lovely drizzled over fruit as it is stirred into sparkling water. Slightly citrusy, gently earthy, and pale gold in hue, it’s the sort of drink you might find at a cottage doorstep or on the table at Redwall Abbey.

Recipe for Dandelion Cordial

Makes: About 1 quart (4 cups) of concentrate – Prep: 10 minutes active + 12–24 hours steeping – Cooking: 10 minutes

Pairs well with: Cold sparkling water, tonic water, lemonade, or a drizzle over fruit salad

Ingredients:

  • 2 cups dandelion petals (just the yellow parts, no green base)
  • Zest of 1 lemon (or orange, for a more floral twist)
  • 1 ½ cups sugar
  • 2 cups water
  • 1 Tbs. lemon juice, or to taste
  • Optional: A few slices of fresh ginger or a sprig of rosemary for depth

Gather fresh, fully opened dandelion flowers from unsprayed areas. Pull or snip off the yellow petals, discarding the green parts (which are bitter).

Place petals and citrus zest in a clean glass bowl. In a saucepan over medium heat, combine 2 cups water with the sugar, lemon juice, and optional ginger or herbs. Bring to a simmer, stirring until sugar dissolves. Pour this mixture over the dandelion petals. Cover and let steep 12–24 hours.

After steeping, strain the liquid through cheesecloth or a fine mesh sieve, pressing gently to extract all the floral water. Taste and adjust as needed, keeping in mind that you’ll be cutting with water to serve.

Pour into sterilized bottles or jars. Keeps in the fridge for up to 2 weeks, or longer if frozen or processed for canning.

To serve, mix approximately 1:1 dandelion cordial and cold water or fizzy water for a little extra zip.

Raspberry Cordial – Redwall

For today’s recipe, I’m circling back to where this crazy career started: Redwall.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but this was always one of my most-desired recipes from the Redwall series. Just look at this one passage from The Bellmaker:

I mean, RIGHT?!

As a kid, I was under the impression that it was alcoholic, not knowing the British-ism of “cordial”, meaning essentially a flavored syrup to which water can be added. I’ve since been gifted a bottle of raspberry liquor from the UK, and WOW, that’s the grownup version of this, pure summer in a bottle.

But back to the recipe: For this batch, I used raspberries I picked last summer with my kids, and tried a pretty plain version of the recipe, although I have also made some with the addition of lemon thyme, which paired with the fruity flavors just *chef’s kiss*.

The resulting syrup is a gorgeous deep pink color, and redolent with the aroma and flavor of sun-kissed raspberries. Diluted with water, it makes a lightly flavored and refreshing beverage that is all too easy to drink down! It’s a fantastic way to preserve the summer harvest, and to share with friends and family.

Ingredients:

  • 2 cups raspberries, fresh or frozen
  • 1/3 cup Lemon Juice
  • 12 cups boiling water
  • 3 cups sugar

Gently wash the raspberries in cool water to dislodge any hidden bits of leaf or stem.

Transfer the cleaned berries into a large bowl and drizzle them with the lemon juice to brighten their flavor.

In a large pot on the stovetop, bring 12 cups of water to a boil. Once bubbling, stir in the sugar, whisking until it dissolves completely.

Carefully removing the pot from heat, pour this hot sugar-water mixture gently over the raspberries. Cover the bowl lightly and let it rest undisturbed at room temperature for a full 24 hours.

The next day, the cordial is ready for straining. First, pour it through a fine-mesh sieve, catching most of the pulp and seeds. To achieve that beautiful jewel-like clarity, I strain it once more, this time through a jelly bag (or damp paper towels, in a pinch!), patiently allowing it to drip through slowly. Occasionally scrape down the sides of the bag to help ease the cordial along and clear away any stubborn pulp or seeds.

Finally, the beautifully clear cordial is poured into clean glass jars, ready to be chilled and enjoyed. Stored in the fridge, this raspberry cordial will happily keep for several weeks. If you’d like to preserve a taste of summer for the cold months ahead, you can water-bath can the cordial using the standard practices for juice—allowing you to savor your bottled summer for several years to come.

Parsnip Cakes – 1903

“These do not taste of parsnips at all, and can be found still in the little country farms or cottages. Boil 3 parsnips until tender, mash and press through a sieve, mix in proportions of 1 teacupful to 1 quart of hot milk, 1/2 pint of yeast, some salt, and flour to make a stiff batter. Cover, set in a warm place, and when risen to twice its size, knead into flat cakes, very thin. These must rise again and be baked until brown. Can be eaten with butter, like crumpets or scones, or with gravy, like Yorkshire pudding, with a roast of meat.” – With a Saucepan over the Sea, 1903

I get a strange seasonal hankering for parsnips once the snow starts to fly. It’s been happening for years, I think, since I first purchased some for early recipe testing of historical recipes. I watch with bemusement as they slide down the conveyor to the cashier, who puzzles over them for a moment before asking what they are. When I say, “Parsnips!” I see a little light go off in their heads, and more often than not, they say something like, “Oh, my grandmother used to cook with those!” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this interaction, but it’s a lot.I’ve had this recipe earmarked for several years now, since I first picked up the cookbook where I found it. It’s listed in the section for Cakes, Puddings, and Pastry, although I’d shelve them under Breads and Buns. They are lightly flavored, and completely delicious smeared with a little salted butter. The consistency is something like potato bread, slightly dense but just puffy enough. They could almost serve as burger buns, if not flattened so fully before baking.The original directions left a little to be desired when it came to clarification, so it took a little trial and error to get a dough that did what it was supposed to. As such, be warned that the amount of flour is… flexible. You’re aiming for a dough that is cohesive enough to be kneaded, so adjust accordingly!I will say, though, that I’d have to agree with the original book that these would be equally tasty with just butter as a side to a roast. I think the recipe is incredibly adaptable, and one could swap the parsnips for pumpkin, yam, potato, carrot, beet, etc. for the parsnips. As the original is written, our modern instant yeast would likely have been swapped for a sourdough starter, which would add some extra awesomeness if you have some of that kicking around. Me? I’m focused at the moment on just keeping my two kids alive and fed, so starters and houseplants will have to wait…

Recipe for Parsnip Cakes

Makes: about a dozen – Prep: 45 minutes – Rising: 1.5 hours

Chelsea’s Notes: Don’t be tempted to go with the whole 1 lb. bag of parsnips, if that’s what you’ve purchased; it makes way, way too much dough! Don’t ask me how I know… ALSO! If you have large parsnips, I strongly encourage you to cut out the woody, pithy center of them before chopping, which will dramatically decrease the bitterness and leave you with just tasty sweet rooty goodness.Ingredients:

  • 3 parsnips, peeled and chopped (see note above)
  • 1 quart warm milk to each cup mash
  • 2 tsp. yeast
  • generous pinch of salt
  • enough flour (about 5+ cups, but adjust as needed!)

Add the chopped parsnips to a pot of boiling water, and boil for roughly 10-15 minutes, or until tender. Strain and add the parsnips to a large mixing bowl. Mash, measure, and add milk (it should be about 4 cups). If you’d like a smoother texture, and like me kind of really hate cleaning up sieves, I suggest using an immersion blender to blend the mixture at this point. When you have a consistency you like, add the yeast and salt, then start mixing in the flour until you have a dough that can be kneaded. Knead for a few minutes, then cover and let rise for about an hour, until doubled in size.Punch down, divide, and roll into 12 equal balls. With floured hands, form each into flat discs no bigger than about 1/2″ high and arrange on baking sheets. Turn on the oven to 350F and let the buns rise again while the oven heats. Once up to temperature, bake for about 20 minutes, until golden brown. Best enjoyed same day, and especially while still warm from the oven!

Blackstrap Coffee – 7 Days to Die

 

“Blackstrap Coffee. This 2 century old favorite coffee was a staple among miners in the 1800’s. Otherwise known as ‘Muckmen Blackstrap’ this strong blended roast will give you long lasting energy and keep you warm for hours”

I don’t have a ton of time these days for playing games, and certainly nothing like I once enjoyed. But the one game I always make time for is one that I’m fortunate enough to play with a group of close friends: 7 Days to Die

For those unfamiliar, it’s an open world zombie survival and crafting game, heavy on the base building, with something enticing for everyone to do. It’s my happy escapism place, and you can usually find me roaring around on my motorcycle, looting far flung locations for the supplies the rest of our group needs to survive one more week, and one more horde night. Early on, obtaining food and clean water (or the ability to boil water) is completely essential.

This was not my smartest recon run, but I’m a survivor!

Now, in our game, we have a fully kitted out kitchen in each of our fortified bases, complemented with a massive garden that grows everything we need to feast like the kings and queens of the apocalypse we truly are. Amidst all that, there are coolers stacked to the ceiling, all full of blackstrap coffee. It’s become such a staple during play that I obviously had to tackle it with a real recipe.

My first test of this recipe produced a punishment of a drink, something I suspect is pretty damn close to the bitter, terrible coffee one would be able to make with foraged ingredients in a true zompocalypse. I didn’t finish the cup, instead passing it around to anyone who walked through the kitchen to demonstrate its true awfulness.

After that, I did a bigger deep dive into the WHY of the gunpowder. Buckle up, because this is a journey… (or skip to the recipe below)

Gunpowder consists of potassium nitrate (saltpeter), charcoal, which is mostly carbon, and sulfur.

Anecdotally, soldiers in Napoleon’s army (and probably many other times/places) used gunpowder to season the meat when they were in dire enough straits that they were forced to eat their horses. Seems strange, until you learn that saltpeter is a naturally occurring mineral (which can be mined in 7 Days, incidentally), and was historically used as a curing agent. It gave foods a salty taste and helped preserve them. Potassium Nitrate has also been used as an ingredient in matchheads- anyone remember Holden grating matches into his coffee to make it more palatable in The Expanse? Same idea.

I know a guy who could probably get me some gunpowder, but not everybody has that friend, so I’ve opted for some substitutions. Also, uh, it’s not great to consume in any quantity, so let’s all take a pass on that, maybe. I’d like to taste some at some point, for the sake of knowing, but for now, let’s get creative with some alternatives.

I started with an old jar of instant espresso that’s been kicking around in the back of the pantry for… I’m not actually sure how long, but it’s been a while.

SO. We’ve got a pinch of salt swapped in for the saltpeter, and activated charcoal for the charcoal in the gunpowder. I suspected it might need just a little extra zip of something, so I dug out some of my reserves of amazing Viking smoked salt from Auntie Arwen’s.

The verdict?

I was up obscenely early with kids this morning, and this coffee is the only thing that has saved the entire day. I’m on my second cup, and it’s strange and compelling, and now I want to share it with people passing through the kitchen not as an example of horror, but as a proper curiosity. The charcoal, in particular, mellows any bitterness of the coffee and blackstrap, leaving you with a slightly sweet warming beverage that is entirely too easy to drink down.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go harvest some doorknobs for brass and load up my bike with a stack of Blackstrap Coffee and Hobo Stew. There are zombies that need killin’ and buildings that need lootin’!

Stay safe out there, survivors…

Recipe for Blackstrap Coffee

makes 1 serving (but can be easily sized up)

*Note* Activated charcoal can interfere with essential medication, so use with caution, even in small doses!

Ingredients:

  • 8 oz. just-boiled water
  • 2-3 tsp. instant espresso powder (I used Cafe Bustelo brand)
  • 2 tsp. blackstrap molasses
  • pinch of activated charcoal
  • pinch of smoked salt

Combine all the ingredients in a heat-proof mug, stir to combine, and enjoy.

For added amusement, be sure to check out the cooking reel I also made to go with this recipe! ;)

Frozen Maple Mousse – Patreon Exclusive

Sources: From Putney Matrons cookbook, 1957

Prep: 10 minutes, with 1 hour of cooling   –   Cooking: 15 minutes   –    Freezing: 8 hours, or overnight

Makes: 6-8 servings

Dietary: GF

This recipe comes from a unique little collection of Vermont recipes that I acquired as part of an auction lot several years ago. Put together by the Putney Vermont Past Matrons Club, Golden Rule Chapter #3, from the Order of the Eastern Star. A cursory look online indicates that the chapter is no longer active, which makes this a special slice of semi-local history, a little look at 1957. Other tempting recipes from this little booklet include Ethel Monroe’s “Angel Gingerbread”,  E. Scott’s “Plum Rum Jam”, and Alwilda Norwood’s “Peanut Butter Apple Pudding”. That last one really piqued my interest, as it looks to be an upside-down cake, with gooey apples layered on top of a delicious PB cake.

This recipe for Maple Mousse looks to be one of Elizabeth Scott’s as well. Although somewhat sparing with the instructions, it is dead simple to make. The “mousse” that results is honestly a lot like a proto maple creamie, for those who’ve had the pleasure of sampling the VT specialty. This is a little more the consistency of hard-serve custard, rather than the soft-serve swirls available throughout the summer up here. It’s also adjacent to a semi-freddo, if you cut down on the freezing time, but equally tasty. The texture is fairly light yet decadent, with that incomparable maple flavor running throughout.

My Changes:

Next time I try this, I’d be inclined to beat the egg whites with a little sugar to make a proper meringue consistency. Beaten plain, as described, doesn’t lend all that much volume to the dish. Oh, or maybe even drizzle some of the hot maple base in, to try and make more of an Italian meringue?

What do you think?

Recipe for Frozen Maple Mousse

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Mrs. Rorer’s Cookbook

 

 

Mrs. Rorer’s Philadelphia Cookbook is a treasure that long sat hidden on a bookshelf in my grandmother’s basement. Relegated to its decorative, rather than functional, role, the book idled until I eventually inherited it many ago. Even then, I chose it mostly for its look. However, as I would discover in the following years, it holds much to be appreciated.

 

Sarah Tyson, later Rorer, was born in 1849 in Pennsylvania. This is the first of her many cookbooks, which in the introduction she proudly puts it forth as a  much needed culinary contribution from Philadelphia.

The cookbook itself is at once sparse and surprisingly thorough, delving occasionally into the downright scientific. In the section on soups, for example, she explains how the stewing meat breaks down, dropping terms such as osmazone and nitrogenous. For the very best soup, she recommends soft water and a porcelain or granite(ware) soup kettle. Not exactly standard kitchen fare!

There are a smattering of handwritten recipes throughout the book, the most appetizing, perhaps, being the Apple Custard Pie. Nomsch! Somewhat more dubious is the Pistachio Ice Cream, for which the green color is added by way of clover (or lawn grass, should you find your yard lacking in clover patches)! You can bet I’ll be making it anyway.

Check out some of the pictures of the interior, and try some of the fascinating recipes as I add them to the list!

Recipes:

A Discovery of Witches – A Caudle

Here’s a fun recipe that’s both fictional AND historical. You know I love when that happens. ;) This is from Deborah Harkness’s All Souls trilogy, just out as a television series (as A Discovery of Witches), and from what I’ve watched so far, it’s fantastic. Seriously, can we get more history professors writing awesome fiction, please?

This recipe comes from the second book in the trilogy, and is deceptively simple. Although the main Diana Bishop doesn’t quite nail the beverage in the books, it’s well worth a try in your own kitchen. Caudles were often served to the sick or infirm (and are thus related to the term “molly-coddling”), but I think they’re a nice little robust drink that deserves a little love of its own. Consider it a cousin of eggnog, and you’ll already be on the way to thinking well of it.

The resulting drink, made correctly, comes out somewhat thick and rich. The egg yolks give it a nice velvety smooth texture, and the sweetening softens the alcohol. I can’t vouch that it’ll cure what ails (ales!) you, but it can’t do much harm, and that’s saying something as far as historical recipes go. ;) So give it a try, and see what you think!

A Caudle for pains in the Head

For my proportions, I’m pulling from the historical collection very succinctly named “Two Fifteenth Century Cookery Books”, which you can peruse here, if so inclined (protip: try reading it aloud, if you’re struggling to understand the non-standardized spellings!). Neither these intrepid cooks nor Diana give measurements for the liquid amounts, so I’ve had to adapt it for our somewhat more specific cooking needs.

“Take faire tryed yolkes of eyren, and cast in a potte; and take good ale, or elles good wyn, a quantite, and sette it ouer ye fire. And whan hit is at boyling, take it fro the fire, and caste yere-to saffron, salt, Sugur; and ceson hit vppe, and serue hit forth hote.” -Two Fifteenth Century Cookery Books

Ingredients:

  • 2 egg yolks
  • 2 cups ale, white wine, or hard cider
  • pinch of saffron (optional)
  • pinch of salt
  • sugar or honey to taste
  • pinch of fresh nutmeg

Beat together two egg yolks in a small pot along with the ale, saffron, salt, and sweetener over medium-low heat, whisking gently all the while. After about 5 minutes, the mixture should have thickened noticeably(go slowly, or the mixture may split!). Remove from heat, strain into a clean heatproof glass, and top with a pinch of nutmeg.

Scappi’s Hop-shoot Soup

I’ve been wanting to try this recipe for a couple of years now, but it feels like as soon as spring hits Vermont, it’s summer a week later and the hops are already six feet long.

WELL.

I was weeding the garden earlier in the week, and wouldn’t you know, all those hops are making a break for it. I managed to grab a bunch of them to give this recipe a crack at long last. Just as well, since the hops seem to be really vigorous this year, and in need of a little thinning out. Never mind the hops I found growing wild last year in the abandoned lot next door- I’m hoping to transplant a bit of those down to my patch this week. And eventually I’ll turn all those dried hops into some awesome beer or mead, but in the meantime, we’ve got soup on the stove.

This is an interesting dish for a couple of reasons. First off, I think it’s pretty unusual to find hops in a recipe in any time period. But it makes sense- along with chives, asparagus, dandelions, and a handful of other wild weeds, hops are one of the first green plants to really get going in the spring. In a time period when fresh greens were not available year round (which is to say, up until the last 50-100 years, really), folks would have been desperate to eat any little green thing for the nutritional value.

The finished soup is curious, like many of the dishes in Scappi. It’s rich and very flavorful, but mine wasn’t quite as thick as I was led to believe it would be. That might be my fault, but I did put in two egg yolks. It’s in the section of the book of recipes for invalids, and I can understand why- it’s enormously healthy-tasting. By which I mean it tastes like it would restore you after an illness or an extra long winter. The hop shoots reminded me of tiny asparagus, which could certainly be used in place of hops, as Scappi suggested. I also innovated a little bit and added some grated Parmesan, which I think added someting. I suspect that the greens are essentially meant to be pureed into the soup, which would give it a creamier flavor, but my little small-cut pieces gave it some texture. Plus, if you are using some happy chicken eggs like mine, you’ll get this rich yellow broth that contrasts beautifully with the bright green of the hops.

All in all, I’m not sure this is one that I’ll be repeating every spring, but I’m definitely glad I finally got the chance to try it!

Scappi’s Hop-shoot Soup Recipe

“To prepare a thick soup of hops. Get the tenderest part of them, wash them well and put them into water to boil. When they are done, take them out and put them into cold water. When they have cooled, take them out, beat them with knives and cook them with chicken broth. Furthermore, you can cook them with a few raisins or gooseberries; you can also omit beating them, following the directions for asparagus. Sometimes you can put in a few melon seed that have been made into milk. The same can be done with thick soups of beaten chicory. If it is for a lean day, instead of broth use fresh washed butter; for a fast day, sweet-almond oil.” -The Opera of Bartolomeo Scappi, 1577

Makes 1 serving

Ingredients:

  • a good sized handful of young hop shoots, no more than 1′ long
  • 1 1/2-2 cups chicken broth
  • 1-2 egg yolks
  • splash white wine vinegar or verjus
  • 1/4 cup grated Parmesan (optional)

Begin by parboiling the hop shoots: cut them into pieces about 6-8″ long and drop into a pan of simmering water. Cook for several minutes, until the shoots are a bright green and tender. Drop into a bowl of cold water to stop them cooking. Strain and chop off any stems that are still too stiff. Chop the rest of the tender greens small and set aside.

In a separate pan, whisk together the chicken broth and egg yolks and place over medium heat. Continue to cook until the mixture has thickened somewhat. Add the splash of verjus, then remove from heat. Stir in the chopped greens and cheese, if adding.

A Taste of Rome

When in Rome, eat as the Romans do.

Or, in my case, as they did, nearly 2,000 years ago.

Even though these days I’m often up to my elbows in trying to create recipes for fictional worlds, historical foodstuffs remain one of my passions and big interests when time allows. So naturally, when planning a family trip to Rome earlier this month, I started in with looking for a restaurant that serves ancient Roman recipes.

It was something of a struggle. There are a number of places that are happy to have a costumed gladiator or centurion trot around the dining room. There are some restaurants tucked into ancient ruins (that’s on the list for next time). The search brought up heaps of articles about how the Romans only ate weird and gross food back in the day– these kind of misconceptions are one of my biggest pet peeves when it comes to historical dishes!

But finally, there it was. Hostaria Antica Roma. A restaurant that actually serves historical recipes alongside modern dishes. What’s more, they were planning feast of all ancient recipes to celebrate Rome’s birthday, but it was the day after we were scheduled to leave. I quickly got in touch with the owner, Paolo, and shamefacedly explained that I had utterly failed at planning our trip, and we would be missing Rome’s 2,771st birthday by ONE DAY, and did they normally serve the ancient recipes? He assured me that they did, and that he would be happy to make a couple extra if I gave him a heads up.

Game. On.

So after a day of strolling the ruins of Rome, four of us- my husband, father-in-law, his wife, and me- found ourselves strolling down the Appian Way. Like, THE Appian Way. I feel like every time I turn around in Rome I’m geeking out about some other amazing historical thing. It’s super easy to do. We toured the tomb of Cecilia Metella then wandered the rest of the way to the restaurant. The weather was perfect, a far cry from what we had left in Vermont. Paolo greeted us at the door as we were laughing at the BBQ grill made out of a replica Roman chariot; I wouldn’t turn one of those down for the back yard! And then he ushered us inside to sit. Paolo gave us the chance to order from the menu, but we gave him carte blanche, and were promised a Roman feast in return for our trust.

Guys, I can’t even find the words to tell you how amazing this entire dinner was. In one’s life, there are probably only a few really stand-out meals, and this was definitely one of them. Even my in-laws, who have always been leery of historical recipes, were blown away. We began with platter after platter of antipasto dishes- cured meats, cheeses, grilled vegetables, seafood salad, and more–we needed a booster table brought over just to have enough room for all the plates.

Of especial interest to me was the libum (ancient bread from Cato’s writings) and an incredible herbed garlic cheese (based on a passage from Virgil’s Georgics). Both were just outstanding, the bread something akin to an eggy popover flavored by the bay leaves they’re baked on, and the cheese just out of this world, with flavors of coriander and garlic. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t take a crack at recipes for both, so stay tuned for that.

 

Here I have to apologize, because the dinner was so incredible that I basically forgot to take any pictures of it. I’m afraid I’m just not that kind of food blogger! But as is the pitfall of any food photo, they could not have done justice to the incredible flavor combinations. For the main courses, the in-laws ordered fall-off-the-bone lamb, my husband opted for the ancient lasagna, and of course, I ordered the chicken with garum sauce. That was basically the end of all conversation for the moment as we all made happy sounds over our foods. The lamb was divine, the chicken and garum was rich and flavorful (but really not fishy at all), and the lasagna was the best any of us had ever had, with layers of ricotta, beef, and fennel. Top all of that off with four different desserts and a few bottles of wine, and I was starting to feel like a happily plump Roman empress…

But one of the best parts for me was getting to meet Paolo. There are a lot of food nerds out there, but really very few that love historical cooking like I do. Paolo is one of them. And while he has served diplomats and movie stars, his first foray into historical foods was accidental, much like mine. I found in him a kindred spirit with a top-notch mustache. He was the consummate host during our visit, regaling us with stories and anecdotes, showing us the pair of Roman outfits made for him and his wife by the costume designer for the original Ben Hur. And we chatted historical food, swapping sources and camaraderie. It was awesome.

So listen: If you ever find yourself in Rome, or heck, in Italy at all, you MUST go pay a visit to Hostaria Antica Roma.

Quasi-Colonial Thanksgiving, 2017

It’s almost that time of year again! I’ve got some zany new recipes to try, and if they work, I’ll be posting the recipes in the next couple of weeks. One fun addition this year is that we’ll be using all our own eggs!

The thing I love most, perhaps, about approaching a holiday like this is that it takes away so much of the pressure that can do in what should be a festive time. Instead, it’s about the adventure of the cooking, and having fun together. And because we try to make the dinner with all local or homegrown ingredients, it gives us a proper appreciation for the effort that goes into growing and preparing the food. Looking back in time, it’s easy to marvel at the amount of hard work that went into keeping a family alive and fed. I’ll be raising a glass to all the hunters and housewives that have gotten us to where we are today!

Here’s how the menu for our oddball thanksgiving is shaping up so far:

Flair

  • Hand washing water – (also makes the house smell nice)
  • Beeswax and bayberry candles
  • Pewter, linen, antler, and assorted other period dishware

Appetizers

  • Pemmican – traditional
  • Thin oat and acorn cakes – 1702
  • Homemade cheeses

Main

  • Sausage Stew with corn and beans
  • Turkey, with salt pork stuffing – 1796
  • Poached Trout – 1700s

Sides

  • Cranberry Chutney – 1767, with some tweaks
  • Parsnip Pudding – 1702
  • Cheese Lofe – 1702

Dessert

Drinks

 Sources used:

  • The First American Cookbook, Amelia Simmons, 1796
  • The Compleat Housewife: or, Accomplished Gentlewoman’s Companion by E. Smith, 1754
  • Vinetum Britannicum, J. Worlidge, 1691
  • Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, Mrs. Beeton, 1861
  • The Way to a Man’s Heart, various authors, pre-1891
  • Dr. Chase’s Receipt Book, Dr. Chase, 1887
  • Martha Washington’s Booke of Cookery, Karen Hess, 1749
  • Penn Family Recipes – 1702

The Verdict?

This was awesome!

We cooked a turkey in the ground, and it ACTUALLY WORKED!

 

Keep an eye out for the recipes for the gingerbread, parsnip pudding, and a post on those squirrels. ;)