Thoughts:

A number of quirky Lenten dietary choices were made this year by members of this household, and that meant I had to go searching for new recipes to accommodate those restrictions. Thankfully, medieval cookbooks were all about recipes for Lent, and that’s where I found this beauty. It’s in the Opera of Bartolomeo Scappi, which you ought to know by now is one of my favorite historical cookbooks.

The recipe is really quite quick and easy to prepare, especially by medieval standards. I made the fully Lenten version, which is entirely vegan, but I suspect it would also be just delicious with a bit of sausage added in. As it is, it’s still delightfully flavorful and unique. The saffron turns the broth a brilliant yellow that contrasts nicely with the dark skin of the eggplant. The quirky collection of spices and herbs combine for a flavor mix unlike anything I’ve tasted, even in the realm of historical cooking. In short, it’s delicious.

 Where in Westeros?

Eggplants in medieval times had worked their way over to the Mediterranean from Asia. They were a different vegetable than our modern ones, smaller all around, but slightly larger in Italy, by all accounts. As such, I’d peg this as a dish from Essos, or even possibly the Reach, through Dorne.

Recipe for Stuffed Eggplants

Cook’s Note: The recipe is as I made it, for a Lenten fast day. You can also add an egg and about 1/4 cup grated parmesan for some extra body and flavor.

Ingredients:

• 4 small eggplants (under 8″long)
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1/4 cup each walnuts and almonds, roughly chopped
• pinch each salt, pepper, ground cinnamon and cloves
• 1 tsp. mixed herbs (as with Italian seasoning)
• 1 cup rough breadcrumbs
• 1 Tbs. olive oil
• 1 Tbs. wine vinegar

Broth:

• water
• pinch saffron
• a good pinch each of salt, pepper, cinnamon, cloves, and mixed spices, as above
• 1 Tbs. olive oil
• 1 Tbs. wine vinegar

Take your eggplants and chop the tops from them as close to the stem as you can. Taking a melon baller (or a spoon, but that’s more difficult), carefully scoop out the insides of each eggplant, saving the excess eggplant. Place the insides of the eggplants in a food processor along with the garlic, nuts, spices, herbs, and breadcrumbs. Pulse a few times, then add the olive oil and vinegar, and pulse a few more.

Using a small spoon, gently divide this mixture evenly among the four eggplants, pressing it into them until it is all used up. Place the filled eggplants in a small saucepan with tallish sides, and fill 2/3 up with water. Add the above ingredients for the broth.

Cover the pot and simmer over medium-high heat for 15-20 minutes, or until the eggplants are tender. To serve, place each eggplant on a wide bowl, and carefully cut in half. Pour a bit of the broth from the pot over, and serve up!

So, I saw these quinces in the store about a month back, and was very excited. Quinces were very popular in historical cooking, and I thought to myself, “Great! I can make all sorts of things!” Starting with quince paste, because it goes well with cheese, and I happen to love me some cheese.

As with many experimental recipes, the first time didn’t quite work out as I would have wished. So I thought, “No biggie. I’ll just get more quinces.” And the next time I went to the store, I looked. And the time after that, I looked. And looked, and looked. Nary a quince to be found, I’m afraid.

As a result, this recipe is a little more rustic than I usually like to publish, but on the off chance that you can still find quinces where you are, huzzah! I’ve since learned that one ought to boil the peels along with the fruit (in a cheesecloth bag) for their super pectin goodness, so perhaps that is also where I misstepped.

In any case, despite my moderate textural issues, whereby my paste was more of a spread, it was still delicious enough to eat with a spoon. Which I did, and it was great. Although quinces somewhat resemble very hard apples, their fruity flavor is quite unlike like any other fruit. Well worth another go, if only I could find more! ;)

Quince Paste Recipe

Ingredients:

• 3 quinces, peeled, seeded, and chopped (peels saved)
• 2 cups raw sugar (such as demerara, or turbinado)

Tie the quince peels into a piece of cheese cloth and put in a medium pot along with the quince fruit. Cover with water, and bring to just under a boil. Allow the mixture to simmer for around 40 minutes, then remove from heat. Take the peels out and discard. Press the fruit through a sieve, then pour back into the saucepan, along with the sugar. Let this mixture simmer for around an hour and a half, or until it has turned a pretty dark red color, and thickened.

Now, at this point, you essentially have quince paste. I tried to really dry mine out in a low oven for several hours, but to no avail. Instead, I spooned it into jars, and enjoyed as-was!

For extra perusal, here are several historical recipes for quince paste, and related quincy dishes:

This is an excerpt from Libro di cucina / Libro per cuoco
(Italy, 14th/15th c. – Louise Smithson, trans.)

CXXXIII – To make marmalade of quinces good and fantastic. Take the quinces and peel and put to boil in lots of water and cook until they are come down; take a basin holed or the grater, and grate very fine that you take all that is good, and guard that the seeds don’t go into the grated quince. Save for 3 days in the air this grated mix before you put in the the honey, then for each pound of grated quinces you want to have 3 pounds of honey. Bring to a good boil together when the honeyis cooked add spices fine and if you want for the mixture, put to boil a little of sugar, for 3 pounds of quince marmalade you want to have 6 ounces of sugar in change of spices. When it is cooked tip it onto a table bathed with fresh water, and make it in the way of sheets of pasta large and just less than half a finger thick, and make in the way of wafers and put in a “albarello” (kitchen salt pot, refers to a specific storage vessel) with spices and with laurel: that it does not go bad you must boil two hours until it is cooked always stirring. This quince marmalade you want to cook always well mixed with a flat wooden stirrer, etc.

Red Quince Paste
To make the paste of a fine red, bake the quinces in the oven a long while, then peel and sift them in a strong hair-sieve; dry the marmalade over a slow fire a little while, to about half the consistency of a paste then to redden it the more, keep it a good while on a slow ashes-fire, stirring some time; and to add to this redness, put a little steeped cochineal, and reduce it on a flow fire, to a thick paste; that is, when it loosens from the Pan; put as much sugar as marmalade, or paste, soak it a little while on the fire and let it cool, just enough to work it well with the hands, and finish directly as usual.
From Borella, The Court and Country Confectioner (London: 1770)

 Thoughts:

During the colonial period in America, many early cookbooks made references to “indian” dishes, or “indian meal”. This simply meant dishes that included cornmeal, which was a primary staple food for many native tribes, and a somewhat novel ingredient to the European colonists.

Indian Pudding was essentially the New England counterpart to traditional English steamed puddings. The original puddings called for ingredients such as ground almonds, heavy cream, sugar, rosewater, and so on. The colonial pudding is more modest, making use of what ingredients were more readily available, such as cornmeal and molasses.

The consistency of this pudding, drawn from a 1796 recipe, is more firm than many modern versions of the same dish. I actually like this firmness, as it provides a nice counterpart to the lighter, softer whipped cream. The flavor is very similar to a gingerbread, and I would not have been able to guess that cornmeal was the primary dry ingredient. It’s rich, filling, and flavorful, and can be kept for days- a serious boon around holidays…

Indian Pudding Recipe

Ingredient:

• 3 pints scalded milk
• 1 pint meal
• 2 eggs
• 4 oz. butter
• 1/2 cup sugar or molasses
• 1 tsp. each ground cinnamon and ginger
• heavy cream (optional)

Combine the butter with the warm milk, stirring until it has melted in. Allow to cool, then mix with remaining ingredients in a large bowl. If you have one, pour this mixture into a pudding mold, and place the lid on. If you don’t have a pudding mold, you can use a bowl just large enough to hold the batter. Place a lid of aluminium foil on top. Set the pudding mold into a water bath that comes most of the way up the sides. Bake for two hours at 25oF. Allow to sit for at least 30 minutes before serving.

If you are making this for a holiday, go ahead and make it the day before. Refrigerate, then either allow to come to room temperature, or gently reheat before serving. Scoop into bowls, and pour a little cream over top, or serve with a dollop of slightly sweetened whipped cream. It’s also tasty with vanilla ice cream on the side.

So some of you might remember that I posted this photo on FB with some obscure hints about holiday cooking:

Well, here is the big reveal:

They’re breadsticks in the shape of wheat sheafs!

How fun is this? That photo above was just the practice run, and I decided that I wanted to get something with a little more definition. This batch is from the recipe posted below:

I was looking for a fun way to do bread for my Thanksgiving soup course (before I decided to go Colonial, anyway), and this creative idea struck me. I’m usually a fan of soft breadsticks, but when they can look like this, I’ll make an exception for the crunchy kind.

They’re small, light, and depending on your choice of topping, savory and difficult to stop eating. They are great as a festive touch to a feast table, sides to the appetizer cheese course, poking out of a cornucopia, or artfully placed atop soup bowls.

Bonus: Because they’re crunchy, these breadsticks can be made several days ahead of time, shaving off just a little bit of the crazy preparation from a big holiday.

Wheat Sheaf Breadsticks

Ingredients:

• 3/4 cup lukewarm water
• 2 teaspoons honey
• 1 teaspoons salt
• 2 teaspoons instant yeast
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 cups flour
• 1 cup whole meal flour
• 1 egg, beaten with 1 Tbs. cold water
• heaping 1/3 cup sesame, poppy, or other seeds
• 1 Tbs. seasoned salt mixture

In a medium bowl, combine the warm water, honey, salt and yeast, and allow to sit for a few minutes, until frothy. Add the olive oil, then gradually add in the flour until you have a nice, supple, workable dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl.

Turn out the dough on a clean, lightly floured surface. Knead for several minutes, until the dough bounces back when poked. Divide in half, cover with a clean tea towel, and allow to rise for about an hour, or until doubled in size.

Take one half of the dough and press or roll it out into a 9″x12″ rectangle. Brush with the beaten egg, and sprinkle evenly with half of the seeds and seasoned salt. Press the top lightly to push the seeds in a little. Use a sharp knife (a pizza cutter is better) to cut the dough into strips 1/2″ wide.

Taking each end of a strip in each of your hands, twist until the topping side is spiraled all around in a pretty manner. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and repeat with the rest. To make the decorative tops, snip around the end of the dough strip with a sharp pair of kitchen shears, overlapping your snips. It’s totally fine if they’re not perfect- just call it “rustic!”

Preheat the oven to 425F. Allow the twists to rise for about 30 minutes, then bake for about 12 minutes, until they are just slightly tipped with brown.

“Arrived at Dr. Tufts where I found a fine Wild Goose on the Spit and Cranberries in the Skillet for Dinner”

– John Adams, April 8, 1767

For the first of my colonial Thanksgiving recipes, I’m starting with the basics.

Even I, a former picky eater, would have to agree that no Thanksgiving is complete without cranberry sauce. The modern variety is often mixed up with citrus peel and a variety of other ingredients that might not have been readily available in colonial era New England.

When I saw a version of this recipe online, I knew I had to try it. Thank goodness for good instincts, because it’s great. Simple enough to make over a campfire, I’d wager, this recipe is about as basic as it gets, but no less delicious for all that. The finished cranberries retain enough of their structure to be more easily added to a fork than modern sauce. Especially if one’s fork only has two or three tines, as many colonial forks did. The brandy taste is there, but because it cooked off, it’s mostly the tasty flavors left, rather than the alcohol. Just sweet enough, with the tartness of the berries shining through, it’s a great and easy addition to a holiday table.

(Sidenote: My mother’s family grew up calling cranberry sauce, “plutz”. Anyone else heard of that?)

 Skillet Cranberries Recipe

Serves 4-6, so at least double for a large group

Ingredients:

• 1 pound fresh cranberries
• 2 cups turbinado or other raw sugar
• ¼ cup brandy or rum

Spread the cranberries in the bottom of a skillet. Sprinkle the sugar over them and place in an oven set to about 275F for about an hour, or until the berries are very soft. Remove from the oven and carefully pour in the brandy or rum to deglaze the pan, careful of hot spatters. Stir gently if needed to unstick any berries from the bottom of the skillet. You can either return the skillet to the oven or cook on the stovetop until the alcohol evaporates.

Can be made several days ahead of time, and kept in the fridge. Bring to room temperature before serving.

“The boy is fond of sweets… Cakes and pies, jams and jellies, honey on the comb. Perhaps a pinch of sweetsleep in his milk, have you tried that? Just a pinch, to calm him and stop his wretched shaking.”

-A Feast for Crows

People of the Northern Hemisphere.

Autumn is upon us, and that means obligatory recipes involving pumpkins.

Although, I have to admit that making and testing this recipe was not exactly a hardship. I did eat a great deal of the finished spread, just to make sure it was fit to share. You see the sacrifices I make for you?

Totally worth it.

I had the craving several months ago to make some pumpkin butter, but it was well before those lovely gourds came into season. I even eyed the canned pie filling in the pantry. And then the summer was over, as well as half of autumn, and now you can’t drive 10 minutes anywhere in New England without seeing a heap of pumpkins.

The smooth spread, made from a smallish pie pumpkin slow roasted in the oven, tastes of the season. Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and clove complete the classic pairing. It’s warm and comforting, despite the knowledge that with the appearance of pumpkins, winter is coming.

I haven’t made enough to put up yet, but rest assured that I soon will. Although, I bet that in a mid-winter pinch, one could use canned pumpkin to great effect. Perhaps I’ll test that in the grimness of February, when any taste of any other season is very welcome. You know. For science.

Where in Westeros?

The Vale, for starters.

While pumpkin butter isn’t specifically mentioned, the Vale is known to produce pumpkins. Given the unpredictable political scene across Westeros, I imagine a savvy cook would put away whatever she could get her hands on, both as straight canned pumpkin, and as its fancier cousin. We know from the books that little Robin Arryn loves sweet foods, and I can easily imagine him scarfing down more than his fair share of spice pumpkin butter to break his fast, while Alayne nibbled elegantly at a piece of toasted bread with a bit scraped over the top.

 Spiced Pumpkin Butter Recipe

Ingredients:

• 1 small pie pumpkin, about 4 lb.
• 1/4 cup maple syrup or honey (but definitely go for the maple)
• 1-2 Tbs. apple cider vinegar
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1/4 cup apple juice
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoons ground ginger
• pinch each nutmeg, cloves

Preheat the oven to 350°F, and line a small baking dish with aluminium foil or parchment paper. Place the pumpkin on this dish, and roast in the oven until it’s very soft and starting to slump. Remove from oven.

When the pumpkin has cooled, slice it up. Remove the seeds (they’re delicious roasted!) and scrape the now-soft flesh from the skin. Using a submersible blender, puree the pumpkin until it reaches a smooth consistency. Move the puree to a saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the remaining ingredients and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until it has thickened considerably, and is a nice rich color, probably at least 30 minutes.

The finished pumpkin butter should be great for several weeks in the fridge, and if you pop some in the freezer, it should keep until you can get a hold of next year’s pumpkins…

When I survived a week of pulling an average of 3 squash a day from the garden, I knew that more drastic measures were called for. A nipping in the bud, as it were. Literally.

These squash blossoms are stuffed with soft goat cheese, lightly battered, then fried to a crisp golden brown. The cheese gets warm and creamy, and the tartness of the cheese goes nicely with the slight salt from the batter. They are light and flavorful, but the real joy is knowing that you are eating squash-that-will-not-be…

Who in Westeros would eat these?

I imagine the Tyrells. Since their plentiful harvest assures them of a well stocked larder, they could easily spare some blossoms here and there.

Recipe for Fried Squash Blossoms

Cook’s Notes: You can also use zucchini and pumpkin flowers! If you like, add some finely chopped herbs to the goat cheese for a little added flavor.

Ingredients:

• 3 ounces goat cheese
• 10-12 squash blossoms
• 1 cup flour
• 1 cup cold water
• 1 tsp. salt
• oil for frying, ~1 1/2 cups

Bring the skillet of oil up to a medium heat.

Make your batter by quickly whisking together the flour, cold water, and salt. Set aside.

Carefully squish about 1 tsp. of goat cheese into the bottom of each squash flower, then sort of squish the petals closed. Holding them by the stems, dip each stuffed blossom into the batter, making sure to coat each side and let any excess drip off.

Drop the battered flowers into the oil and allow to cook for about a minute on each side, or until a light golden brown and crispy. Remove to a plate lined with paper towels to drain. Sprinkle with a little extra salt, and enjoy!

“By the time the telling was done, it was dark outside and Sam was licking his fingers. ‘That was good, but now I’d like a leg of lamb. A whole leg, just for me, sauced with mint and honey and cloves. Did you see any lambs?’” -A Clash of Kings

Thoughts:

This was one meal that really invoked the spirit of the North. Because Sam is the one dreaming about this dish, I could definitely see it being served during a time when the Night’s Watch wasn’t struggling quite so much as they are when we last see them. After all, Jon and Sam’s feast after taking their vows involved rack of lamb and berries with sweet cream.

But this really put me in mind of Winterfell- long trestle tables groaning with heavy platters, heaped with meat and sauce. The smell of roasting meat on spits wafting from those huge blazing hearths. The clink of knives on plates, and the glug of ale and mead being poured into mugs.

YES.

This recipe was delicious. I loved the sauce, but didn’t think there was nearly enough of it. I served this at Easter dinner, and the meat-to-sauce ratio was definitely skewed. I’d suggest doubling it if you are working with a hefty portion of lamb. The meat itself came out perfectly, tender and just pink. It was tasty on its own from being basted with the drippings, but paired with the sauce it was wildly better. I can’t wait for another special occasion to break this out again!

Recipe for Leg of Lamb, in dark beer, honey, and spices

Ingredients:

• 1 leg of lamb, bone in (mine was a monster 7 pounder for Easter dinner)
• 2 cups dark beer, such as stout or porter
• 1 cup honey, divided in half
• 1 Tbs. juniper berries, crushed
• 3 bay leaves
• 2 tsp. whole cloves
• mint?

Preheat the oven to 375F. Combine the beer, honey, juniper, bay leaves, and cloves in the bottom of a deep roasting pan, then set the leg of lamb on top. Season the lamb liberally with salt and pepper. Cook approximately 15 minutes per pound, basting every 10-15 minutes or so. The interior temperature of the lamb should reach 130F, at which point it should be done.

Remove from the oven, cover loosely with tin foil, and allow to rest for about 10 minutes before carving.

Strain the drippings into a separate bowl, and skim off as much of the fat as you can. You can either serve the remaining mix straight with the lamb as a sauce, or simmer gently with a bit of fresh mint. I loved the flavor without mint so much that I didn’t bother adding any in, but those who are sticklers for accuracy to the books will want to include it.

Enjoy!