Saturday, 7 January, 2012
Oatcakes
or oatbreads, or flatbreads....
The other morning I decided the cold weather warranted some oatmeal for breakfast. I decided to make a larger batch than usual, and experiment a bit.
My preference is for steel-cut oats rather than rolled oats. It's a more time-consuming process to prepare them, and it is an entirely different result, but I like the flavour very much. Because Darrell enjoys fruit in his oatmeal, I added a small bit to the batch, a very small handful of dried cherries, dried cranberries and currants. I also added a very tiny bit of honey towards the end of the cooking process. I'm not wildly fond of honey, but it is a period sweetener. (if you don't live in Viking Age Iceland!)
So after we'd eaten our breakfast or brunch, I had leftover oatmeal to try things with.
When I had been preparing food for the period of time we'd be working at L'Anse aux Meadows, Nfld in 2010, I had made a number of wheaten flatbreads and dried them for the trip. Towards the end of the ten day period, I'd made some fresh flatbreads each day before leaving the cabins where we were staying. I've baked bread at period encampments previously, but we were working in a 'borrowed' environment as guest interpreters, and it was simpler to avoid some of the messier food prep on-site if possible.
But during the original test period of the interpretive program, back in 1996 I'd made flatbreads on-site. In those days I could even share them with the visitors!
So, I was wondering about possible variations of method that would work for this and other presentations, as well as encampments for ourselves.
I took my leftover oatmeal and added flour only, mostly oat flour, but then a bit of wheat flour as well. (I have to go further afield than locally to buy specialty flours, so I tend to hoard my small stores for moments that count most.) Eventually I ended up with an only slightly sticky dough, which I patted into small flat cakes. These I cooked gently in a flat pan over a medium heat. (It's winter, we have snow. It's harder to cook over a fire without more involved planning!)
The results were very appealing. Slightly moist and chewy, and the faint sweetness of the moderate amount of fruit made them quite appealing, though not something that would be jarring with a savoury dish.
We also took two last cakes (the rest were eaten already) and put them to dry on our woodstove. They eventually dried to something very hard and tile-like, which will probably keep quite well, though would want moistening to eat.
My next experiment came about because I wondered if one could achieve more or less the same results by soaking the oat mixtures over night, rather than cooking them, and making the cakes from leftovers. Leftover oatmeal into oat cakes certainly has a history in the more modern past, and could conceivably have been done earlier, but in that situation, possibly a leftover gruel of oats would just continue to be eaten as a gruel of oats till none was left.
However, softening oats towards making a bread or cake might be more plausible.
I tried setting up two different experiments. In one I used modern rolled oats, since that is something many modern re-enactors might have access to, and for many occasions, especially depending on the amount of time one can devote to the project, modern oats would be quick and easy. In the other batch I took oat groats and ground some to flour (unexpectedly. My flour-milling implement appears to be full of gusto. Next time I'll try merely crushing some groats with a rolling pin...) and blended those with some whole groats.
Both batches were set to soak overnight with water and a little salt.
The next day I blended both mixtures with some flour, just wheat flour this time, to a consistency where I could pat them into cake shapes. I made them thinner this time because I was also interested in how easily I could take them to a dried storable state.
Both methods yielded a similar type of cake. Obviously oat groats have a softer hull than some other grains, which is nice to know. Quite probably gently crushing them would be sufficient to allow the water to penetrate their hulls and soften them for a cake. I did miss the flavour that the dried fruits had given them: I'd want to experiment with some herbs on another occasion. And on the whole I prefer them in their chewier state, even if fully drying them made them last better. I think that the simplicity of making them on-site would outweigh the make-ahead aspect.
But definitely something to play with in a camp setting!
The other morning I decided the cold weather warranted some oatmeal for breakfast. I decided to make a larger batch than usual, and experiment a bit.
My preference is for steel-cut oats rather than rolled oats. It's a more time-consuming process to prepare them, and it is an entirely different result, but I like the flavour very much. Because Darrell enjoys fruit in his oatmeal, I added a small bit to the batch, a very small handful of dried cherries, dried cranberries and currants. I also added a very tiny bit of honey towards the end of the cooking process. I'm not wildly fond of honey, but it is a period sweetener. (if you don't live in Viking Age Iceland!)
So after we'd eaten our breakfast or brunch, I had leftover oatmeal to try things with.
When I had been preparing food for the period of time we'd be working at L'Anse aux Meadows, Nfld in 2010, I had made a number of wheaten flatbreads and dried them for the trip. Towards the end of the ten day period, I'd made some fresh flatbreads each day before leaving the cabins where we were staying. I've baked bread at period encampments previously, but we were working in a 'borrowed' environment as guest interpreters, and it was simpler to avoid some of the messier food prep on-site if possible.
But during the original test period of the interpretive program, back in 1996 I'd made flatbreads on-site. In those days I could even share them with the visitors!
So, I was wondering about possible variations of method that would work for this and other presentations, as well as encampments for ourselves.
I took my leftover oatmeal and added flour only, mostly oat flour, but then a bit of wheat flour as well. (I have to go further afield than locally to buy specialty flours, so I tend to hoard my small stores for moments that count most.) Eventually I ended up with an only slightly sticky dough, which I patted into small flat cakes. These I cooked gently in a flat pan over a medium heat. (It's winter, we have snow. It's harder to cook over a fire without more involved planning!)
The results were very appealing. Slightly moist and chewy, and the faint sweetness of the moderate amount of fruit made them quite appealing, though not something that would be jarring with a savoury dish.
We also took two last cakes (the rest were eaten already) and put them to dry on our woodstove. They eventually dried to something very hard and tile-like, which will probably keep quite well, though would want moistening to eat.
My next experiment came about because I wondered if one could achieve more or less the same results by soaking the oat mixtures over night, rather than cooking them, and making the cakes from leftovers. Leftover oatmeal into oat cakes certainly has a history in the more modern past, and could conceivably have been done earlier, but in that situation, possibly a leftover gruel of oats would just continue to be eaten as a gruel of oats till none was left.
However, softening oats towards making a bread or cake might be more plausible.
I tried setting up two different experiments. In one I used modern rolled oats, since that is something many modern re-enactors might have access to, and for many occasions, especially depending on the amount of time one can devote to the project, modern oats would be quick and easy. In the other batch I took oat groats and ground some to flour (unexpectedly. My flour-milling implement appears to be full of gusto. Next time I'll try merely crushing some groats with a rolling pin...) and blended those with some whole groats.
Both batches were set to soak overnight with water and a little salt.
The next day I blended both mixtures with some flour, just wheat flour this time, to a consistency where I could pat them into cake shapes. I made them thinner this time because I was also interested in how easily I could take them to a dried storable state.
Both methods yielded a similar type of cake. Obviously oat groats have a softer hull than some other grains, which is nice to know. Quite probably gently crushing them would be sufficient to allow the water to penetrate their hulls and soften them for a cake. I did miss the flavour that the dried fruits had given them: I'd want to experiment with some herbs on another occasion. And on the whole I prefer them in their chewier state, even if fully drying them made them last better. I think that the simplicity of making them on-site would outweigh the make-ahead aspect.
But definitely something to play with in a camp setting!
Tuesday, 3 January, 2012
A New Year
Apologies.
Far too much passage of time. Without cooking. Without blogging about cooking.
Even trying to fill some of the gap with the odd post about Victorian life wasn't really satisfactory. It certainly didn't fill my need for cooking, and only gave me a little exercise in researching. Quickly. And I'm not sure it was even starting to be helpful to my friends involved in the Victorian living experiment. It's more than likely that the aspects of such a project that *I* would fixate on are not at all what they're thinking about. :)
Ah well. Quel surprise!
I've often noticed that everyone has their own variations on even the obsessions we share!
So, I had an unexpectedly busy fall. And actually it was a fairly unexpectedly busy year. I kept thinking there were inherent gaps, but somehow I never seemed to be in the middle of any of them. Part of this isn't helped by living an hour away from where I often work. Even quick, small jobs get travel time added on top....
But definitely life has been very much back-to-back since September. And I've felt the lack of food time. A lot.
So, there are a number of projects I need to look at. Some I need to re-look at, because I'd played with them a bit, made a few notes, but not written about them. And now I'm not quite sure what I remember, so I need to do them again. (Well, I needed to try some of them multiple times anyway...)
And now I have some new things to plan for, and some new ideas to think about and some different things I want to try.
And I may actually have a few minutes to do it in!
So I started a small experiment today. An off-the-cuff, no special planning kind of experiment, which of course, just gives me a whole list of where I have to go next....
Stay tuned, Bat Fans...
v
Far too much passage of time. Without cooking. Without blogging about cooking.
Even trying to fill some of the gap with the odd post about Victorian life wasn't really satisfactory. It certainly didn't fill my need for cooking, and only gave me a little exercise in researching. Quickly. And I'm not sure it was even starting to be helpful to my friends involved in the Victorian living experiment. It's more than likely that the aspects of such a project that *I* would fixate on are not at all what they're thinking about. :)
Ah well. Quel surprise!
I've often noticed that everyone has their own variations on even the obsessions we share!
So, I had an unexpectedly busy fall. And actually it was a fairly unexpectedly busy year. I kept thinking there were inherent gaps, but somehow I never seemed to be in the middle of any of them. Part of this isn't helped by living an hour away from where I often work. Even quick, small jobs get travel time added on top....
But definitely life has been very much back-to-back since September. And I've felt the lack of food time. A lot.
So, there are a number of projects I need to look at. Some I need to re-look at, because I'd played with them a bit, made a few notes, but not written about them. And now I'm not quite sure what I remember, so I need to do them again. (Well, I needed to try some of them multiple times anyway...)
And now I have some new things to plan for, and some new ideas to think about and some different things I want to try.
And I may actually have a few minutes to do it in!
So I started a small experiment today. An off-the-cuff, no special planning kind of experiment, which of course, just gives me a whole list of where I have to go next....
Stay tuned, Bat Fans...
v
Tuesday, 21 June, 2011
Ale and Laundry
Another bit of something for my friends in the Victorian world.
First, because they felt that dandelion greens were probably getting past their first spring tenderness, and because Ken likes a cool one after all his haying; from A Country Cup by Wilma Paterson:
Dandelion Beer
This isn't an historical cookbook, though it does claim to be 'Old and New recipes for Drinks of all kinds made from Wild Plants and Herbs'. (I'll have to rootle around and see if I can find parallel recipes in some of my period material.) But I have made the recipe and it worked and was a pleasant beverage. I'm not sure if I'd call it a beer, but it was nice.
1/2 lb young dandelion plants
1 gal water
1 lb brown sugar
1 lemon
1/2 oz root ginger
1 oz cream of tartar
1 oz yeast
Wash the plants and remove hairs from the main tap- root. Boil them with the bruised ginger and the lemon rind (having discarded the pith) for ten minutes. Strain on to the sugar and cream of tartar in an earthenware jar and stir until dissolved. When lukewarm add the lemon juice and yeast, cover the jar, and leave in a warm place for three days. Siphon off into screw-top bottles and leave for a week before drinking.
*I made this for a brewing contest that I'd decided belatedly to enter. I was looking for some kind of fast recipe. I had bought dandelion greens from Knob Hill Farms in Toronto, so sold as a salad green and probably without the tap-root. And I used ordinary bread yeast. I don't recall if I used 'screw-top bottles'. Even though this wasn't a highly active fermentation, I think I'd default towards something designed to handle pressure, just in case...
And for Margaret, not a fair division by any means: from the Confederate Receipt Book, some recipes for soap.
Soap
Pour twelve quarts of boiling water upon five pounds of unslacked lime. Then dissolve five pounds of washing soda in twelve parts of boiling water, mix the above together, and let the mixture remain from twelve to twenty-four house, for the purpose of chemical action. Now pour off the clear liquid, being careful not to disturb the sediment. Add to the above three and a half pounds of clarified grease, and from three to four ounces of rosin. Boil this compound together for one hour, and pour off to cool. Cut it up in bars for use, and you are in possession of a superior chemical soap, costing about three and a half cents per pound in ordinary times.
or...
Soft Soap
Bore some holes in a lye barrel, put some straw in the bottom, lay some unslacked lime on it, and fill your barrel with good hardwood ashes, wet it, and pound it down as you put it in. When full, make a basin in the ashes and pour in water, keep filling it as it sinks in the ashes. In the course of a few hours the lye will begin to run. When you have sufficient quantity to begin with, put your grease in a large iron pot, pour in the lye, let it boil, &c. Three pounds of clean grease are allowed for two gallons of soap.
So far I haven't discovered soap recipes that make me feel competent to produce soap, though I have any number of friends who make soaps, and very nice soaps. I'll keep looking...
v
First, because they felt that dandelion greens were probably getting past their first spring tenderness, and because Ken likes a cool one after all his haying; from A Country Cup by Wilma Paterson:
Dandelion Beer
This isn't an historical cookbook, though it does claim to be 'Old and New recipes for Drinks of all kinds made from Wild Plants and Herbs'. (I'll have to rootle around and see if I can find parallel recipes in some of my period material.) But I have made the recipe and it worked and was a pleasant beverage. I'm not sure if I'd call it a beer, but it was nice.
1/2 lb young dandelion plants
1 gal water
1 lb brown sugar
1 lemon
1/2 oz root ginger
1 oz cream of tartar
1 oz yeast
Wash the plants and remove hairs from the main tap- root. Boil them with the bruised ginger and the lemon rind (having discarded the pith) for ten minutes. Strain on to the sugar and cream of tartar in an earthenware jar and stir until dissolved. When lukewarm add the lemon juice and yeast, cover the jar, and leave in a warm place for three days. Siphon off into screw-top bottles and leave for a week before drinking.
*I made this for a brewing contest that I'd decided belatedly to enter. I was looking for some kind of fast recipe. I had bought dandelion greens from Knob Hill Farms in Toronto, so sold as a salad green and probably without the tap-root. And I used ordinary bread yeast. I don't recall if I used 'screw-top bottles'. Even though this wasn't a highly active fermentation, I think I'd default towards something designed to handle pressure, just in case...
And for Margaret, not a fair division by any means: from the Confederate Receipt Book, some recipes for soap.
Soap
Pour twelve quarts of boiling water upon five pounds of unslacked lime. Then dissolve five pounds of washing soda in twelve parts of boiling water, mix the above together, and let the mixture remain from twelve to twenty-four house, for the purpose of chemical action. Now pour off the clear liquid, being careful not to disturb the sediment. Add to the above three and a half pounds of clarified grease, and from three to four ounces of rosin. Boil this compound together for one hour, and pour off to cool. Cut it up in bars for use, and you are in possession of a superior chemical soap, costing about three and a half cents per pound in ordinary times.
or...
Soft Soap
Bore some holes in a lye barrel, put some straw in the bottom, lay some unslacked lime on it, and fill your barrel with good hardwood ashes, wet it, and pound it down as you put it in. When full, make a basin in the ashes and pour in water, keep filling it as it sinks in the ashes. In the course of a few hours the lye will begin to run. When you have sufficient quantity to begin with, put your grease in a large iron pot, pour in the lye, let it boil, &c. Three pounds of clean grease are allowed for two gallons of soap.
So far I haven't discovered soap recipes that make me feel competent to produce soap, though I have any number of friends who make soaps, and very nice soaps. I'll keep looking...
v
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