tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11168398226921043362024-03-13T23:30:32.064-04:00Dagda's CauldronThe continuing adventures of a cook and her quest for food in history; the techniques and tools, the methods and ingredients, the recipes, and occasionally the results.vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-14105130017937171902014-10-04T12:40:00.000-04:002014-10-04T12:40:10.454-04:00At Least A Finalist It's kind of too bad we didn't really make a huge effort. We could have staged a much better photo shoot than just a couple of quick snap shots. But it was damp, and we were lazy.<br />
We'd first started cooking in the rather nice, and more conveniently situated firepit next to my camp. Originally it had been carved out, and customized with some terra-forming/terracing by good friends over the several years they camped in that spot. (Viking Hill at Baron's Howe; the land of the leveller.)<br />
But come time to really get cooking on our first dinner, we discovered that a couple of random little bees were really just the advanced emissaries of a colony living in the stones of the firepit.<br />
<br />
So we hastily shifted our cooking facilities to a nearby clearing, and my old firepit.<br />
<br />
Of course, that meant we moved the lighter gear, and spent some time running back and forth to two other camps any time we needed something. And it was a fairly ongoingly damp weekend. So the best I managed was a few quick photos, at the end of the entry submission period.<br />
<br />
We'd have been very happy to win a copy of the cookbook, An Early Meal by Daniel Serra and Hanna Tunberg<br />
<br />
<a href="http://chronocopiapublishing.com/index.php/books/early-meal-viking-age-cookbook-and-culinary-odyssey/">http://chronocopiapublishing.com/index.php/books/early-meal-viking-age-cookbook-and-culinary-odyssey/ </a><br />
<br />
but at least one of our entries made it into the selection of finalists.<br />
<br />
<a class="profileLink" href="https://www.facebook.com/ChronoCopiaPublishing/photos/a.533460423451359.1073741831.498570893606979/533465783450823/?type=1">https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.533460423451359.1073741831.498570893606979&type=3</a><br />
<br />
For some reason, whatever link I put keeps defaulting to my photo, rather than the album. At least for me. This was a stew of venison sausage, lentils, mushrooms I'd dried, some heritage carrots, some parsnips, and herbs. The iron pot is a replica made by The Wareham Forge.<br />
<br />
Next time. I promise myself, more and better pictures, and we'll try the whole social media thing. Maybe. If we don't get distracted by the eating part!vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-66069376990425740162014-01-28T17:28:00.001-05:002014-01-28T17:28:52.197-05:00Oatcakes, Redux. So. It was Robbie Burn's Day. And while I can be very open-minded about what may constitute a Robbie Burn's Day dinner.... (ie. I'm not committed solely to haggis), I do tend to always think of athol brose.)<br />
<br />
Now even recipes for Athol Brose have many variations. I just looked out a quick one from a cookbook and it says: whiskey, honey, cold water.<br />
But the one I've done for years has been to take oatmeal and soak it in water, then drain off the water, add honey, whiskey, and cream. (I don't even remember where that version came from, but it's danged tasty.)<br />
<br />
However, it leaves you with some soaked, softened oats..<br />
<br />
On an energetic Robbie Burn's Day, I've taken those softened oats, and made them into a pudding of some sort. Maybe adding fruit, like raspberries. Maybe not... but they've been used then.<br />
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This time I put them aside to use the next day.<br />
Now I could have just made them into porridge. But I was slow off the mark and it didn't happen. And then, because I'd already been thinking about this blog, I decided to try some more oatcakes. What the heck, why not? [NOTE: it was soaked rolled oats, not steelcut oats.]<br />
<br />
So, because I was thinking of oatcakes, and had bacon, I thought about oatcakes fried in bacon grease. And decided on aiming towards savoury flavours, since I often make oatcakes with dried fruit, and a change is a good a a rest. (Don't they say?)<br />
<br />
I had recently purchased some fresh sage, and had some left over, so I finely chopped some green onion, some sage, and crumbled in a small bit of dried dulse. I seasoned it with a small pinch of Breton grey sea salt. (Thank you, Diane.) I added flour to the batter; fortunately the flour I have on hand is an unbleached flour, since my alternate grain flours didn't come with me.At least unbleached wheat flour is a bit less in-your-face modern! (If I'd drained the oatmeal mixture again, it might have required less flour, but of course, I thought of this after the fact!)<br />
<br />
After reaching a workable consistency of the soaked oats and flour, I shaped some oat cakes. I rendered some bacon in a pan. (Not wasted, I ate it!) And cooked the oat cakes in the reserved bacon fat. I also took a second batch of oat cakes, tossed them in the warm pan to absorb any leftover bacon fat, and baked them on a sheet in the oven at 325 F.<br />
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Admittedly, EVERYTHING with bacon is better, but the oatcakes were pretty good! Of course, because it had also crossed my mind I decided to make a quick cheese, a paneer, to go with them.<br />
<br />
At Christmas I'd treated myself to a favourite cheese, Boursin, a cow's milk cheese with pepper, and had wondered to myself if I could make a paneer that reminded me of it. I'd recently made a ricotta/paneer cheese that had left me with some ingredients on hand, so I just replayed that process, and flavoured it with some of the Breton salt and ground black pepper. I'd also decided to make the paneer with lemon juice this time, although I'd been warned it might be less precise. So actually, in the end I used lemon juice MOSTLY, and a bit of vinegar. [If I were doing this at a historic camp, I think I'd use vinegar for a more neutral flavour, though the lemon juice had a nice tang. Just not a Viking Age tang. And actually, to provide the tang I'd hoped for, I might try remaking this with a drained yoghurt cheese....<br />
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But on the whole, the oatcakes were very tasty. (They were cooked in bacon fat, how could they fail to be tasty?) But also strike me as a very do-able bread for a camp. And not completely improbable for a Norse homestead. I think the jump would have to do with the bacon fat. a) is bacon likely? b) if bacon is a probable food item, would it be saved bacon fat, and how would they save it, or would it only be something they made when there was bacon fat?<br />
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But I liked the savoury approach to the oatcakes. Very much. When fresh they were tender. Even better with the cheese. A day later, out of the fridge, they're tough,and dangerous to cut, but warm up to totally pleasant again, though maybe better with some broth to moisten them in. I can see them as a camp-bread! And if we answer the bacon and bacon-fat question, could easily imagine them as a norse food-stuff.<br />
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<br />vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-25417079035333216812014-01-27T15:39:00.000-05:002014-01-27T15:39:11.135-05:00Revisiting Oatcakes(Heck, just revisiting FOOD!)<br />
<br />
So, very recently an historic food blogger I read and admire added me as a link to her blog! And the link points out that I haven't written anything here for just over two years.<br />
TWO YEARS??? That's hard to believe.<br />
<br />
Okay, maybe not so hard.<br />
I've always had the uphill battle, especially with this blog where I'd like to sound halfways intelligible, that experimenting with the food doesn't totally equate with having a post. Half the time I forget to take pictures. Or if I take them they need cropping and resizing and saving in their new and improved format. If I've made any notes, or used any references, I need to organize those. Or find them again.<br />
<br />
And suddenly time has passed, and I can't even quite remember the details. Or I did several experiments, or tried something that took several days, and it all starts to get a bit fuzzy and vague.<br />
<br />
So, early in 2012 (or possibly the end of 2011) I tried some experiments that took a bit of time. I was playing around with some sprouted grain breads. (Kind of like watching paint dry!)(Or genetics.) And by the time I got to one end, I'd forgotten how the beginning had worked. I knew I'd have to go back and try it all over again.<br />
<br />
[Actually, I'll have to go back and reread my blog now, just to see what I'd been thinking about back then...]<br />
<br />
But anyway, at the beginning of 2012, I'd had an idea of some things I wanted to try. Then life got busy.<br />
<br />
There was a lovely trip down to Virginia that felt more vacation-like than I can recall in a long time. And more work. And then DARC was invited to Newfoundland and L'Anse aux Meadows again. Sadly, for me, it conflicted with some of my theatre work, and there was just no way to do both. So I contented myself with preparing the food for them to take away with them.<br />
<br />
Since we'd just done a trip in 2010, I had some current feedback about what had worked, and what hadn't, to which were added some roadbumps from the site management itself. In the long run, I opted for mostly historic, but with a bit less complexity, and hopefully easier to be dealt with at the far end by some of the team members who had other activities to handle as well, and trusted that the team would be well-fed and fuelled for the presentation days.<br />
There were some crazy days of trying to put this together, making more food ahead than I had in 2010, and in ways that would require less fuss on-site. There were already concerns from the site management about whether or not there even should be a foodways demonstration, although they agreed it's a very compelling part of the entire interpretive presentation, and that with the timing of the day, and lack of facilities near the historic buildings, a foodways program was important for the interpreters' lunches. But it made it even more critical that whatever we did should be as uncomplicated as possible.<br />
<br />
As soon as the team had left, I was immediately busy with the Young Company at the theatre. We had some excruciatingly hot weather, I had no time to think, let alone eat or think about historic food, and had some weird health stuff happen. Spent a day in the ER, missed my dress rehearsals. Never really did find out what the problem may have been, but since then have searched for doctors, been loaned doctors, found a doctor, seen specialists, had all sorts of tests, felt like an episode of House...did more shows, and eventually ran out of 2012.<br />
<br />
Then I kind of lost 2013 in a whirl of my marriage ending, more follow-ups with medical people, spending a week in hospital for something else, and doing a bunch of tests to eventually determine it was a reaction to a prescription medication I'd started a few weeks before, went straight into another show, lost my mother suddenly, went home to see my family, scuttled medical procedures, packed, found somewhere to live, designed and costumed more shows, and pretty much have been moving ever since.<br />
<br />
And bang, two years shot! Well, as far as cooking has gone!<br />
<br />
And I missed it. Cooking and food research are just something I love. Cooking can be as much a form of relaxation and stress-management for me as listening to music I love, or sitting on the edge of a dock with my feet in the water. It's something that excites me and intrigues me. Keeps me sane.<br />
And now, seeing that it's just over two years, well I have to come back.<br />
<br />
So. Those oatcakes I mentioned... Well, it's a challenge, because I'm still surrounded by boxes. I have a tiny little kitchen now. I'm not sure where anything is. Some of my tools haven't surfaced yet, or may be stored with friends...but it can't wait. I need to get doing this again. So today I did a quick cook. I've remembered to take some pictures. Most of the roads are closed by snow and snow squalls around here, so I'm not going anywhere... I might as well make a start!<br />
Stay tuned.<br />
<br />
~vvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-64700356309953587302012-01-07T16:49:00.001-05:002012-01-07T17:17:44.144-05:00Oatcakes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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or oatbreads, or flatbreads....<br />
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.<br />
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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!) <br />
<br />
So after we'd eaten our breakfast or brunch, I had leftover oatmeal to try things with.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
So, I was wondering about possible variations of method that would work for this and other presentations, as well as encampments for ourselves.<br />
<br />
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!)<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
However, softening oats towards making a bread or cake might be more plausible.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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Both batches were set to soak overnight with water and a little salt.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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But definitely something to play with in a camp setting!<br />
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<br />vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-19028013693406777242012-01-03T18:30:00.000-05:002012-01-03T18:30:09.502-05:00A New YearApologies.<br />
Far too much passage of time. Without cooking. Without blogging about cooking.<br />
<br />
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. <b>:)</b><br />
Ah well. Quel surprise!<br />
<br />
I've often noticed that everyone has their own variations on even the obsessions we share!<br />
<br />
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....<br />
<br />
But definitely life has been very much back-to-back since September. And I've felt the lack of food time. A lot.<br />
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...)<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And I may actually have a few minutes to do it in!<br />
<br />
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....<br />
<br />
Stay tuned, Bat Fans...<br />
<br />
v<br />
<br />vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-28300667872998465732011-06-21T17:42:00.000-04:002011-06-21T17:42:57.969-04:00Ale and Laundry Another bit of something for my friends in the Victorian world.<br />
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 <b>A Country Cup</b> by Wilma Paterson:<br />
<br />
Dandelion Beer<br />
<br />
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.<br />
1/2 lb young dandelion plants<br />
1 gal water<br />
1 lb brown sugar<br />
1 lemon<br />
1/2 oz root ginger<br />
1 oz cream of tartar<br />
1 oz yeast<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
*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...<br />
<br />
<br />
And for Margaret, not a fair division by any means: from the <b>Confederate Receipt Book</b>, some recipes for soap.<br />
<br />
Soap<br />
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.<br />
<br />
or...<br />
<br />
Soft Soap<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
vvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-19785350248715385652011-06-16T17:08:00.000-04:002011-06-16T17:08:18.864-04:00Summery DrinksHere's a few tastes for Margaret. She'd mentioned that the hot weather (when we've had some) made her think about refreshing drinks.<br />
<br />
From <b>Confederate Recipe Book</b>:<br />
<br />
<b>Apple Water</b>.<br />
Take one tart apple of ordinary size, well baked, let it be well mashed, pour on it one pint of boiling water, beat them well together, let it stand to cool, and strain it off for use. It may be sweetened with sugar if desired.<br />
<br />
and from <b>Common Sense in the Household</b>, by Marion Harland. 1879, some useful suggestions for what ails you:<br />
<br />
<b>Herb Teas</b><br />
Are made by infusing the dried or green leaves and stalks in boiling water, and letting them stand until cold. Sweeten to taste.<br />
<br />
Sage tea, sweetened with honey, is good for a sore throat, used as a gargle, with a small bit of alum dissolved in it.<br />
Catnup tea is the best panacea for infant ills, in the way of cold and colic, known to nurses.<br />
Pennyroyal tea will often avert the unpleasant consequences of a sudden check of perspiration, or the evils induced by ladies' thin shoes. *<br />
Chamomile and gentian teas are excellent tonics taken either cold or hot.<br />
The tea made from blackberry root is said to be good for summer disorders. That from green strawberry leaves is an admirable and soothing wash for a cankered mouth.<br />
Tea of parsley-root scraped and steeped in boiling water, taken warm, will often cure stranguary and kindred affections, as will that made from dried pumpkin-seed.<br />
Tansy and rue teas are useful in cases of colic, as are fennel seeds steeped in brandy.<br />
A tea of damask-rose leaves, dry or fresh, will usually subdue any simple case of summer complaint in infants.<br />
Mint tea, made from the green leaves, crushed in cold or hot water and sweetened, is palatable and healing to the stomach and bowels.<br />
<br />
* I have read that pennyroyal will act as an abortifactant. Should I wonder if unwanted pregnancies are the result of "ladies' thin shoes"?<br />
<br />
~vvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-91226184601337091542011-06-15T15:55:00.000-04:002011-06-15T15:55:48.810-04:00Cottage Beer Some friends of mine are playing around with living a Victorian life for a year. It came up in conversation that now they'll need to start making their own potables. Since I've already done a chunk of experimenting with that over the years, and have a goodly pile of historical cookery books, I thought I'd send some info their way. Perhaps some recipes for drinks, or food, with maybe a few handy household tips thrown in!<br />
So, Ken and Margaret, here's a recipe from <b>The Cook Not Mad or Rational Cookery</b>, 1831.<br />
<br />
<b>No. 244. Cottage Beer</b>.<br />
<br />
Take a peck of good sweet wheat bran, and put it into ten gallons of water with three handfuls of good hops. Boil the whole together in an iron, brass, or copper kettle, until the bran and hops sink to the bottom. Then strain it through a hair sieve or a thin sheet, into a cooler, and when it is about lukewarm, add two quarts of molasses. As soon as the molasses is melted, pour the whole into a nine or ten gallon cask, with two table spoonfuls of yest. When the fermentation has subsided, bung up the cask, and in four days it will be fit for use.<br />
<br />
And here's another from <b>Confederate Receipt Book</b>, 1863:<br />
<br />
<b>Table Beer</b><br />
To eight quarts of boiling water put a pound of treacle, a quarter of an ounce of ginger and two bay leaves, let this boil for a quarter of an hour, then cook, and work it with yeast as other beer.<br />
<br />
I'll see what else I can come across to add a bit of variety to your fare!<br />
<br />
v.vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-63744343687946746582011-01-22T15:03:00.000-05:002011-01-22T15:03:28.510-05:00Oat Bread, Round 2So I decided to try another version of Savelli’s Oat Bread. (Note: This is a bit odd. A redaction of a conjectural recipe. Or maybe a redaction of a conjectural theory of a possibility…? But hey, it’s a reason to play with food!)<br />
<br />
I had already decided that working from modern yeast was wrong, but didn’t really want to take the time to play with wild yeasts. (I’ve done that, even semi-recently, when I was trying some of Jacqui Wood’s recipes, so it will be discussed with those.) So I opted for sourdough. But I thought that in keeping with the idea of a middle class Anglo-Saxon bread, I’d use whole wheat flour.<br />
<br />
It made a more unusual sourdough. The whole wheat flour I have on hand is quite rough and branny, so it was a speckled culture, and quite solid-seeming. That took several days to work. (Another reason I didn’t opt for wild yeast; in winter our house is quite cold. Yeast gets very sleepy and wants to hibernate!)<br />
Sadly, I either was out of oat flour, or didn’t dig deep enough in the chest freezer, so then I had to grind some flour to actually make the bread. Fortunately I have some oat groats handy right now. I ground some of those, with just a small handful of rolled oats in the grinding. To try and balance the texture. (Okay, I was impatient, and wanted it to be flour NOW.)<br />
<br />
Since I’d decided when I made the first loaf, that this was more of a feast day bread, with the inclusion of egg, honey, milk, and fine wheaten flour rather than a more workaday loaf, I felt I’d continue with the use of some milk.<br />
I warmed some milk, and added it to the oat flour. Because the sour dough looked thicker than my starter usually appears, I wasn’t too sure of how much liquid I’d end up needing in this recipe, so decided I would let the dough itself tell me.<br />
<br />
I combined the moistened oat flour and the sourdough starter, and added some honey and an egg. I seasoned it with a bit of salt, but rather than the lard suggested by Savelli, I used some duck fat. <br />
<br />
I decided that because I’d used the whole wheat flour in my starter, and the oat flour was already being incorporated, I’d use unbleached all-purpose flour for the rest of my flour. (Since this was ‘middle class’ bread, this would give me a higher quality grade of flour overall, with less bran.)<br />
I stirred the mixture as much as I could to incorporate the flour, and then switched to kneading to work in more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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The dough did rise fairly well, though not as much as the first version. I’m not sure if that was due to temperature difference in my kitchen between the two baking days, or the difference between the commercial baking yeast and my sourdough. Usually my sourdough leavens quite well. (In warm weather it can be very exciting!) Did the whole wheat make it a stodgier culture? But all in all it ended up a comparable loaf. Rather than sprinkling it with oats before baking, I strewed some flax seeds over the top.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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The end result was marginally oatier in taste. Again, it was a soft crumbly loaf. It had neither the sturdiness of a flatbread, nor the strength of a totally wheaten loaf. Perhaps that would make it a pleasant alternative on a feast day? Where I wouldn’t expect it to be useful for scooping up a stew, or need it to last a little longer. A smaller baking that would get eaten, and relished as ‘fancier’, in a single sitting?<br />
<br />
<br />
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[I was interested to note that it really shone for lunch the next day, toasted with cheese!]<br />
<br />
I’m not sure if I’ll bother playing further with this recipe/idea. I tend to feel I should either swerve towards a flatbread/unleavened bread if I’m going to incorporate much oat flour, or switch out to a wheaten bread, if I’m using leavening. And I already have a bunch of other recipes I feel like looking into…<br />
<br />
So, maybe if I play further with Savelli, I’ll look at other types of recipes. Though I’ll confess, the longer I look at the cookbook, the more I’m just perplexed by some of her choices. “Suggested by a salve”? Isn’t that a bit like saying ‘it’s an ingredient in Tiger Balm, so I thought I’d put it in the soup’?<br />
<br />
But we’ll see where I go next. Actually, I feel a rant coming on…vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-76209688222030827812011-01-14T15:23:00.002-05:002011-01-14T15:23:00.093-05:00Oat BreadSo, once I had determined that I absolutely HAD to cook something, and had rootled out Mary Savelli and was poking about in that book… I contemplated her first recipe: Ætena Hlaf, or Oat Bread.<br />
I also very quickly decided that it didn’t sound very much as one would assume a Saxon would make bread…<br />
<br />
But before one starts rethinking, one should at least see what the starting point is!<br />
<br />
Of course, in many ways, the flaw of this cookbook is that it’s NOT an Anglo-Saxon cook book. Nor is it a redaction of an Anglo-Saxon cooking text. It’s not even really a cook book based on a template of ‘how they did it’ and a list of known ingredients. Technically, Mary Savelli doesn’t even make this claim. <br />
Savelli says that Ann Hagen’s works suggested dishes she’d like to try and the medicinal texts that Savelli had access to suggested ingredients. I think the weakness may occur somewhere between those lists of ‘ingedients’, and understanding the technologies and practices of the culture.<br />
<br />
Not all medicinal herbs will be considered culinary herbs; nor should they be. And methods of preparation that seem logical to the 21st century mind might be out of keeping for the 10th century mind.<br />
<br />
I did figure that a bread recipe should be a shorter leap, though…<br />
<br />
Savelli’s Oat Bread recipe starts with yeast. Dry active yeast. When I try this recipe for a second time, I will make up a sourdough starter. That will still be less accurate than beginning with a wild yeast, but baby steps…<br />
<br />
Savelli’s ingredients are:<br />
Dry active yeast<br />
Warm water<br />
Milk<br />
Rolled oats<br />
Salt<br />
Lard or other shortening<br />
Liquid honey<br />
Egg<br />
Water<br />
Whole wheat flour<br />
All-purpose flour<br />
Rolled oats and milk for brushing on, and sprinkling over the loaf before baking<br />
<br />
Now rolled oats didn’t come along till the 1870’s, so I’m actually surprised at their inclusion here. I’d have suggested oat flour. Or at the very least, crushing or grinding the oat flakes.<br />
And on the whole, she doesn’t call for much oat. ½ cup rolled oats to the 3 ¼ cups of other flour. With just 1 tsp of oats for sprinkling on the loaf before baking. Admittedly, oats don’t contain gluten, and gluten is important for a raised loaf. Oats usually show up as an ingredient in non-leavened breads; oatcakes and the like. Which would lead me to imagine that oats might not be used in a raised bread. Or, if used, used in combination, but then it wouldn’t be thought of, or called, an oat bread. Still, even if you were using them for flavour, I’d think you’d want to use a larger portion so the bread actually tasted oat-like. (Or is that a modern concept?) In my remake of this, I’ll try a higher percentage of oats, and assume it a mixed grain crop. [Often, grain crops were a blend of grains, possibly for reasons of contamination, or because of the different strengths of the growing stalks, which would support each other, or perhaps simply because it was less important to the farmers.] Often wheat and rye were grown together as ‘maslin’, and ground to maslin flour.<br />
<br />
I tend to think of the use of milk, eggs, honey, and fat as a less everyday occurrence; a feast day bread. In that case, I might be tempted to use butter, rather than lard. Mind you, oat flour will give me more of an unleavened bread, even with the use of yeast or sourdough. So I’m not sure whether I should be imagining myself as lower class, baing bread for a feast day, or well-off enough to be using ingredients for a richer bread on a more regular basis. I do have some duck fat on hand, perhaps I’ll use it in my revised version.<br />
<br />
I’ll confess that I couldn’t bring myself to just sprinkle rolled oats on this loaf as I baked it, even though I was supposed to be following the recipe as published. Instead I crushed them very quickly with a mortar and pestle, to a coarse meal.<br />
<br />
I found that the bread did rise, thanks to the inclusion of the yeast, but it was neither strongly flavoured of oats, nor did it have the fine texture I’d expect of a wheaten bread. It was soft and crumbly, with a non-distinct taste. Neither bad, nor exceptional. But I’ll be interested to see what happens as I play around with some variations.<br />
<br />
~v<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TS4OAb-578I/AAAAAAAABHo/y7ypj9HaSEQ/s1600/oat%2Bbread%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TS4OAb-578I/AAAAAAAABHo/y7ypj9HaSEQ/s400/oat%2Bbread%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-70544606544590186212011-01-12T15:27:00.004-05:002011-01-12T15:35:42.688-05:00Dagda On SavelliIn my last post, I mentioned that I’d pulled out my copy of Mary Savelli’s Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England. I’m currently having early period urges rather than later period ones, but sadly, early period food is less well-supported by convenient cookbooks! Thinking about earlier period food ends up being far more an exercise of book- and article-juggling. There is information on artifacts and technology; there are articles about archaeological remains. Odd words and phrases and references can require dictionaries and botanical texts. I usually end up with an unwieldy and tottering pile of texts beside me, and another pile behind me, and no easy way to jump back and forth. Or I rely on oddments stored in a disorganized memory, and hope I think to double-check more dubious points when I next have a convenient half-moment.<br />
So, no, although I wish heartily, I don’t expect to be able to pull a handy little early period cookery book off my shelf.<br />
<br />
But sometimes even looking at and thinking about something with potential flaws and weaknesses can be enlightening. And I wanted to look at recipes, rather than read and have to process a lot of hard data. I just wanted to cook something, and until I went off to a further town for wheat grains, I couldn’t re-start my Jacqui Wood experiments.<br />
<br />
So, the book in question was Mary Savelli’s Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England.<br />
And since I’m mentioning Mary Savelli’s book here, perhaps I will repost a review/blog-post I’d once rambled out on my other blog. And perhaps I can update it with some further comments…<br />
<br />
<br />
**Originally posted June 25, 2006.<br />
Part of my disappointment with it is my own fault. I foolishly, and without any possible reason, allowed myself to hope that it would be, could be a resource for early period cookery the way Le Menagier de Paris or Le Viandier de Taillevant are for later periods.<br />
<br />
I was even willing to accept a conjectural approach if I could see the roots for the result, the way you can in books like Pleyn Delit, where the period recipe is given alongside the redacted one suggested by the authors. However, I feel that instead we’ve ended up with a publication that appears to owe much to conjecture, little to archaeological evidence, or even logic, and is clothed with the perception of being the word on Anglo Saxon food.<br />
<br />
I did a workshop with Mary Savelli a few years ago and got far more of the subtext from that session, than I did from the book. Apparently it was her publishers who suggested she write a cookbook, because cookbooks sell, and while it wasn’t something she was particularly familiar with, she thought she’d see how she could translate her research into Anglo-Saxon period leech books into a cookbook.<br />
<br />
But it is the process, from leech book to her ideas of a recipe that are more interesting and more useful, and unfortunately, are not much included in this publication. Ever since getting this book though, I’ve had urges to have some real conversations about some of her ideas. Because I know that since she’s based them on period information, even if it was medicinal rather than culinary, I feel there’s value in here. I just can’t think that it’s ‘face value’. And it may be that more could come from some discussion and debate than from even just reading or discarding the recipes.<br />
<br />
But, living rurally, and not being tied in anymore to a network of like-minded people for pursuing these discussions, or because the people who might want to participate in the chat, aren’t as accessible by email these days, I thought I’d just have that little discussion out loud, in here by myself. (Yes, signs of insanity, I'm sure…)<br />
Though if anyone of my audience of two or three or accidental wanderers-by want to rebut, or offer additional thoughts, feel free.<br />
<br />
Let’s pick one to start with. In fact, let’s start with the one she talked about in her workshop:<br />
<b>“Wyrtig Briw (Vegetable Soup)” </b><br />
<br />
[If nothing else, knowing if these would really be the names of such things, and whether that’s just straight translation into Old English of whatever dialect, would be nice to know. Having names, even the simplest of words to describe foods, in the tongue of the day, is great. ~v.]<br />
[Update Jan/2011: Not sure why I didn’t do some of this further cross-referencing the first time around because I already owned the books, but…Ann Hagen, in her A Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Food; Processing and Consumption says:<br />
“Broð was the Old English term for broth or soup, which might be enriched with milk or butter.” And “If broþ was retained to indicate a thin liquid, the term which supplanted it in the meant “pottage”, is briw.”<br />
<br />
<b>Anthimus tells us “barley soup is, as anyone knows who can make it, good for healthy people and those suffering from fever.” This soup is based on a brew for lung disease, calling for sweet-flag, radish, carrot and barley meal. Cress is added to take the place of one of the other leafy herbs in the original, lesser celedine, as it has a similar texture and was also used by the Anglo-Saxons.<br />
<br />
40g (1 ½ oz; ½ cup barley*<br />
440 ml (16 fl. oz, 2 cups) water*<br />
770 ml (28 fl. oz, 3 ½ cups vegetable broth*<br />
3 radishes, chopped (1/8 to ¼ cup)*<br />
2 Tablespoons general purpose vegetable oil*<br />
3 carrots, diced (2 cups)*<br />
2 Tablespoons cress, chopped*<br />
½ teaspoon salt*<br />
½ teaspoon ground black pepper*<br />
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon*<br />
<br />
* 1. Soak the barley in 2 cups of water for four hours. Drain out the water and put the barley in a large saucepan. Add the broth and bring the water to a boil. Cover the pan with a lid; simmer for 45 minutes.<br />
* 2. Sauté the radishes in oil in a frying pan. Add the radishes, cress, carrots and seasoning to the barley.<br />
* 3. Return the soup to a boil then reduce the heat. Cover the pan with a lid; let the soup simmer for 10 minutes or until the barley is tender.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
So…. That’s her recipe. At the very least it fills me with questions. In another kind of culinary book, where there was an inclusion of an extant receipt, this would be the author’s redaction. I would be able to look back and forth and compare the two, see where the author had made changes, and either be told, or try to intuit, why, and make a decision about the differences, and the suggestions of process.<br />
<br />
Because there isn’t an actual Anglo Saxon recipe to compare against, the mind has to go in a lot more circles. (Well, my mind does!)<br />
<br />
Anthimus tells us about barley soup. Well, there. That’s a good start.<br />
<br />
[Anthimus. De obseruatione ciborum (On the Observance of Food) Translated and edited by Mark Grant. Totnes, Devonshire: Prospect Books, 1996.]<br />
<br />
Now her bibliography doesn’t give me a clue about exactly when this is from. Oh, drat. Turns out he’s a sixth century Byzantine Greek, and his treatise on food reflects Byzantine and Frankish tastes. Durn. I was hoping it was one of the Anglo-Saxon writers. This changes it a bit. I was thinking we at least had proof that Anglo-Saxons ate barley soup, right from a local period source. Oh well… Let’s steam along.<br />
[Update Jan/2011: Handily, Ann Hagen does suggest that the Anglo-Saxons used barley in their soups, mentioning the use of barley meal, as well as suggesting the use of whole grains.]<br />
<br />
If nothing else, soups are likely. They had pots. We have archaeological evidence. They had barley. Barley needs cooking to soften it. So barley soup isn’t a real stretch.<br />
<br />
Her “brew for lung disease” is from Bald’s Leechbook, and unfortunately, try as I might, I can’t pin down a real date on this. However, there are mentions of it in the context of Anglo-Saxon leech books and health handbooks, so that’s hopeful.<br />
And mind you, while what is considered medicine may not necessarily be considered food, it at least tells us some items they had access to. And certainly radish, carrot and barley also do duty as foodstuffs.<br />
<br />
I haven’t been able to track down too much info about either ‘sweet-flag’ or ‘lesser celedine’. At least, under those names. Sweet-flag might be Acorus calamus, or Calamus Root, and while I can find a tiny bit of medicinal info about that, it wasn’t much, and only one reference that suggested it as a febrifuge. But since that might be a strictly medicinal plant, I wasn’t too worried. I did find mention of its use as a substitute for cinnamon or ginger. And I also have a vague memory that Mary Savelli said that was why she had included cinnamon in the recipe.<br />
<br />
Mind you, if it was more a medicinal herb than a culinary one, that might be an interesting choice to make, but maybe not the most logical.<br />
<br />
Lesser Celedine might be Chelidonium minus, which is the same as Lesser Celandine. I did find some mention that in Sweden it was used as a salad herb, but the reviews of its taste weren’t too glowing. Again, perhaps the lesser celedine is a medicinal herb rather than a potherb, but I see no reason to not assume that any potherbs in common use might not be possible for this recipe. Cress is as likely as any other.<br />
[Update Jan/2011: I’m still not tracking down much use of the name “lesser celedine” except as a fairly random mention. It might perhaps be a spelling error, or a minimally used alternative name. However, today when I thought to try following up on the Anglo Saxon common name listed by Savelli in the appendices, “wenwyrt”, I have indeed been led to references defining it as Ranunculus ficaria, or Lesser Celandine. Most of its medicinal uses are topical. One article suggested: “Can also be consumed inside carefully as can be poisonous if not careful.” A somewhat whimsical phrasing suggesting it might not make the best culinary herb?]<br />
<br />
I wonder about the suggestion to soak the barley. Yes, this would soften it and shorten the cooking time, but my experience in cooking over a fire in a cauldron, is that it’s a ‘leisurely’ process anyway. It would be just as simple to add the barley dry, early on in the making. However, in a redaction for use in a modern kitchen, perhaps it makes sense. <br />
<br />
Likewise, maybe, the substitution of vegetable broth, for a flavour base that would develop naturally in the cooking process. Now, I have to wonder what would make a likely combination of ingredients for that base. Since, even in my modern kitchen, I’d be more likely to make this soup that way.<br />
Onions? I’d imagine some form of onions. Maybe wild leeks, wild garlic. Perhaps charnock or wild mustard, dill, wild celery, or sorrel. And nettles, perhaps.<br />
<br />
She suggests sautéing the radishes in oil in a pan. My instincts, based on cooking with period implements, suggest that if something like this were really done, it would only be in the kitchens of the rich, best outfitted with all the “mod cons”!<br />
If cooking over a small firepit in the floor of a simple house, then a cauldron hanging from the rafters is a likely object. Using a smaller pan or griddle, just to sauté some radishes to then include in soup, seems a waste of activity. And a metal pan would have been a luxury item if the common household already contained a metal cauldron (hweras or an cetel). Such a pan is more likely to have been used for bread or fried dishes.<br />
I imagine it would be more likely that the carrots and radishes would simply be added as the vegetable broth was developing, to further enhance the flavour. And any tender greens added closer to the end. <br />
<br />
But even that may be a modern perception. It’s very hard to turn off all one’s personal sensibilities, or to know if or when you’ve succeeded!<br />
<br />
I find that one of the most helpful things in giving me a better sense of how an early culture might have cooked, is to work with their technology. That gives me more of an understanding of what is easy, what makes sense, what is practical, and what, farfetched. And then, if I’m drawing from a more appropriate list of ingredients, there is more chance that my final product may have a better chance of being something that wouldn’t be entirely unrecognizable in period.<br />
<br />
So, this recipe from Savelli’s book may not be as improbable as others; representing more, perhaps, the approach that might be taken in a modern kitchen to produce a period-like dish. For myself, it led me to sit down and thumb through a handful of reference books to answer (or try to answer) some questions that it raised.<br />
<br />
Though I still keep hoping that someday someone unearths and translates some lovely volume of early period cookery!<br />
<br />
~vandy<br />
<br />
[Update Jan/2011: There is a very intelligent review of this book by Dr. David D. Friedman at this link: <a href="http://home.pcisys.net/%7Emem/savelli.html">http://home.pcisys.net/~mem/savelli.html</a>vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-35802042832752727592011-01-10T18:00:00.002-05:002011-01-10T18:00:04.376-05:00Musing On Breads, And Cook BooksSo, I really had started to play with some of the recipes from Jacqui Wood’s book <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1118177.Prehistoric_Cooking">Prehistoric Cookery</a>. (I was fortunate that she started out talking about bread. While there are some ingredients I had to track down sources for – I live at the back of beyond – at least they tended to be items I could track down!)<br />
<br />
And while I knew, even starting out, that I’d want to re-do the experiments using my outdoor kitchen, it seems I really wasn’t canny enough to make good concise notes, or write here about the experiments at the time I did them, so now I’ll probably need to take another look at even the recipes I’d attempted. ** sigh **<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I also need to re-source ingredients for the very first recipe, which concerned sprouting wheat. It instructs me to take whole wheat grains. I had eventually tracked down something I could use for that, but later in the summer I realized that the sealed container I had the leftovers stored in was alive with weevils! [Eek!] And they quickly were tossed outside to provide a nice feast for the birds.<br />
I started doing a bit of research on weevils (or whatever I’d determined them to be at the time…) and it seems like it’s pretty much an inherent problem with whole grains. So for the most part I think I’m going to want to only obtain these sorts of things in smaller quantities, which means I’ll always have to plan ahead of a cooking experiment. <br />
<br />
(And I’ll have to try and shut off the squeamish part of my brain that goes “eeewwhh!”.)<br />
<br />
I will go back through my brief notes, and ferret out the few photos I’d taken, which have now shuffled through some hard drive changes, and at least make a bare bones start.<br />
<br />
But I’ve been getting urges, in the pre-wheat-kernel moments to do something… anything… that has to do with some historical food experimentation. And a couple of lists I subscribe to have had some conversations on the topic of breads, or breadlike foods.<br />
<br />
And to eke out reading material, before I finished up one series of novels and had to decide what to read next, I had been reading my copy of <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4734644-flatbreads-flavors">Flatbreads and Flavours</a>, by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid. They write stunning cookbooks, as full of text and pictures as they are of recipes. And I’d been meaning to sit down with one or other of their books, (I have a number, and have just ordered another), and thought that the flatbreads volume might have some interesting insights along the whole bread idea, as they discuss breadmaking technology in some of the more primitive-seeming cultures around the world.<br />
<br />
I also pulled out my copy of Mary Savelli’s <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/800086.Tastes_of_Anglo_Saxon_England">Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England</a>. She also starts her book on the topic of bread.<br />
<br />
And then, in a moment of pantry rearrangement, to store some new kitchen-related Christmas gifts, I came across a copy of an article from Acta Archaeologica: <a href="http://cat.inist.fr/?aModele=afficheN&cpsidt=10673089">Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread; a Study of Late Viking Age and Medieval Quernstones</a> in South Scandinavia, by Peter Carelli and Peter Kresten.<br />
<br />
So, definitely there are signs and portents pointing me towards bread!<br />
<br />
~vandyvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-15508119651801678562011-01-09T18:14:00.000-05:002011-01-09T18:14:07.003-05:00REBOOT!At least, I’m hoping…<br />
<br />
So, yes, I’ve been quiet. It seems that when life gets busy, it gets really busy. And as time passes along, I forget how to make best use of the in-between moments.<br />
<br />
Then it all gets complex because I feel that in this journal I’d like to be intelligible. I’d like to be organized, and put forth my arguments (or questions and quandaries) in a way that sounds like I thought about it. (Really, I do. Most of the time.) And for some reason, stringing words together in a way that seems like they’d be coherent to people doesn’t want to come naturally.<br />
I’m sure that part of that is me overthinking. It must be. Because it does seem that most of the time, after I’ve stared at what I’ve written and tweaked it, and pruned and fluffed it, and rearranged it, it’s still pretty close to what I started with.<br />
<br />
But I do think that what takes time is filling in the gaps, and the backstory. Tracking down references. Digging out quotes and concrete info, as opposed to just relying on what seems to be lurking in the back of my memory.<br />
<br />
But maybe this year I’ll allow myself a bit more leeway. Maybe I’ll occasionally post a guilt-free ramble, and just not worry.<br />
<br />
(Surely no-one out there would make the mistake of confusing me with a scholar, would they?)vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-17045346609874088342010-09-19T14:55:00.000-04:002010-09-19T14:55:15.495-04:00But Wait... There's More!Ah, yes, Patient Reader...<br />
<br />
I had suggested I was sure I remembered coming across historic recipes for Nun's Farts. But long enough ago now, that I had no real idea where. Well, after some searching, and Googling, and rootling about, I've come up with several versions. Somewhat more oddly, three variations claim to be from the same source, so I'm assuming there may be differences due to translation, or translations of editions.<br />
<br />
One website: <a href="http://www.chezjim.com/sundries/s9.html">http://www.chezjim.com/sundries/s9.html</a> has an article in a newsletter about "Tart's Toots", and as well as giving some links to other tidbits of info and history, quotes a recipe from La Varenne.<br />
<br />
>(from La Varenne, Le Cuisinier Francois, 1680, page 444):<br />
Put egg whites in a mortar and a litte orange flower water, beat them well and bit by bit put in powdered sugar, make a workable dough and make from it little balls the size of a walnut and put them on paper, cook them in the oven. <br />
<br />
Another food blog that I have bookmarked is: <a href="http://www.theoldfoodie.com/index.html">The Old Foodie.com</a> and there I found:<br />
<a href="http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2006/10/womens-cakes.html">http://www.theoldfoodie.com/2006/10/womens-cakes.html</a> with a second variation of the La Varenne recipe:<br />
<br />
>Pets de putain (Farts of a Whore).<br />
Make your Fritters paste stronger than ordinary, by augmentation of flower and eggs, then draw them small or slender, and when they are fryed, serve them warm with sugar and sweet water. [The French Cook, by la Varenne, 1653]<br />
[Note the different edition date.]<br />
<br />
After that I dug around until I found a copy of La Varenne which I have on my computer,(a 1653 facsimile) and tracked down:<br />
<br />
Pets de putain<br />
Make them the same way, [six eggs, half a pint of flowre, and a little salt; beat all together] but that you must put a little more flowre; draw them out very small with the handle of a spoon; after they are fryed, serve them sugred, and besprinkled with orange flowers.<br />
(recipe #10 on page 198)<br />
<br />
Elsewhere I found mention of:<br />
<br />
>How to make small-whore's-farts.<br />
Take roasted white-bread, wine, eggs, ginger and sugar. Mix well together and bake hereof small-cakes in the pan with butter and scrape thereon sugar and serve.<br />
Eenen seer schoonen, ende excellenten Cocboeck, 1593. Carolus Battus (I believe the translation is by Jennifer Strobel.)<br />
<br />
So there may be still more recipes out there, but these few at least justify the inclusion of Nun's Farts in our historic meals.<br />
<br />
vvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-20899243975765523742010-09-08T11:10:00.003-04:002010-09-08T11:17:42.155-04:00Patience Rewarded?Back in the spring I was asked about an interesting dish that I’ve known about for years, a sweet called Nun’s Farts. Or Pets de Nonnes. I promised to write a few words about them, then promptly forgot how to write at all and fell off the face of the earth. Pretty much.<br /><br /> So finally I was thinking about them, again, and after dredging out some references and a recipe, even felt inspired to make a little batch!<br /><br /> One of the first cook books I was given, by my Dad, was James Barber’s Ginger Tea Makes Friends. A wonderful, tiny little book, written in a quirky comic strip style, and designed around cooking in a stripped down kitchen, with minimal gear.<br /> I loved it. It was funny, and inspired, and full of really good recipes that I’ve continued using over the years.<br /><br /> His third book, Flash in the Pan, was just as enjoyable. One of the recipes, Hot Doughnuts for Breakfast, is a small simple fritter. And about them he says:<br /> “In their original version, they were known (quite respectably) as Pets de Nonne, which literally translated means Nun’s farts. Should you, out of delicacy, prefer the original pre-eighteenth century French, it was Pets de Pute, which means Whore’s farts.”<br /><br />I love it. And them.<br /><br />Bill Casselman, in his book Canadian Food Words, calls them Pets de Soeur.<br />And it seems from searching on the internet that there is a variety of names, Nun’s Sighs, Nun’s Bellybuttons, and a number of different possible origins for these little pastries. French, Spanish, German…<br /><br />Some of the descriptions vary: dough fried and spread with jam, pastry wrapped around brown sugar and cream filling, but I quite love these simple little puffs of choux pastry. (And they make a delightful little farting noise while cooking!)<br /><br /> Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of French reference material, and my language skills are, shall we say, frail, so I don't currently have an original recipe to post, or more precise historical descriptions, but in the meantime, here is the modern recipe I use, and I'll see what else I can find and follow up with.<br /><br /> v<br /><br /> James Barber’s recipe:<br />½ cup water<br />1 tsp sugar<br />4 Tbsp butter<br />½ tsp salt<br />Bring to boil and immediately take off heat. Add all at once,<br />½ cup flour (and stir well)<br />2 eggs, (one at a time, mixing vigorously with a fork till very smooth)<br />Cook over lowest heat, stirring until it doesn’t stick to sides of pan.<br />Heat 1 cup oil in a small fry pan or saucepan. (Med/High heat; 370 degrees)<br />Add one teaspoonful at a time into the oil, turning twice as they brown to medium, and leaving room for them to puff up. Drain. Sprinkle with sugar (and cinnamon!)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIen2Tk7lWI/AAAAAAAABFM/gcKuOiDj000/s1600/nunsfarts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIen2Tk7lWI/AAAAAAAABFM/gcKuOiDj000/s400/nunsfarts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514560820148409698" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIen1--NnHI/AAAAAAAABFE/q5yuMrFq1L4/s1600/fart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIen1--NnHI/AAAAAAAABFE/q5yuMrFq1L4/s400/fart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514560814617304178" /></a>vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-28260771929198949652010-09-05T11:20:00.004-04:002010-09-05T11:34:05.364-04:00How I Spent My Summer Vacation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO4CRmGs9I/AAAAAAAABE0/9loNir73JmE/s1600/LAM.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO4CRmGs9I/AAAAAAAABE0/9loNir73JmE/s400/LAM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513452718054093778" border="0" /></a><br />(Okay, not really…but close.)<br /><br />There’s a whole lot of pre-amble and follow-up that should accompany this, but being linearly- challenged as I am, it will wander along in its own chaotic way.<br /><br /> * * * *<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO1mShssaI/AAAAAAAABEk/2rvdIasFVRw/s1600/soup+pot.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO1mShssaI/AAAAAAAABEk/2rvdIasFVRw/s400/soup+pot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513450038244454818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Since mid-2008, there had been some discussions about having DARC (Dark Ages Re-Creation Company, http://darkcompany.ca ) go out to L’Anse aux Meadows, Nfld, to do a presentation at the historic site. 2010 is the 50th anniversary of the site, and it was decided that a series of special events would occur throughout the season, and we were invited there in August of this year for ten days.<br /><br />Conversations with Dr. Birgitta Wallace, the site archaeologist, suggested a scenario of a boat going from Iceland to Greenland, getting off course, and ending up joining up temporarily with the crews already at L’Anse aux Meadows / Leifsbuðir. This meant we spent the year and a half fine-tuning and adjusting our gear to fit more specifically into a defined timeframe and locale, than we normally worry about.<br />It also meant I needed to start looking into foodstuffs of Iceland, circa 1000 AD.<br /><br />Until this point, I’ve mostly done as others have done, accumulated a larger list of foods appropriate to the Viking Age, and the entire Norse world. Even that range of information is limiting. I’d had no idea beforehand how much more restricted a list of Icelandic foodstuffs would be!<br /><br />I started by searching out as much info as I could, and it wasn’t till I began that I realized just how unspecific the usual sources were. Or how much overlap. Or how vague. Even in the current world of the internet, which at least opens up some new vistas, it appears to either be a case of ‘neat thing if it were actually written up/translated/available’, or ‘gee, same source quoted over and over again’. It was even scary to find odd vague things that I’ve said myself somewhere, usually in the dim dark past, were popping up as reasons why someone else believed something to be true! Ack!<br /><br />(I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I’m so slow to ever make a statement or publish something; knowing I don’t have every fact available, and worrying that the next new bit of info will make whatever I just said obsolete.)<br /><br />On the other hand, I am always truly thankful to anyone who, at the very least, talks out loud about his or her experiments. It’s that combined, if remote, brainstorming that can sometimes open a door…<br /><br /><br />I did turn to a friendly archaeologist who has done a fair bit of work in Iceland, and picked his brains more than just a bit. That’s about when the slim list of ingredients started to become an almost non-existent list! It seems that there’s not much by way of indigenous foodstuffs in Iceland. No land mammals, no fruits other than a few berries. So, fish, sea mammals and sea birds, blueberry and crowberry, and mushrooms.<br /><br />The geography doesn’t allow for natural basins of salt, the temperature is too chill for evaporation, and there was quickly a shortage of fuel, which made other methods of salt production impractical. That would mean that methods of preservation would be reduced to drying or pickling in whey, with only minimal brining, or smoking, more by luck than by intent.<br /><br />Arable land was used for growing fodder for herd beasts, and less for crops. Some grains were grown, though likely used in the production of beer. Certainly, I’m told there was no evidence of bread-making tools, querns or baking plates, until later. And dentition records imply no sugars in the diet until the post-Medieval period. (And no honeybees so no honey; even less possible sugar in the diet.) Apparently this sort of dentition evidence is peculiar to Iceland.<br /><br />While this suggests a diet consisting of dairy products and meat and fish, which is not necessarily a meagre diet, it also wasn’t a good basis for pre-packing.<br />I needed us to be relatively self-sufficient. I’d had an offer from friends to provide us with some local availabilities information, but I assumed (correctly) that there’d be less than no time to go search for foodstuffs once we were there. I put some feelers out with other members of the team to keep their eyes open for some other sources of seaweed/dulse, and they also came across some other cheese and dried meat on their routes to the Northern Peninsula.<br />But primarily I needed to prep what I could ahead of time, sticking as closely as I could to what would have been likely foodstuffs.<br /><br />Back in 1996, in the original demonstration of the interpretive program, there had been several other factors in play, which made it simpler.<br />- There were fewer of us. 4 interpreters from Ontario, and 4 local volunteers.<br />- There was less information easily available, so working with appropriate technology and avoiding modern ingredients was far simpler than trying to use only locale-specific ingredients.<br />- I had easy access to the staff kitchen at the visitors center, for clean up and storage. (This year the visitors’ center was still under reconstruction.)<br />- Water was more easily accessible. (I know this has to be a lie, since we carried drinking water from the VC in 1996, same as we’d started this year, and the VC hasn’t moved, neither had the reconstructed buildings. So perhaps it’s the intervention of 14 years? Not to mention that we needed water for 16 this time around…)<br />- There were fewer visitors in 1996. (Now it was always a goal that attendance would increase, and I think it’s a credit to the interpretive program that this has happened, but it meant that this time they really weren’t many non-public moments to attend to mundane basics of food prep.)<br />- In 1996 the fires we used were all real wood fires. Since then, because of smoke problems, the buildings have been fitted out with propane fires. This year I was alternatively cooking outside on the gate yard fire pit (which was far less pitlike, and could have used a bit of tweaking) or in the blacksmith’s house on his charcoal work fire.<br />- In 1996, it was still the heyday of public involvement in foodways programs. I was able to make flatbreads and share them out. A few very interested patrons could stay for a bowl of soup… Nowadays, when the public aren’t allowed to sample, I end up feeling somewhat inhospitable if I’m spending too much time paying close attention to food they’re only allowed to look at. And that could just be me and my feelings.<br /><br /><br />But I did want to find a way to simplify the process of feeding the team, while incorporating it into the overall aim of the program.<br /><br />My plan was to prepack ‘Viking Cup-o-soup’ packets, so that each day we really only had to sort out the day's allotment of bits, and go. It was not a bad idea, and it really kept daily prep to a minimum.<br />It wasn't, perhaps, as much fun, or as much a ‘demonstration’ as chopping things up in front of visitors, and discussing ingredients as you go, but starting at 10am, after the visitors' day had already begun, and the difficulties involved in fetching water for clean up, as well as trying to not show too many modern foodstuffs, made it the wiser course<br /><br />I'd ended up compromising on a list of foods. I'm sure the Norse at LAM would have been eating a lot of fresh fish or meat from sea mammals. And while, in the long run, our hosts graciously brought us a number of treats, I didn't want to rely on that possibility. So I'd planned our soups to use salted, dried fish, or dried beef. And because I wanted that to stretch a little further, I had also dried some onions and vegetables, and added seaweed and grains into the mix.<br />I also dried several roasts of meat into jerky, and made flatbreads (even if evidence of grain usage in Iceland is sketchy). After some experiments, I had decided to take along a number of blister packed cheeses which I brined as days went on, to more resemble young fresh cheese. (The new interpretation at LAM allows for some herd beasts off foraging...)<br /><br />Once again, probably catering to our modern sensibilities, rather than those of the Norse, I attempted to make each soup packet very slightly different. (In 1996, these thoughts hadn’t even crossed my mind. I had dried fish to go in the soup, and all of the same ingredients each day. Variety occurred when the Parks Canada staff offered me a different ingredient. We had caribou one day, seal another. But beyond that, it was fish, fish, and fish.)<br />But I’m guessing that cooking for larger groups of people over the years, in an atmosphere of catering to needs and tastes, has made me awkwardly hyper-conscious, especially in a setting where alternatives are few and far between!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO1mDFHRBI/AAAAAAAABEc/r0zETxFKgCQ/s1600/Emundr.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO1mDFHRBI/AAAAAAAABEc/r0zETxFKgCQ/s400/Emundr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513450034098029586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So, in preparation for the adventure I continued my regular drying of mushrooms, (I’ve been drying mushrooms for years, after having discovered how easy it is, and how useful they are) and to these I added onion, leek, and chive. Since every spring I harvest wild leeks, this year I also dried those in anticipation of the trip.<br /><br />Because I could find mention of wild parsnip and wild carrot in some of the nearby countries, I decided to boldly risk the inclusion of their domestic counterparts, though I shredded and dried them, and overall it was a fairly minor ingredient. The inclusion of seaweed was a given, both for a useful green, and for its salt content and iodine.<br />I pondered a while about the inclusion of grains, since the archaeological evidence suggests they did not make up much of the Icelandic diet. But some kind of flatbread filled a gap in a lunch, where I couldn’t necessarily guarantee more dairy or meat, and grains in a soup make it heartier. It also seemed a more likely way of cooking a few grains, if there wasn’t evidence of flour-making or baking tools. I did try to limit myself to whole kernels of less modern grains.<br /><br />In the flatbreads that I made ahead, or each morning, I was also using oat, barley, and spelt flours, with just a small bit of whole wheat to bulk it out. They were made using just flour, water, and a little salt; except for the ones I made our last day that used up some leftover blueberries!<br /><br />Overall, except for the need to feed a large group of people at a specific time, when they had tasks that kept them busy at their own stations, or possibly trying to cater to some less-experienced or adventurous tastes, and the requirement that it all be packed along with us for the days it took to drive to Newfoundland, and the ten days of the presentation, I think it wasn’t an outrageously incorrect menu.<br />Certainly it worked, and none of us appear to have starved. I didn’t get the opportunity to play around with any of the experiments I’d had faint ideas of, or look into some of the local ingredients I’d been interested in, but then there’s often more I want to try that just doesn’t fit into the time allowed. I’ll just have to treat this as a starting point, and explore further.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO1l2Y3oLI/AAAAAAAABEU/jQ7o3vC-1Ys/s1600/pot.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/TIO1l2Y3oLI/AAAAAAAABEU/jQ7o3vC-1Ys/s400/pot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513450030691229874" border="0" /></a>vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-61846450798281089072010-03-01T14:40:00.003-05:002010-03-01T14:52:04.264-05:00Everybody's Doin' It, Doin' ItAs Irving Berlin might say... <br /><br />Doing what? <br />Blogging their way through cookbooks! <br /><br />(Okay, not everyone, but it does seem to be the new trend <span style="font-style:italic;">du jour</span>.)<br /><br /> There are several levels on which this resonates with me:<br />- It's a useful and in-depth way to meet/present a cookbook.<br />- I'm interested in the thought processes that guide other cooks.<br />- I enjoy being involved in a progress through a cookbook, even if I'm not particularly interested in the cooking, or the eating, of some of the recipes.<br />- I find it valuable to get a sense of other people's opinions on the results, the processes, and on the cookbook and how its information was presented.<br />- It gives a basis for an on-line journal, when blogging with any sort of regularity, or intelligibility can be a struggle.<br />- Sometimes it's just very entertaining, and a window onto other people's worlds.<br /><br />There are some cons, though.<br /> I don't know of any cookbook on my shelves, of which there is a goodly quantity, which I'd want to 'cook my way through'. I either am not interested in all the recipes, or can't get or afford ingredients for them, or simply would not wish to tread where they might ask me to. And it is the act of 'cooking my way through' which would actually be the useful goad to write about them, and the spur to an ongoing set of experiments. (Trying to make skyr can sometimes just involve a little too much curdled dairy product!)<br /> And since my faintly intelligible food blog is about historic food, not just any cookbook will do, either. (Not to mention that it's where my head is at right now!)<br /><br />So, after commenting that 'gee, if I were going to do that, the cookbook I'd do it with should be...', let's come right to the point and say it out loud:<br /><br /> I think I should take a stab at wending my way through Prehistoric Cooking by Jacqui Wood. [<a href="http://dagdascauldron.blogspot.com/2008/07/new-cookbook.html">http://dagdascauldron.blogspot.com/2008/07/new-cookbook.html</a>] I mean why not? Fortunately, her first chapter with recipes is about bread. That should at least give me a chance to try to actually make some recipes before I run into the roadblock of inaccessible or mystery ingredients. And by then, well, maybe I can just talk my way through them. (Hmmm....yes, Clay-Baked Hedgehog might prove problematic!)<br /><br /> I do imagine that there are recipes in here that I'll want to try again come spring, when the possibility of outdoor cooking once more comes our way. She's mostly proposed these recipes for use in a modern kitchen, though she does make mention of probable methods that would be used in period. And I'm nothing, if not all, about the period cooking techniques. (Can they work? How can I reproduce them? How do the techniques/tools affect the results?) Also I fully imagine that I'll have to have some mental discussion about how to apply some of this stuff on my side of the pond. As we move into the chapters on herbs and vegetables, there will be ingredients I probably can't get, and quite possibly ingredients I won't even be able to easily identify.<br /><br /> And since Ms. Wood is looking at Iron Age cookery, there will be some aspects to this that may be both very appropriate to my interest in early period, specifically Viking Age cooking, as well as being quite different. Certainly there may be types of food that will not apply to the Scandinavian world, and possibly techniques that may be unlikely, either for having been outmoded, or less suited. But I do feel there will be enough parallels that it will be a useful and intriguing experience.<br /><br /> ~vvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-46913961878495137422010-01-20T13:00:00.000-05:002010-01-20T13:00:04.250-05:00What's for Dinner in Iceland, Part 2So it appeared that I was pretty well able to produce a menu that wasn’t a bad one for a Norseman in the Scandinavian world, but what could I come up with for Iceland? Now that I was discovering how the rules seem to be different there…<br /><br />I’d known that Iceland was a marginal settlement, a harsh land. I had never realized until talking with archaeologists, and being steered towards more focussed research, just how different it was. Basic things that I took for granted about northern Europe; geography, climate, growing season, trade distances and likelihood, didn’t necessarily apply to Iceland. Until now, I had just assumed… But as I’ve started learning more, I just end up with a longer list of questions, and have had to try to completely rethink some things.<br /><br />In the end, I came up with menus for two meals, a lunch, and a dinner. By rights, a day-meal or ‘dagverthr’ would probably have been a morning meal, but only some of us were staying on the site, and the morning hours were required for setting up the demos. Thus, lunch.<br /><br />Because I’d be cooking over a fire in a simple camp setting, I decided that a soup was the best way to go. (As it turned out, we ended up having to use a ‘fire ring’ for our fire pit, which altered access to the heat, and left no convenient way to use ashes or embers for cooking. That put paid to any ideas about experimenting with salt evaporation or roasting eggs, or making use of the bake pots.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1Hmi1I0p-I/AAAAAAAAA-Y/NrXhCpv1Xwc/s1600-h/firering.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 282px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1Hmi1I0p-I/AAAAAAAAA-Y/NrXhCpv1Xwc/s400/firering.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427372512012183522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1HmioxIDmI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/8SVC1vYAb7U/s1600-h/P1000087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1HmioxIDmI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/8SVC1vYAb7U/s400/P1000087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427372508691566178" border="0" /></a> (picture by Karen Peterson)<br /></div><br /><br />One of our number doesn’t eat farmed meat, so my lunchtime soup included mushrooms, fish, and dulse.<br />I am a compulsive dryer of mushrooms. I like them for demos, but I like them for anything, and I always manage to feel remarkably thrifty when drying mushrooms. Also, mushrooms shrink when they dry, but not by so much that you don’t feel rewarded at the end of the process. For this soup I also dried onions, leeks, and fish. I did this partly for the convenience it would lend to packing, and storage, but also because I felt that for Iceland, I might be able to justify some dried ingredients, where it would be harder to guarantee fresh.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1HpSnbIkBI/AAAAAAAAA-o/71WQ6i3jxdY/s1600-h/dried.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 199px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1HpSnbIkBI/AAAAAAAAA-o/71WQ6i3jxdY/s400/dried.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427375531987865618" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I brined the fish lightly before dehydrating, as a way to incorporate some salt. (Icelanders didn’t have the access to salt that was possible in other locations. It was too cold for natural evaporation, and there wasn’t the fuel to waste. I’d wanted to try experimenting with a basin of salt water by my cooking fire, but with the fire ring, didn’t actually have anywhere to try this. Another thing to add to the list of ‘must try’.) But sea fish would have some natural salt to them, and I was thawing frozen fish anyway… As well, the dulse has a salty taste. (I think I also used some carefully hoarded wild leek bulbs…)<br />But as far as I’ve been able to find, there weren’t many indigenous greens that I have any way of obtaining or replicating, except for seaweeds.<br /><br />We also had some smoked sausage, and dried meats. I didn’t make the sausage myself, so had less control over flavourings, but I did have some elk sausage to offer up. (Elk isn’t appropriate to Iceland, sadly, but is a bit more interesting than store-bought!) I had made several batches of dried meat/jerky. One was elk, again with the one person in mind. (Apparently there were no indigenous land mammals at all in Iceland, other than the arctic fox, so this is a case where using beef or mutton would have been more correct!) I did try one small batch of dried beef with minimal flavouring: a mild marinade of water/vinegar/salt, and slight seasoning of smoke and mustard seed. It is SO hard to give up my perceptions of taste! (When we were at the 2000 celebrations in Newfoundland, I had made up dried meat to take, that was only lightly brined and dried, with no other seasoning. - this was prior to learning about the no salt in Iceland rule. - I ended up using it happily as an ingredient in cooking, but found it unpalatable on its own.)<br /><br />I had made some unleavened flatbreads, mostly of barley flour, with a bit of rye, and a bit of wheat, because otherwise serving a soft cheese is awkward! But the leathery flatbread crackers also keep well and travel, so maybe cousins coming to the Althing brought them or the flour along.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1HnZ5pLNnI/AAAAAAAAA-g/kOjcBKJINUY/s1600-h/breads.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1HnZ5pLNnI/AAAAAAAAA-g/kOjcBKJINUY/s400/breads.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427373458114426482" border="0" /></a><br />(And thanks to the cousins for also bringing along some dried apples!) (And justifying some other dried fruits I’d made, plums, and berries.) A belatedly-remembered plan to make some butter resulted in trying it with cream still too chilled from the cooler for butter. Instead we ended up with a thickened cream, which tasted very fine with the dried fruits.<br /><br />On the whole our luncheon wasn’t exactly what might have been a plausible meal for a Viking Age Icelander, but it wasn’t totally unlike, either: a soup, cooked in a kettle over a fire, of fish and mushrooms, with some dried flavourings: some dried or smoked meats to chew on; some cheese; and maybe some dried berries. The most glaring inaccuracy would be the flatbreads. Though even they might be partially excusable because of the festive occasion of an Althing. (Though that’s just guessing, on my part. And extrapolation from what my archaeologist friend told me.)<br /><br />Our dinner strayed a bit further still from the Icelandic path:<br />I did two stews, one of venison and elk, for the same non-farmed-meat eater, (though to be honest, it was farm-raised elk, but maybe closer to free-range?) and one of lamb. I had felt that I needed to make two pots’ worth of stew because of the numbers that ended up being involved in being fed, so that did allow me to use a meat in one that would be more appropriate to the Icelandic diet, lamb. Because there were no huntable mammals in Iceland, the only meat would have been that which they brought and farmed themselves. Sheep, mostly, goats, and pigs to a lesser degree, and some cattle, though cows were valued more for their milk production.<br />One of our folk had a quantity of leftover vegetable and lentil broth that they’d pleaded with me to use up, so that justified its inclusion! Even so, I wasn’t able to squeeze in as much as they had for me to use.<br /><br />We had some smoked fish of varying kinds. (Thank goodness smoked fish is justifiable! We all love it. Now I just need to build a smoker and make my own…) And I’d made some pickled fish. And some other pickled fish was contributed. The major difference is that these were fish pickled with vinegar, and it should have been pickled in whey. I need to do some experiments with whey-pickling, more than I’ve tried up till now, but then I also need to fine-tune methods of whey-production, since it’s not an ingredient one can just run out and fetch.<br />We justified some leavened bread, since the Althing is also a festival, and we had those cousins popping over from Norway…<br />To end the meal, I faked out some skyr.<br /><br />At the point of that early Althing menu, I barely knew what skyr was. Some soft curded cheese. Then, it was all more conjectural anyway. There was also far less accessible research material, and no-one within reach who knew much about it, or had tried eating or making it. Now I know about skyr. I’ve had skyr. At least I’ve had modern incarnations of skyr, which may or may not be what was produced in the Viking Age. I’ve even tried making it myself with varied results. (Yes, you, my faithful reader, have struggled along with me on that!) But since I’ve still not been able to define to myself, or have other experienced skyr-tasters define to me, just what skyr is exactly reminiscent of, or like unto, unless it’s right before us… there’s still a sort of x-factor that allows for some play. What I did this time was to drain some yoghurt for a yoghurt cheese, and blend some cottage cheese to smooth out the curds, and then combine the two. I think the end result wasn’t unlike some of the grainier versions of skyr that I’ve had. Essentially, flawed skyr. Oh well.<br />With it we had a cooked-down compote of berries, blueberries, which might have been available, cranberries, and red currants, because I happen to have a whole truckload of red currants, thanks to my mother-in-law. Crowberries also grew in Iceland, but aren't something I had access to. Against all Icelandic food rules, I sweetened this with some honey. (No bees in Iceland, therefore, no honey.)<br /><br />But we seemed to have enough food to go around, and it was neither too strange for people, nor completely wrong for an Icelandic Norseman, even if didn’t quite follow our expected habits of eating. I need to do a lot more research, taking the information I have about possible indigenous herbs and plants, and trying to identify them and relate them to what I know. However, there’s a good chance that I’ll never be able to replicate ingredients, which means that Icelandic food, more so than that of any other Norse cultures, may always stay just a little elusively out of grasp.vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-57274003029890657502010-01-15T15:19:00.008-05:002010-01-15T17:46:23.795-05:00What's for Dinner in Iceland, Part 1Yes, my nagging reader. I’ve been an absent girl. I’d like to blame it on the process of writing something for what tries to be a semi-lucid blog, when semi-lucid is usually way beyond my means. But truth be told, in the last year there have been huge stretches where even a multi-word status update on Face Book was beyond me!<br /><br />(Though it does still take way more time to write something that’s thought out, intelligible, researched, and makes some kind of point, which is what I aim for here…)<br /><br />My previous question-to-myself had been “what’s for dinner in Viking Age Iceland.” The reason? Two-fold. <br /><br />We are working to put together a presentation in conjunction with the 50<sup>th</sup> anniversary of the World Heritage Site at L’Anse aux Meadows, Newfoundland. A few of us have a very long time connection with the site. In 1996, we went there to present a prototype interpretive program. Before then, there had been no costumed interpreters at LAM. So in ’96, there were four of us, and a big bunch of gear, and three or four local volunteers that we kitted out, who worked with us to flesh out the presentation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1DPazq7mcI/AAAAAAAAA94/sxVqPPLv25U/s1600-h/LAMbeach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 252px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1DPazq7mcI/AAAAAAAAA94/sxVqPPLv25U/s400/LAMbeach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427065610435271106" border="0" /></a><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.warehamforge.ca/ENCAMPMENT/beach.jpg">http://www.warehamforge.ca/ENCAMPMENT/beach.jpg</a><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.warehamforge.ca/ENCAMPMENT/beach.jpg"><span style="" lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></a></p> When the program got the green light, there was more involvement as my husband designed it, and produced the artefacts for their use. I designed and sewed the costumes, and had a hand in shaping the domestic crafts side of the program, and we have had an on-going relationship with the site for a number of years since.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.warehamforge.ca/ENCAMPMENT/index.html"><span style=""> </span><span style="" lang="EN-US">http://www.warehamforge.ca/ENCAMPMENT/index.html<as well="" as="" thinking="" about="" in="" conjunction="" upcoming="" this="" fall="" we="" had="" chance="" for="" dry="" at="" an="" icelandic="" althing="" since="" it="" was="" primarily="" single="" most="" people="" would="" involved="" during="" with="" a="" number="" of="" i="" somehow="" volunteered="" myself="" to="" undertake="" some="" food="" demos="" through="" the="" day="" that="" could="" also="" be="" our="" lunch="" and=""></as></span></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1DQfs45wFI/AAAAAAAAA-I/q0cUUGGcYsk/s1600-h/P1000069.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1DQfs45wFI/AAAAAAAAA-I/q0cUUGGcYsk/s400/P1000069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427066794025795666" border="0" /></a>(photo by Karen Peterson)<br /><br /><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1DQfXc9-wI/AAAAAAAAA-A/3_ECPgjJ684/s1600-h/P1000070.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/S1DQfXc9-wI/AAAAAAAAA-A/3_ECPgjJ684/s400/P1000070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427066788271487746" border="0" /></a>(photo by Karen Peterson)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There is a fine balance, I find, between what is purely a food demonstration, and what is a meal for a crowd, especially in a short time frame, and on a primitive site. (We had to bring our water and firewood.) Initially I’d assumed it was the ‘usual suspects’ I’d be feeding, and pretty much knew what give-and-take would be involved. But more of the team decided it sounded convenient, so the whole project expanded a bit.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">In the end it meant it wasn’t purely ‘Icelandic’ food, but I did learn a lot in the process, and tried to bear in mind those limitations.<br /><br />One of the first hurdles I faced were our modern perceptions when it comes to food. While I will admit to hardly ever eating breakfast, on the whole, people today think in terms of three meals. And snacks. And anyone who prepares his or her own meals is often aware of the need to attempt a balanced diet. And… is usually interested in variety.It seems quite likely than in the context of Viking Age world, food was fuel. It was a colder harsher climate, and a more active, working lifestyle. There was also much more labour involved in filling the cook pot. I imagine that the reward of a meal was sufficient in itself!Variety, then, and even not that long ago, was more by season, or luck, or forethought.<br /><br />Some number of years ago, I’ve forgotten (conveniently) when, I did a menu for an Icelandic Althing event. That was one where we were actually serving a feast. Admittedly, there was much less to be had as reference material at all, and certainly very little on early period food, so in retrospect, it doesn’t surprise me to look back on the menu and see the weak points.<br /><br />- roast eggs, flatbreads with ‘skyr’ and cheeses, stuffed breads, pickled fish<br />- sausages, cabbage with apple<br />- fish soup, dish of lentils<br />- bread with butter, salt chicken, roast pork, baked onions with garlic, mushrooms<br />- frumenty with soft fruit, roast apples<br />- and some roast goat for the Chieftains.<br /><br />Knowing what I now do about the possibility of Icelandic foodstuffs, some of this is less than likely.<br />The eggs could have been seabird eggs, and since that time I <b>have</b> successfully roasted eggs in the ashes of my fire; though it would be helpful to do a bit more experimentation with that, so I have a better sense of how hot = how long. (I’ve also exploded eggs in my fire pit; much excitement ensued!)<br /><br />The flatbreads, stuffed breads, basic bread, and even the frumenty of grains aren’t an impossibility for elsewhere in the Norse world, but are far less likely in Iceland. (This is one of those points where my brain just stalls, and goes ‘huh?’) While my sense is that bread, or grain, is one of the major food items of any agrarian culture, it turns out that very little grain was grown in Iceland during the Viking Age. Arable land was used to grow hay for herd beasts. There were some grain crops, most likely barley, but it’s suggested this was used more for brewing. In fact, I have been told that there’s almost no archaeological evidence for any grain processing or baking tools till later in Iceland’s history. Dentition evidence also suggests no processed sugars and starches in the diet till almost the post-Medieval period!<br /><br />Sadly, for the cabbage and apple, there were no indigenous fruits in Iceland, and cabbages were introduced well beyond the time period I’m looking at.<br />Lentils, at least, travel well, so there’s a faint chance…<br />The roasted meats, on the other hand, are far more likely!<br /><br />So, after I’ve shot down my years-old menu in flames, where do I go from here? While still being able to produce some food that will be manageable within the constrictions of the day and budget, which will also sufficiently feed a group of people with varying tastes and preferences…<br /><br />[As an aside, several friends have often mused about the possibility of doing some kind of small event, where for the most part, we'd only be allowed to have what we'd legitimately be able to carry in a sea chest. I wonder if we'd also be up for an occasion where we'd only be allowed to eat what they would have...]<br /><br />(end of part 1)<br /><br />~v<br /><br />Feel free to walk around and stretch, take a trip to the loo, or rootle out a snack. Smoke 'em if you got them. See you soon for part 2.</div></div></div>vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-79665418092862512722009-09-12T18:43:00.003-04:002009-09-12T18:58:00.520-04:00What's For Dinner?In Viking Age Iceland?<br /> Oh my, now that's a poser!<br /><br />And it's not a question I've ever considered before. Up till now, all the info I've accumulated on on Norse foodstuffs, or Viking Age cookery, has been by dint of taking every scrap of info and piling it into a not very big heap, and working with that. I've never worried about what was specifically available in one location simply because there's not a lot of information. Period.<br /><br /> It's far easier to wonder what they ate in France, 1550. Or Italy, 14th century. Even putting together the late period English menu was really only cheating a bit by looking to cookbooks a few years beyond, and they were only beyond ONE of the dates suggested by the theme of the event. No one ever suggested a specific date to me for the feast.<br /><br /> But when you pick early period, pre-cook book time periods, and then pick a country that doesn't really get chatted up in a big way in the reference material, then things get tricky.<br /><br /> I started by picking the brains of one of my favourite Icelandic archaeologists, and he helpfully passed along some info. But it's scarier by its 'lacks' rather than for its inclusions. He corroborated some casual info and facts I had stored in the back of my brain. Not much by way of game animals. Not a lot of indigenous fruits or berries. No real evidence of salt production. And he's thown some special spanners into the works as well, like no evidence of bread production till later. Eek.<br /> All of a sudden things have got a bit tricky. A lot more thought is going to be required. Yes, a bunch of thinking and reading, indeed!<br /><br />(All of a sudden, I'm hungry.)<br /><br /> Stay tuned, folks.vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-63103772641091603842009-05-07T09:17:00.003-04:002009-05-07T09:32:52.447-04:00Tudor ResearchSo, I've pretty much garnered myself a long list of favoured foods for the Tudor time period. And started weeding through them.<br /><br /> Some are impractical. Eels. Just for example. Though I was amused by reading about all the variety of names in use for eels, at the time, depending on their stage of development: "An eel was a Fauser, then a Grigg or Snigg, then a Scaffling, then a Little Eel, an Eel, and when very large, a Conger." [from Tudor Food and Cookery]<br /> It seems almost worthwhile serving eels, just to list griggs, and sniggs and scafflings on the menu!<br /><br /> But fish, and fishy items, although such a major part of any historical diet, can be a food one has to tiptoe around. (I have eaten eel, at a feast. Twice, actually, same group. Same event in two different years.) But there are either a lot of people who don't eat fish for a number of reasons, or a lot of people who are scared by the possibility of eating fish. And I don't want to tie up a large chunk of my budget in a dish that people won't eat. So, I guess I'll try some smaller savoury morsels, some of which will include a little bit of not-too-scary fish.<br /><br /> [Besides, I'm not sure how far afield I'd have to go for eel, and while I wasn't too squeamish to eat it, I'm not sure how intrepidly I'd be facing it in my kitchen! Cooking seal flipper at L'Anse aux Meadows kind of floored me...]<br /><br />v.vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-60940745426141182802009-04-30T11:16:00.003-04:002009-04-30T11:28:39.525-04:00A Different TackStill food, still historical... I've been invited (or bullied my way or whimpered enough) to design and execute a feast for another canton in the SCA. Not my local group, assuming I can even call that one my local group, since I don't go to meetings.<br /> Anyway, I enjoy the planning and cooking, and this 3 hours-distant group has no cooks this year who aren't already busy doing other jobs, or didn't just cook the last feast!<br /><br /> They had suggested Henry VIII as the possible time frame, but aren't necessarily holding me to that. I'm widening the net to "Tudor", and am willing to accept a dating I found of 1485 to 1603, because that will open up the range of cookery information I can look at. (There aren't really a lot of English or english-language cookbooks from the 16th century.) But this means I can haul out a few 15th c ones for a look, and flip through Hugh Plat as well. I may not actually use them, but the more sources to start with the better.<br /><br /> I'm beginning by gathering up a list of foodstuffs that were popularly used, and from there I'll decide what's liable to be available, and what's liable to fall more within budget. Then I have to cross-reference those ideas with known allergies within the host group (that's a definite politeness!) and have a little think about what is more likely to appeal to the general population that will cross our paths. I'm lucky that this group tends to draw a crowd more willing to be fed some historical food. So that will make the voyage more fun.<br /><br /> I'll keep you posted as we set sail.<br /><br /> vvandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-52930726276834858292009-01-10T12:29:00.001-05:002009-01-10T12:33:46.133-05:00Temperatures, an ExperimentSo, as part of learning some of the stuff I feel I need to learn to really get a handle on trying to make skyr, I did some experiments in maintaining a temperature.<br /><br /> A number of cheeses have a much quicker process time; higher acidity, and higher temps, may work to form a curd in a shorter time period. The recipes for skyr all seem to suggest a coagulation time of 12 to 24 hours. That’s a long time to maintain a temperature. Certainly 24 hours means going overnight, and a period of unsupervised sitting.<br /> Up until now I had been following an idea I’d read somewhere of putting the pot in the oven with the oven light left on. (Mind you, I also had a less concrete idea of what temperature I was trying to maintain.)<br /><br />Today I tried a series of tests.<br /> First, a whole lot of reading had suggested that a good temperature to maintain during this process would be between 100 and 110 F. Apparently that’s an optimum temperature for rennet to coagulate the milk solids into curd. Even if it ends up not being the temperature I finally decides works best for skyr, it was still a good starting point.<br /> So I tried a container of water at 110F in the oven. I had preheated the oven just a fraction, by turning it to it’s lowest setting for a few minutes only, then placed the uncovered container in the center and left the light on and door closed. Within an hour and a half the temperature had dropped to 96 degrees.<br /><br /> A second test had water at a temperature of 106 F in a wide-mouthed thermos. (I felt that I had better thermoses with narrow mouths, but didn’t fancy the idea of trying to get coagulated milk out of them. Certainly it wouldn’t work for anything that I’d hoped would form a firmer curd!) In the hour and a half, the temp had dropped to 96 degrees.<br /><br /> A third test had water of 109 F in a crockpot. Unfortunately, it’s a slightly older style slow cooker, and has only a low or high setting. I gather the new models also have a warm feature. In an hour and a half, the temperature ROSE to 126 degrees.<br /><br /> These had been my first and easiest ideas. And I guess I haven’t found an easy answer. I have a couple of other things to try next…vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-81686428039433275812009-01-06T14:28:00.003-05:002009-01-06T15:17:46.420-05:00Not SkyrYet again, I have been vanquished in the quest for skyr.<br />This time I again tried the skimmed milk recipe. I was hopeful, because early on I was seeing some curd separation, but in the end didn’t get anywhere near a useful degree of coagulation. (Is there a happier word one can use to describe the actions of rennet when making cheese products?) And to my sense of taste, there really wasn’t any kind of marked degree of change from the flavour of milk. It was ‘not milk’ in flavour, but without any of the tang or faint acidity I’ve come to associate with skyr.<br />I did get to try out the new piece of equipment my loving husband gifted me with for Christmas.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SWOxY6XT3HI/AAAAAAAAAtA/w4kCWdpl_Bc/s1600-h/strainer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SWOxY6XT3HI/AAAAAAAAAtA/w4kCWdpl_Bc/s320/strainer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288265429005098098" border="0" /></a><br />A nylon jelly strainer system from <span style="" lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.leevalley.com/garden/page.aspx?c=1&p=10160&cat=2,2120,33279">Lee Valley</a>. </span>Far simpler for clean up. Cheesecloth may really be washable, but I think I prefer to save it for theatrical costume uses, because it’s nothing but a pain for use in the kitchen. (Well, perhaps if I had a kitchen dedicated to culinary experiments that wasn’t also full of the rest of our lives…)<br /><br />But I’m starting to think that some of the comments I’ve made about the iron-smelting experiments that go on outside our house also apply here. Too many unknowns and too many variables, and never working towards setting some constants.<br /><br />I’ve had several recipes I’ve been playing with simultaneously. There are several possible types of milk I can use; some of the recipes specify, some don’t. I have two different kinds of rennet, both of which are vegetable-based, so are a variable in themselves. There are a couple of different methods suggested. There is the variable of quantity: do the reactions I’m looking for require certain quantities before they occur? Are the proportions for reaction a constant?<br /><br />In many ways as with the iron smelting, some of the same questions occur, and I can just plug a different noun or verb into the question, and it’s just as valid when applied to my experiments with skyr. (Scary, eh?)<br /><br />* To begin with, I’m trying to experiment to create a product I don’t have much familiarity with. There is almost no experience with skyr in Canada, other than in specific communities with a cultural heritage that has kept it alive. (As in so much else in my life, I had never particularly heard of skyr, or had any interest in its existence, when I was growing up in Manitoba, a stone’s throw from Gimli and its Icelandic community. Turns out my mother knew about it, and liked it, and used to be able to buy it in the grocery store when she was younger! Thanks to the whole new world of major grocery store chains, and countrywide supply lines, that’s no longer possible. And now I live a wide province away…) So all I really know of skyr is from other people’s descriptions, which are never quite the same, and recently, thanks to a friend’s importation of some from a small producer in Manitoba, or some commercially-produced skyr brought back from Iceland. And whether either of these is typical, true skyr, or the skyr one might expect to make from the few available recipes, is as much a guess as any other.<br />Even from the few tastes I’ve had of skyr, I can’t really describe to my own satisfaction how it tastes. Before I’d ever had any, my interpretation of other descriptions led me to think it would be a little bit like yoghurt meets creamed cottage cheese. (Again, I had to work with products I’d already tasted. I’ve never had Quark; so don’t know where it fits in the spectrum.) When I did taste skyr, I think I was surprised that it wasn’t tangier. Because I’d been thinking about yoghurt, perhaps like a yoghurt cheese, I was expecting the same amount of acidity. (One of the things that keeps me from really enjoying yoghurt in large quantities. Too sharp a taste.) It wasn’t. But it also wasn’t like clotted cream, though the texture wasn’t that far away. It was less ‘glossy’ and loose than sour cream. (Oddly, although much sour cream is “sour” in taste, I find it less acidic than yoghurt. I feel there’s probably science involved here, which I need to know more about.) And again sour cream is still too sharp a flavour. And skyr can be more dense-seeming.<br />I have had some cream cheeses that are more like skyr in taste than either yoghurt or sour cream. They seem to be less typical of cream cheeses though.<br /><br />So, here I am, trying to make something I’ve only tasted occasionally, can’t happily describe, even to myself, and have only very intermittently had brief access to.<br /><br />Good start!<br /><br />*I’m also not finding a lot of concrete information about skyr. Mostly just the same stuff re-paraphrased elsewhere, or some vague descriptions. And not much by way of recipes. I have one recipe that came via a friend, and one cookbook of Icelandic recipes from the Lake Winnipeg area that has two or three different takes on it. There’s a bit of discussion on the internet, which I’ve gleefully bookmarked, but nowhere near the amount I thought I’d find. Which is odd, because I know I’ve talked about skyr and figuring out how to make it for years now, and only recently got down to seriously trying to do something about it. I am sure I’m not the only one. In fact, by the number of Google searches that have hit on this blog by the search word ‘skyr’, I KNOW I’m not alone in this quest!<br /><br />*What recipes I can find, seem to have no consensus as to what milk to use, skim, partly-fatted, whole milk, buttermilk… Admittedly, in searching for information on Viking Age skyr, it’s not like there’s likely to be a recipe or archaeological evidence, so information from traditional practices would be a good starting point. But even that seems a bit vague.<br /><br />[I should point out that I’m mostly working from my own culinary library, which isn’t totally sketchy, or what I can find on the internet. I live rurally and have no easy access to libraries anymore. Give me a lovely university library and I might make some more headway. Or not. Even if the information is really available and out there, sometimes it can be well hidden!]<br /><br />Part of my brain says higher fat content milk would give more milk solids. And that maybe my lack of coagulation is because I was using skim milk. But common sense suggests that historically milk would be processed differently and separated into different components for different uses. Cream becomes butter. So it would be the thinner milks and whey that might be made into cheeses. And there are Scandinavian cheeses that are made from whey: Gjetost and Mysost. Some of the things I’ve read about skyr, say it is a low-fat cheese. But then some of the recipes don’t mention that at all. I may not be able to find a definitive answer to that, but some further experimentation may be able to tell me how I need to make it to have it work.<br /><br />*I need to figure out what the differences are between animal- and vegetable-based rennet. I have no particular preference which I use, being a carnivore, but if I can get the vegetable-based version to work, then it will be suitable for my non-meat-eater friends and relations. In the long run, it will probably hinge on what’s available to me. But I do need to learn if there are variations in how well each work, and in the amounts that should be used. The recipe I was just trying asked for twelve drops per 4 quarts of milk. I noticed that the rennet bottle itself suggested five drops per 1 litre. Hmmm… Mind you, I based my amount of rennet on that 5drops per litre, and did NOT get any really tangible curd formation. It ‘looked’ liked it was working, but when I went to strain off the liquid, it was far more liquid than solid.<br />And I don’t think that just giving it more time is the answer either. I did that with one of the very first attempts, and by the time I’d developed some thickness that was strainable, the milk was somewhat past human consumption. Even our cats, who adore dairy in any way, shape or form, were completely disinterested!<br /><br />*Temperatures. When they say heat to boiling, do they mean heat it till it IS boiling, or until it reaches that temperature? Or maybe even boil for a bit of time? And cooling to lukewarm… What is lukewarm exactly? Does it matter? Am I over analyzing?<br /><br />Hmmm… I was just grubbing about in yet another cookery book, thinking about an offshoot from this project that would involve trying to make something else, where I can find more info, and lo and behold! Have come across some instructions to do with yoghurt making that say: Sterilize 1 litre milk by bringing it to the boil, and simmering for two minutes to kill off any undesirable bacteria.<br />Now, there is the first reason I’ve seen for heating to the milk to boiling. No other source has given a reason. Is this why I should be heating the milk? And this one gives the instruction about two minutes of simmering.<br />This same recipe also gives a temperature for ‘lukewarm’ of 38-43 degrees C, or 100-110 F. (which is different than what I’d been doing in this last experiment.) I’d found some other suggestions of 80 – 85 F.<br /><br />Entirely possible that temperature is one of the variables that is contributing to the different results. Certainly I suspected that the temperature I’ve been leaving it to sit at might have an effect on coagulation and formation of a curd, and is a bit hard to control. It is winter here in Canada, and I live in a cold house (electric baseboards and a programmable thermostat to save on hydro costs.) At a different time of year, the ambient temperatures will be greatly different.<br /><br />I think I also need to experiment with some other methods for maintaining a temperature, and maybe try a higher ‘lukewarm’ temp.<br /><br />I do believe, though, that I need to put aside questing for skyr until I’ve learned a little more about the rennets I have available. If I can get a handle on the processes and results when I’m working with something a bit more obtainable, like making a yoghurt, where I can easily buy commercial yoghurt for a starter, and know what it should taste like, or some soft cheese, then I may be able to apply the experience again to trying for skyr. Though I may also be limited to the suggestions of how to make a skyr starter, since the availability of real skyr is extremely intermittent.<br /><br />Sadly, all my previous experiences with cheese-making and the like are just too many years behind me now to be of use. I’m really starting at the beginning all over again. I just have to hope I’ve learned a bit of patience, and can approach this methodically, and solve the mystery!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SWOxZfcyElI/AAAAAAAAAtI/ZDt00ySWfPA/s1600-h/books.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SWOxZfcyElI/AAAAAAAAAtI/ZDt00ySWfPA/s320/books.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288265438960161362" border="0" /></a>vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1116839822692104336.post-13186889707646181522008-12-10T11:17:00.001-05:002008-12-10T11:19:15.037-05:00Tweaking the Bakeoven[Apologies. <span>Two, no,</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> THREE</span> shows at the theatre intervened. One, 22 actors, 23 characters; then 4 actors, and 22 or 23 or 24 characters. I lost track! And the last one, A Christmas Carol with eleven mainstage actors and a choir of 75, all in Victorian costume... This should have been posted ages ago!]<br /><br />So, long long ago, up north on a friend's farm where we have an annual historical event, we built a bread oven. We'd actually envisioned it being used as a community bread oven for them what likes to bake bread. Of course, visiting the site only once a year does not make for healthy and productive maintenance.<br />We'd already discovered with our experiments here at our place, that weather can take a huge toll on an unsheltered, infrequently used stone oven.<br />Add to the general wear and tear of weather and time, the fact that one short weekend, full of a number of other time intensive projects (building a forge, smelting iron, making glass beads, earthworks and levelling...) meant that the oven just wasn't getting regular TLC. And with the passage of more than a decade, it was in sad shape indeed.<br /><br />So, it was very exciting this year that a couple of ladies decided they'd like to put some effort into restoring the oven to its former glory and usefulness.<br /><br />With the home oven, we'd already experimented with a number of building methods: stone, stone and sod, stone and clay, overhead cover, and eventually had just decided to mortar it. The snow load in our area is quite heavy, and the freeze/thaw cycles are extreme. Local clay eventually just degraded away. (Something we are now watching experimentally in our iron smelters.)<br />So our ladies decided to try a more effective attempt with clay, and brought a better grade with them. We'll have to see how it fares.<br /><br />Their first step was just to find the oven!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9yc4piRDI/AAAAAAAAAbw/P45TVx43fqk/s1600-h/bonfield+bake+oven+before.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9yc4piRDI/AAAAAAAAAbw/P45TVx43fqk/s320/bonfield+bake+oven+before.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255545130733159474" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It had been a very rainy summer this year, and the bracken was thriving. Normally the oven shows up a little bit better...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9ydBTv4-I/AAAAAAAAAb4/w-RL_FsUI9c/s1600-h/rebuilding1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9ydBTv4-I/AAAAAAAAAb4/w-RL_FsUI9c/s320/rebuilding1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255545133057696738" border="0" /></a> They had to clear away the bracken and accumulated dried vegetation, broken bits and pieces, and make sure the original stones were seated firmly. Then they mixed up their clay and began a serious mortaring effort. After getting thoroughly muddy in the process, they were eventually rewarded with an oven-like object, and were able to make a small fire to preheat and dry the clay.<br />"Useful tools" were found and created. Other friends had slaughtered one of their ducks and brought it to pluck and cook. A wing became useful to sweep out ashes. Another friend cut and carved a peel (a thin wooden paddle that allows you to slide the bread into the oven.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9ydHguyYI/AAAAAAAAAcA/0Pkg5f-K5pc/s1600-h/inuse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9ydHguyYI/AAAAAAAAAcA/0Pkg5f-K5pc/s320/inuse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255545134722763138" border="0" /></a> Wood for the real heating was prepared, and the fire in the oven started. When it was deemed hot enough, the remains of the fire were swept out, and a loaf of bread dough placed inside, and the opening blocked with a stone. Later, after nightfall, the bread was removed, and declared a success.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9ydNAqriI/AAAAAAAAAcI/6cjXph2rlyw/s1600-h/after.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HRx-Pcfzv5A/SO9ydNAqriI/AAAAAAAAAcI/6cjXph2rlyw/s320/after.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255545136198888994" border="0" /></a> Hopefully, next year the oven will still be in decent enough shape that so much time won't be spent on preparing it, and more time can be spent on using it. Ideally, if the heating is started earlier (not late in the day at the end of the weekend!) we may be able to use the oven to bake several things, utilizing the temperature curve that is part of the natural process.vandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18065528632500528877noreply@blogger.com1