Doughnut Bread Pudding for Breakfasts at Events.

I'm always looking for reasonably priced dishes that give a good bang for the buck for any SCA event.  I don't have a lot of requirements, just that whatever is made tastes great, feeds the masses and has at least some sort of bearing on SCA life.

Hence doughnut bread pudding.

Now. this may not make any sense at all to the layman.  How can something that's become a fad for up and coming chefs of the 21st century have any sort of historical roots in our Current Middle Ages? Stick with me for a moment.

To start off with, doughnuts themselves as we know them today aren't even close to period. There are archaeological digs in different Native American settlements where breadstuffs were made in rounds with holes in them, sure, but the first thing we can really start pointing to in the doughnut lineage happens to be olykoeks - "oily cakes," as they came to be known.  They were created by Dutch immigrants and first appeared on the streets of Manhattan around the turn into the 19th century. Culinary anthropologist Paul R. Mullins cites an 1803 English cookbook as the first of its kind to mention doughnuts (in an appendix of “American” recipes) in his book Glazed America: A History of the Doughnut.

But Mullins' own work gives rise to a dispute over the doughnut's true origin.  He cites a 1669 Dutch recipe for "olie-koecken" as a possible evolutionary link between pastries of the 17th century and the American favorite that would eventually give soldiers from the United States the name "doughboys" during World War I (thanks to American doughnut girls who delivered sweet morsels of relief).

Without dispute, some genius had the idea of taking bits of dough and frying them in hot oil and serving them up with sugar or a sugar glaze - and they took off like hotcakes - or doughnuts.  Most folks agree that the modern American doughnut started that way. But surely someone else made that connection beforehand.  After all, hot oil and pastry go ways back.

In fact, there are several distinctive fried dough products present throughout the Middle Ages in cultures spanning Europe and Asia.  The Germans were packing jam into pastry as early as the 15th century and calling it a Gefüllte Krapfen (renamed the Berliner a few centuries later), a filling of jam between two yeast rolls deep fried in lard that came to be known as the sufganiyah, as recorded in the Kuchenmeisterei (Mastery of the Kitchen) published in 1485. Mind you, this delicacy was more likely to be stuffed with fish or beef, but what the heck, it's close.

The Anonymous Andalusian Cookbook of the 13th Century gives us a number of fried pastries, including Shabât, a layered dough interspersed with butter and fried in duck fat.  You may now remove the drool from your keyboard.  I've had arguments with others over another dish from that very chapter, Sanbûsak, which is also a pastry fried in fat - but from what I understand, you roll the dough out very flat, put in a filling and then fry it, making it a closer approximation to today's fried pies. There goes the drool again.

Arab cooks would take bits of dough, fry them and then soak them in a sugar syrup. In the Kitabh al-Tabikh, one of two Arab cookbooks from the 8th-10th centuries, several recipes could be pointed at as predecessors to the doughnut.  For instance, there was zulaabiyyah, a fritter made by pouring batter into hot oil (Charles Perry has a lovely article on the book here).  From a second book with a very similar name, also known by Perry's title A Baghdad Cookery Book, we get Aqras Mukarrara with its discs of hot oil fried golden pastry (Check out this version in Fearless Kitchen).

Even the Romans had their own version - a sweetened sticky bun that was easy to carry.  These, when piled up at marriage festivities, would go on to become the pre-medieval predecessor to the modern wedding cake, and brides and grooms would be compelled to see if they could kiss over the tops of these tasty towers.  As in all things of that time, a taller tower meant more favorable fertility possibilities.

Still, even with this sort of documentation about the mighty doughnut, where does bread pudding come in?  That, my friends, can be traced back to the French, through the art of pain perdu, or lost bread.  Two breakfast-related culinary traditions come from this "lost bread."

In many places, the combination of stale bread, sour milk and old eggs resulted in a dish of what eventually came to be known as French toast.  In others, the three ingredients would be slopped together, mashed a bit, and thrown in a pan to slide into a cooling oven after the rest of the meal was cooked.  This combination was first recorded in the very first extant cookbook we know of today, that of the Roman dude Apicius, who recorded this recipe "Aliter dulcia" (another sweet): Break slice fine white bread, crust removed, into rather large pieces which soak in milk and beaten eggs fry in oil, cover with honey and serve. Sounds like French toast to me.

There are a lot of different versions that could be considered the forerunners of bread pudding. There's Om Ami, an Egyptian dish of phyllo dough, milk, eggs, honey and pistachios.  There's also Shahi tukra, a Mughlai dish (yes, relevant to my current interests) that translates as Royal Morsel and which contains bread fried in ghee then soaked in rosewater and cream.  A lack of perfected recipes in European menus, however, more indicates that the dish was lowly, an opportunity to utilize scraps or sops, and not until the emergence of English whitepot in the 17th century did the pudding start getting its just due.

When sugar was added, and when the mess was covered with rum sauce when pulled out and served, this became the bread pudding best known for its New Orleans connections. But sugar was not a necessary ingredient, and thrifty bakers using whatever was on-hand managed to scrape up savory bread puddings of ham, bacon, beef, cheese, vegetables or whatever was available to create hearty, gut-filling meals.

Bread pudding came to me twice in my life.  When I was a young girl, I watched a perfectly good loaf of white bread be ruined with a thorough soaking in milk at my paternal grandmother's home - an action that made me cringe knowing how lovely it would have been as a slice of French toast.  The milk emulsion with its few beaten eggs was rendered brown and speckledy with additions of cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla and brown sugar, and the slice of bread were allowed to dissolve helplessly before the smooth resultant batter was poured into a pan.  The resulting eggy bricks were heavy and sad, a homogenized sign of surrender that could not be resurrected by a sweet buttery icing (alcohol was frowned upon by that side of the family).

I couldn't bear the thought of bread pudding for years afterwards.  But in 2000, I traveled to New Orleans for a respite and made my first venture to the New Orleans School of Cooking.  There, Chef Michael and Big Kevin and Little Kevin all passed through that day while I learned many different dishes of the area, including bread pudding.

And I immediately got it - old eggs, stale bread and spoiled milk - and the magic they could render. So I took it home with me, and rendered bread pudding for breakfast that following February at Candlelight Camp.  My concoction, which included pineapple and cherries, was a hit, and from then on I tried to fit a bread pudding into any feasty thing I did -- from apple pie bread pudding at Fall Crown List 2002 to ham and cheese bread pudding at Barbearian Brawl in 2005 to black-and-white bread puddings at Barbearian Brawl 2013 and pineapple upside down bread puddings for Christmas 2015.

And along the way, I learned something else.  You could make a lot of bread pudding with any bread, but for sweet bread puddings, doughnuts were an awesome choice.  I made more of these over the years and shared the information with my friends.  Some of those friends are chefs.  I'm not saying I created the doughnut bread pudding craze, but I certainly fed it.

So doughnuts have been around for centuries, and lost bread for millenia.  Is it really so crazy to think that the two could have come together?

The short of it is, doughnut bread pudding is here to stay.  Every event where I'm responsible for breakfast, it comes out.  Every event that happens at, I have to explain it.  So yeah, there are some historical components.  But it's more to take advantage of cheap ingredients - even cheaper when you learn that my local Kroger bakery gal just gives me a box when she sees me coming and lets me fill it with as many day-olds as I can shove in.  Yeah, always get to be friends with the folks at your local grocery store.

For those who have asked, here's a quick version of the recipe, scaled down to family sized. Remember, you do not have to be exact. And it does not matter if your doughnuts are glazed, cake, old-fashioned or even filled - they'll work.

Doughnut Bread Pudding
1 dozen doughnuts (stale is better)
1 pint milk (or 1 1/2 cup heavy cream, 3 personal containers of yogurt or similar dairy equivalent)
3 eggs
1/2 cup sugar

Tear doughnuts into pieces.  In a measuring pitcher, beat eggs and mix in dairy component and sugar. Place doughnut pieces into greased 13x9 pan, pour egg mixture over and mush lightly with fingers. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Variations:
Chocolate raspberry - Make recipe with chocolate glazed and raspberry filled doughnuts.
Pineapple upside down - In Bundt pan, arrange one can's worth of pineapple rings.  Place maraschino cherries inside the rings.  Replace half of milk with reserve pineapple liquid.
Apple pie - In Bundt can, arrange half of bread-egg mixture.  Spoon in one can of apple pie filling. Add in the rest of the bread-egg mixture.  Note - knife will not come out of pudding clean.
Croque Monsier - Add 1 teaspoon black pepper, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, six ounces Gruyere and six ounces Parmesan to the mixture.  Put down half the mixture into the pan, top with thin sliced ham, add the rest.  Bake.  Serve with mustard or jam.

2009 Gleann Abhann Kingdom A&S Entry - Curries and Curry Powder

(this is the documentation for a previous A&S entry)

A Powder of Curry

In modern times, cooks tend to take whatever shortcuts are necessary.  We go for spice blends that remind of us what we should be cooking -- whether it’s a pepper blend for Cajun cooking, a jerk chicken blend for Caribbean fare, or curry powder for Indian food.

But what is considered Indian food today is actually a conglomeration of cuisines, primarily that of the southern part of the subcontinent and of English cookery, combined by wives and servants brought by the English to southern India in the late 16^th and early 17^th Centuries to appease the English palate with what was available. 

In her book Curry:  A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors, Lindsey Collingham describes the process that the cuisine took, from its true roots on the dirt kitchen floors of India to the barracks for soldiers to the English housewife and the introduction of Indian spices into the world of fish and chips.  In the book, Collingham cites many examples of what is considered to be Indian fare across the world, and traces its origins to the creation of the curry powder.

Collingham contends that  the  term “curry” is actually a European term (think The Forme of Curye) -- a term that the was synonymous with “cuisine.”  Though the term may be European, the spice blend is certainly not.

Collingham and Indian Food Historian K.T. Achaya agree on the British influence in the name, and that the term “curry” may have well referred to any sort of Indian-esque dish.  In fact, Achaya points out in his book Indian Food:  A Historical Companion that the term “curry” is defined not as a spice blend in India but as a gravy served with or over meat or vegetables.

In fact, the closest thing we have to a western viewpoint on Indian cuisine would be that of French explorer Francis Bernier, who traveled the Moghul empire in 1656, a half century outside of our purvey of cuisine in SCA times.  Bernier did describe elaborate meals presented in the post-Akbarian courts of the Moghuls, and expounded on the cooking methods therein used.  Throughout his landmark tome, Travels in the Moghul Empire,  Bernier never mentions any sort of powder in use in the courts.

Collingham’s work does trace the eponymous beginnings of curry powder.  She notes the appearance in the late 18^th Century of a “curry powder” in English cookbooks, but none in Indian texts. 

So does this make curry powder a non-period item?

I found myself searching for the answer to this question when I began my research for a feast back in 2004.  I had been collecting redactions and period mentions of dishes in Northern India for my documentation, but had at the time been unsuccessful in locating any actual period recipes I could work on redacting.  To a fault, I found that every recipe I had encountered at the time contained at least some reference to “curry powder.”

The easiest part of my research would come from finding out what’s in modern curry powder.  That wasn’t as hard as I thought.  Through the blessings of good timing, an Indian grocery store had just opened up not far from my home.  I simply purchased several types of curry powder, went home, and read the labels.  What I found was a preponderance of ingredients that varied as much as you might expect the spice blend to change between one cook and another at a chili cookoff.  Very few items were standard.

I had at the time recently discovered Achaya’s research.  This scientist and eminent researcher worked with India’s Council of Scientific and Industrial Research and had in his efforts help define the very history of Indian cuisine.  I only regret that I had not discovered his work earlier; he passed away in 2002.  In the book Indian Food:  A Historical Companion, Achaya told of his visits to archaeological digs throughout India, and of his careful documentation of the remnants of food at such sites.  He talked with teams that had found cloves burned to ancient floors and long and black peppers contained in partially crushed clay vessels.  Through this book and through A Historical Dictionary of Indian Food, I was able to document the spices used in the powders.

At the time, I was all about “faster and better.”  I knew that the feast ahead would take much time and effort, and I aimed to take whatever shortcuts I could to make sure patrons weren’t waiting for their supper for an undue length of time.  Through experimentation and by utilizing only spices and herbs that were documented in Achaya’s work from archaeological digs, I was able to create a spice blend of my own to use in my cooking.

I could have quite easily walked away after the feast and had nothing more to do with any of the different cuisines I had so painstakingly researched for the project.  But my curiosity was still there.  Moreso, my husband was still there, and he had developed a particular fondness for the curry blend I had created.  So I continued to periodically gather the ingredients and grind them for the blend that I used, and I started to share this blend with others.

However, a kind lady with Al-Mahala at Gulf Wars encouraged me to take a further step and teach about the very spices I was using in my curry powders.  I felt that some explanation for each spice was necessary, and so I came up with a course curriculum that featured all of the spices I had researched in my efforts.  I even offered a hands-on class where participants could mix bits of dried spices to take home and try in their own homes.

In my class handouts and in the class itself, I shared the following information about the spices that might be found in curry powders, and why I chose the spices I did for my own blend.  I also mentioned that the idea of curry powder itself is a post-SCA time period invention, and encouraged my students to seek out more information and whole spices so they could experiment with their own attempts.

The spices I included in my paper are as follows.  The information about each spice was culled from Achaya‘s archeological digs and from references in Bernier‘s epistle and Collingham‘s later work, derived from cookbooks of the British Raj era and later.  Further cited works are referenced with each relevant spice.

Bay Leaves:  In period, these would not have been the laurel leaves we know of today.  Achaya found the similar shaped and sized tej pat, a plant of the Indian subcontinent, in kitchen remains.  The plant is known as Cinnamomum tejpata or the more modern Malabathrum.  Its leaf has a flavor similar to cinnamon, but much milder.  Unfortunately, confusion between the two has resulted in the traditional European bay leaf being included in many modern curry spice mixtures.  Apicius cites the use of bay laurel leaves many times in his Roman era cookbook De Re Coquinaria.

Cardamom:  There are actually two very different sort of cardamom -- green and black.  Green cardamom (Eletaria cardamomum) is a green fibrous pod derived from a plant similar to the ginger plant.  Its flavors range from eucalyptus to citrus and it is considered far milder than its similarly named cousin.  Black cardamom (Cardamomum amomum) is a dark brown pod that brings smoky and camphor-like flavors to food.  It’s often used in tandoori-cooked foods like modern cooks use Liquid Smoke -- as a smoke-flavor agent.  If you have tried Chai tea, you have likely consumed green cardamom.  Achaya noted both of the cardamoms in kitchen ruins.  Both plants originate from southern India and Sri Lanka.

Cassia and Cinnamon:  These two barks are similar in nature, though cassia is generally less pungent and spicy than cinnamon.  Cassia is mentioned in the Bible (Exodus 30:23-24) as ingredients to anoint the Ark of the Covenant.  It comes from a tree believed indigenous to China, while cinnamon is a native plant of Sri Lanka and southern India.   In sources too many to mention, I have discovered cinnamon referenced as an ingredient.  Achaya noted that they appeared to be interchangeable in pre-Moghul and Moghul cuisine.

Cloves:  Achaya mentions the oldest clove found burnt to a floor in an archaeological dig.  It dates back to approximately 1721 B.C.  (give or take a millennium!).  Originally from the Spice Islands, they were known to have been cultivated as far west as Rome a hundred years before the birth of Christ.  They and their essential oils have been used in Ayurvedic medicine for centuries as a painkiller.  In modern curry powders from my own research, they appear to be interchangeable with allspice.  Clove or clove oil may have been added to food by Indian cooks.

Coriander seed:  Yes, it’s from the same plant as cilantro.  But the two spices are so far apart, there’s good reason to call them separate names.  The seed is actually the dried fruit of the plant.  Achaya notes that coriander was often used as a thickener.  It is a key ingredient in both garam masala (a traditional blend of whole spices common in Indian kitchens today) and “traditional” curry powder.  It’s native to the southwestern part of India through the Middle East and northern Africa.  From my research, coriander is apparently used much as file powder (the ground leaves of the sassafras tree) are used here in North America as a thickener.  I might extrapolate that coriander and its cooking could be the bridge between the term “curry” and its synonymous usage for the English term “gravy” in modern India.

Cumin:  Also a spice used since antiquity, cumin is native to most of India.  It’s the dried seed of the parsley relative Cuminum cyminum, and has been used in both Eastern and Western cooking extensively.  To me, the scent of cumin reminds me of the scent of chili (the dish, not the spice).  Achaya noted a prevalence of cumin throughout his archaeological travels.

Fenugreek leaves:   These are commonly known today as Methi leaves.  Both the leaves and the seeds of the fenugreek plant have been found at archeological digs and dated back as far as 4000 BC.  The leaves are used not only in Indian food as a spice for the curry gravy but also in yogurt and as a hair conditioner.  The leaves, to me, smell like what you encounter when you enter a modern Indian restaurant.

Fenugreek seeds:  Have you ever been told you smell like curry (guilty!) -- if so, chances are, you’ve been eating fenugreek seeds in some form or fashion.  The oils from the seed of the fenugreek plant give the aromas of Indian food (and consequently, people who eat it) that certain “tang” we all recognize. 

Garlic:  Where did it come from?  Everywhere!  There are varieties of garlic found in almost every region of the world not covered with ice.  But whether garlic was used in period Indian dishes as an addition to curry-type dishes is up for debate.  Achaya did document it in a few of his digs, but overall it’s not a spice that’s encountered in the typical pre-British influence kitchen.

Ginger:  Strangely enough, this most Indian of spice is also questioned as an ingredient in period Indian dishes.  There is documentation of candies in South India prepared with ginger, but not much to substantiate that it would have been used in other parts of the subcontinent before Akbar.  I would personally postulate that its arrival came with exploration, both from European influences and through the expansion of the Moghul Empire from the late 15^th Century onwards.  However, I did find it included in many of the modern curry spice blends I encountered.

Mustard seed:  The seed is often used to flavor dishes but not often eaten whole.  It’s often cooked in oil to take advantage of its essential oils, which produce a distinctive tartness to a dish.  The Indian mustard seed is light brownish in color; other varieties range from a light yellow all the way to black.  Achaya’s work notes a wide spread across the Indian subcontinent of mustard varietals.  In curries it carries a bit of a zing.

Pepper:  Black, white, red, and green peppercorns all come from the same plant, piper nigrum.  It is not related to the capsicum peppers of the New World.  Long pepper or pippali (piper longum) is from the same genus and retains much of the “heat” we consider pepper to bring to our dishes.  Yet its flavor is considered to be more pungent.  Pippali is still a common ingredient in India with dishes, but there and especially in British and American-influenced applications the long pepper has been replaced with spices from members of the capsicum family, which would not have been utilized in India until the early 16^th Century.  Peppercorns are another of the spices that Achaya found common with most pre-British influence kitchen ruins.

Star anise:  This spice is sometimes confused with anise, but the two are completely separate.  Star anise are star shaped fruits harvested just before they ripen.  They originate in China and are a key component of Chinese Five Spice Powder.  First records of it being brought to Europe in the late 16^th Century.  It is cited as a component of many period Indian applications.

Turmeric:  This root (or rhizome) is what gives much of Indian food its yellowish coloring.  It’s also used in cosmetic applications to give a glow to the skin of the wearer -- and as a hair growth deterrent.  The flavor is mild but often used as a base for other flavors to build on.

On the use of capsicum peppers:  red peppers, chillies, and other “hot” peppers come from the New World.  There are some who will tell you over and over and over again that these spices were not used in period.  They are almost but not quite right.  Capsicum peppers did not come to the Old World until the “discovery” of America. However, while they were used mostly for medicinal purposes in the West, they were embraced by many Eastern cultures.  There is some debate over whether the introduction of capsicum lead to the end of cultivation (and therefore near extinction) of what is considered in India to be the “long pepper,” the spice pippali.  I have found it difficult to locate pippali in the States.

Once I had researched the different spices and created my blend, I shared that blend with others.  The original blend itself, from spices I ground in the coffeemaker:

A tej pat leaf (I used bay leaf in a pinch)

A tablespoon cardamom powder

A tablespoon of cinnamon powder

A half teaspoon of ground cloves

A tablespoon of coriander powder

Four tablespoons of ground cumin

A pinch of methi leaves

A teaspoon ground fenugreek

½ teaspoon mustard seeds, ground in my coffee grinder (ground mustard doesn’t work)

½ teaspoon ground black pepper

2 tablespoons powdered turmeric

I chose not to use ginger or garlic partly because it seemed that the spices weren’t used all through India, but moreso because I didn’t like what they brought to the table when mixed with the other ingredients in my curry powder attempt.  The taste, to me, was too sharp and a bit too modern.

This mix got me through my first attempt at Indian cooking in a feast, but I wasn’t satisfied with it.  I did more research, and read through the works of Collingham and Achaya, and also Joyce Westrip’s book Moghul Cooking:  India’s Courtly Cuisine.    After this and after discussions with cooks at Little Rock restaurants Star of India and Kebab and Curry in 2005, I started experimenting with a spice mixture that comes closer to what a cook would have used in the 16^th Century.  I learned about the necessity of heating spices in ghee and letting them release their essential oils.  I also determined that the whole idea of curry powder is prevalent today even with these cooks, simply on the basis of consistency and ease.  But there are still cooks who want to retain the traditions of whole spice curried dishes.  With this knowledge and assistance, I came up with my own, better spice blend.  Unlike the other blend, I keep the whole spices available to use when I make curry at home.  The amounts sometimes vary depending on what I’m cooking or what mood I’m in, but the base curry has come to this.

Four green and one black cardamom pod
1 2-inch section of cassia bark or 1 one inch section of cinnamon bark or 1 tablespoon chopped cinnamon bark (do not use ground)
1 clove
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 ½ Tablespoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon peppercorns, freshly and coarsely ground
1 star anise
1 bay leaf
1 ¼ Tablespoons powdered turmeric

1 healthy pinch methi (fenugreek) leaves (appox. 1 tablespoon)

As you can see from this listing, I am still not confident with cooking with some whole spices, in this case the turmeric.  Experimentations with this root have come out with a flavor that’s far from comfortable with my Americanized tongue, and my one attempt at using the whole root in a group situation failed to enthrall the diners that partook of my dibblings.  Besides, the root is somewhat wet, which makes putting it into the grinder or pulping it in the pestle come out as a paste that has to be refrigerated if not used right away.  It’s far more convenient to me to have the dried variety of the building blocks of  my own curry powder available for me to just throw into a skillet with whatever I decide to cook up.

When it does come to advance preparation, especially as it happens in SCA practice (ie, feast cooking for events), I have found it far easier to rely on a pre-made powder of my own creation.  Finding the time to listen for popping seeds or getting spices to evenly roast when the curry is just one of a couple of dozen dishes heading for the platters and plates of feast diners, having a powdered contingent on-hand that allows me to sidestep the roasting and mortaring process has been a blessing.  I can simply start at the roux stage and go from there.

Now, I did learn a bit more.  From attempting the making of curries with the whole spices, I’ve learned to start out with a dry skillet and place spices that come from seeds in it.  Let it toast a bit.  Cumin and mustard seeds will pop… and there’s a distinctive roasted scent similar to meat cooking that emanates.  When they’re toasted, take them out and let them cool a little, then grind them.  While that’s going on, throw the rest of the ingredients except the methi leaves and the turmeric powder into the same skillet with a tablespoon of ghee (that’s clarified, shelf stable butter).  Keep them from burning but get them thoroughly heated and mixed.  Add the ground seeds back in along with the ground turmeric and stir it like a roux. 

Now comes the fun part.  While I was doing all that research on curry powders and the like, I discovered something.  There’s always a liquid component in meat dishes.  Sometimes it’s yogurt, buttermilk, or milk.  It can also be fruit juice, coconut milk, or honey.  The general rule is to treat that spice blend like a gravy -- keep it moving like a roux so it won‘t burn (and if it does burn, throw it out).  Thin it with the liquid component and then add in the meat or vegetable that will cook in it. 

Strangely enough, most of what we get as far as entrée dishes at Indian restaurants today seem to be based on this basic equation (except, of course, that the gravy starts with the powder).  For instance, add ground cashews and cream to the gravy equation and you have a Korma sauce.  Tomatoes and potatoes with some capsicum-type pepper element brings you to a Vindaloo.  Masala is the same sort of spice gravy but with a tomato component -- which is sometimes ketchup. 

Even non-sauce dishes come from this gravy.  Biriyanis in period were the spice gravy layered between layers of rice and either meat or vegetables in a heated pot that was then left to cook on its own in the embers until ready to serve (think medieval casseroles).  Today it’s meat soaked in the curry gravy that’s then mixed by hand into rice and allowed to sit for a little bit.

But I digress.

The past several years of accumulating this information and practicing its applications on my friends and upon willing feast goers has brought me to the conclusion that, while there is no such thing as a period curry powder, most of the same spices were used in Indian cooking.  I have learned that though I have created a pretty decent recipe that others could follow to create a simulation of my curried dishes, that on any given day I might choose to throw in this or that or change the amounts of spice used or even to omit something that I usually utilize.  By doing so, I have started to cook a little closer to my culinary predecessors.

However, as a feast cook, time and ease will likely leave me clinging to my homemade curry powder.  I am not comfortable with the results of freezing or otherwise utilizing advance preparation methods in my curried dishes.  The results, to me, don’t taste as fresh.  Therefore I find myself offering this compromise when cooking for crowds of 100 or more.  It is my modern compromise to historical cookery that seems to be acceptable to the palates for which I cook.

Bibliography

Achaya, K.T.  Indian Food:  A Historical Companion.  Oxford University Press 1994. 

Apicius. De Re Coquinaria (The Roman Cookery Book). Translated by Barbara Flower and Elizabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum. London and Toronto: Harrap, 1958.

Bernier, Francis.  Travels in the Mughal Empire.  Original publication in France in 1670.  South Asia Books 1989.

Collingham, Lindsey.  Curry, A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors.  Oxford University Press 2007.

Various Authors.  The Bible.  King James Version.

Westrip, Joyce.  Moghul Cooking:  India’s Courtly Cuisine.  Serif Publishing 2005.

  

A note on the display:

While an attempt was made at a period-esque display, this wasn’t completely possible.  Requirements being what they are (for each entry to be presented at serving temperature and for entries to be available from 9am to after court), I had to improvise.  Therefore, the applications of curried chicken are within the electrical device.  However, the curry powder display itself is presented on a dish I painted myself.  The design is based on the small five petaled flowers seen in the borders of several examples of Mughal paintings of the 16^th and 17^th Centuries.  The specific examples that inspired the painting of these items comes from the British Library’s exhibition of an illumination, King Khusraw hunting, by Abd us-Samad dated 1595. 

  

The Period-Style Curry

Four green and one black cardamom pod
1 2-inch section of cassia bark or 1 one inch section of cinnamon bark or 1 tablespoon chopped cinnamon bark (do not use ground)
1 clove
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 ½ Tablespoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon peppercorns, freshly and coarsely ground
1 star anise
1 bay leaf
1 ¼ Tablespoons powdered turmeric

1 healthy pinch methi (fenugreek) leaves (appox. 1 tablespoon)
2 Tablespoons honey

4 Tablespoons ghee

1 pound chicken breast

Place pan over low to medium heat.  Spread cumin, cardamoms, cassia or cinnamon, clove, coriander, fenugreek and mustard seeds, star anise and bay leaf over the bottom of the pan.  Grind peppercorns and add to pan.  Listen to the pan and stir frequently until the cumin and mustard seeds begin to pop (they sound a little like Rice Krispies).  Remove pan from heat and let cool a moment.

Remove star anise and bay leaf.  Add other ingredients to a mortar or a purposed electric grinder.  Grind to a coarse consistency (think coffee grinds).

In the same pan, heat ghee over low to medium heat until melted.  Add ground mixture and turmeric to the pan (it works better this way; otherwise, the powder will clump, as I discovered in my tests).  Stir together until it becomes gravy-like, a roux of spices.  Add the honey and stir to combine.  Add the bay leaf and the star anise back in.  Add in the methi leaves and stir.

Slice the chicken breast into ½ inch slices and place in pan, turning to coat in the spice mixture.  Cover and let simmer on medium heat for five minutes.  Remove lid and stir.  Add up to ¼ cup water if the spices are too clumpy.  Cook uncovered until the chicken is almost cooked through (155 degrees F).  Remove from heat and let sit 10 minutes (the chicken will come to 165 degrees F).  Remove bay leaf and star anise.  Serve curry on its own, over rice, or with naan.

The Powder-Based Curry

1 teaspoon ground bay leaf

1 Tablespoon cardamom powder

1 Tablespoon cinnamon powder

½ teaspoon ground cloves

1 Tablespoon coriander powder

4 Tablespoons ground cumin

1 teaspoon methi leaves

1 teaspoon ground fenugreek

½ teaspoon mustard seeds, ground in a purposed electric grinder

½ teaspoon ground black pepper

2 Tablespoons powdered turmeric

4 Tablespoons ghee

2 Tablespoons honey

1 pound chicken breast

Place pan over medium heat.  Melt ghee.  Add spice blend to ghee and stir into a roux.  Add honey and combine.

Slice chicken breast into ½ inch slices.  Add to pan and coat with ghee-spice-honey mixture.  Cover and let simmer on medium heat for five minutes.  Remove lid and stir.  Cook uncovered until the chicken is almost cooked through (155 degrees F).  Remove from heat and let sit 10 minutes (the chicken will come to 165 degrees F).  Serve curry on its own, over rice, or with naan.

2009 Gleann Abhann Kingdom A&S Entry - Apricot Cordial

(this is the documentation provided with a KAS entry)

This entry is a brandy based apricot cordial that has aged nine years.

For many years, I dabbled in the art of cordial making, experimenting with how long a cordial should macerate and what makes the best base, blending flavors and determining when to introduce sweetening agents into the creations in my kitchen.  It was something I was quite proud of, and something I spent a lot of time working on during those rare Sunday afternoons at home.

Life happens to you, as it did to my family.  We found ourselves moving to a new home, and like many things my “maceration box” was packed away and carefully stored.  The intention had been to pull it out shortly after the move so cordials could be settled and prepared for the next event’s arts and sciences competition.  The reality was that the box was resettled in a hard-to-get-to cabinet in the kitchen and forgotten.

That is, forgotten until a determined cleaning out of my kitchen lead me to the box and its contents -- and my carefully detailed notes.  After determining the viability of this cordial, I decided this would be an excellent chance to enter this beverage in this competition. 

My notes show that this cordial was created on February 20^th, 2000.  I placed a half pound of dried apricots in a jar and added three cups of Christian Brothers white brandy.  I capped it and let it sit.  I reopened it June 14^th to see if the brandy had taken on the flavor of the apricots, and to add one cup of sugar that had been dissolved into one cup of boiling water (sugar syrup).  I recapped it and let it sit.  I sampled it on August 20^th, 2000 to determine if I would add more sugar or if it was ready for competition.  While I did decide it had the proper balance of ingredients, I decided to instead enter two of my other cordials in the competition instead.  On April 23, 2001, I noted that the solution had achieved a rich orange color.  This was the last entry I had for the cordial.

My choice of apricots for this cordial were based on my research of historical fruits and on the types of fruit used in period.  Though I did not have an example of an apricot cordial or brandy in period, I did have examples of the use of apricots as far back as Roman times (appearing in Apicius 4.3.6 in the recipe for Pork and Apple Minutal).  I chose white brandy as my base because it was the closest I could come to a period cordial without entering the distillation process myself.  Brandy is distilled wine and has been documented as the base for cordials and liqueurs throughout period.  I chose the white (or clear) version to best show the color left behind by the macerated fruit. 

After discovering the lost box, I went to my files and found general documentation on cordials that I had researched at the time.  I include it here with this entry with some additions and changes; my learning curve has expanded in the past several years, and I have a better insight into what cordials are and their place in my kitchen.  Do note, I use the terms “cordial” and “liqueur” interchangeably; I have yet to see a variant between the two terms.

A Brief History of Liqueurs

Liqueurs and cordials are for the most part flavored beverages made from fruit, seeds, spices and/or herbs, macerated into a distilled alcohol (usually brandy).  Some liqueurs are also sweetened with sugar or honey.

According to Hurst Hannum's Brandies and Liqueurs of the World, the first spirits were distilled in China around the ninth century B.C.  -- probably a rice and sugar wine.  In Egypt, distillation was perfected to capture the essences of herbs, plants, and flowers.  The science of distillation continued in the Roman Empire, and was spread to the Middle East by the Moors.  During the Middle Ages, distillation became a major tool of alchemists in their efforts to turn base metals into precious metals.

In the mid 13th century, an alchemist by the name of Arnold de Villanova taught his skills in Spain and France.  Villanova is known to be one of the first to ascribe medicinal properties to flavored alcohols.  In one of his many treatises, he discussed the distillation of wine into a spirit.  He was so excited by the spirit's curative and restorative powers, he named it "aqua vitae," Latin for "water of life."

One of the first mentions of the distillation of wine appeared in a legal document from Armagnac dated 1411.  That document is currently housed in the office of the French Departement d'Haute-Garonne.  Distilled alcohols spread through Europe so quickly that in 1559 the lawmakers of Bordeaux forbid distillation within the city limits for fear of fire.  Some believe cultures in northern Europe began distilling grain products as far back as the mid-14th century.

The word brandy is said to have been derived from the Dutch term brandewijn, or burnt wine, in reference to the fire applied to wine in the first stages of the distillation process.

A recipe in Hugh Plat’s Delightes For Ladies is titled “Secrets in Distillation.”  The first recipe “How To Make True Spirit of Wine,” discusses the distillation process:

Take the finest paper you can get, or else some Virgin parchment, straine it very right & stiffe over the glasse bodie, wherein you put your sack, malmsie or muskadine, oile the paper or virgin parchment with a pensill moistned in the oyle of Ben, and distil it in the Balneo with a gentle fire, and by this meanes you shall purchase onely the true spirit of wine. You shall not have above two or three ounces at the most out of a gallon of wine, which ascendeth in the forme of a cloude, without any dewe or veines in the helme, lute all the joints well in this dis- tillation. This spirit will vanish in the ayre, if the glass stand open.

However, Plat’s work mostly concerns non-distilled beverages.  Sir Kennelm Digby, on the other hand, talks about the flavoring of wines and such, but never calls for distilled products in his primary work, The Closet Open’d.

The flavoring of distilled alcohol seems to have developed its roots not in the kitchens of gentlewomen but in the monasteries and alchemist shops of the 14^th and 15^th centuries.  Alchemist "waters" and "elixirs” were apparently sold to cure ills.  It was during this period that many of the monastic herbal elixirs were developed.  The secret recipes of these particular concoctions have been handed down over the ages, and are the basis for such liqueurs as Chartreuse, Benedictine, and Amaretto.

As distillation became better understood, and as spices, herbs, and sugars from the New World became available, bitter elixirs gave way to more flavorful drinks.  The distribution of such drinks expanded as well.  An example -- in 1575 Lucas Bols founded one of the world's first commercial liquor houses in Amsterdam.  Another -- the founding of Danzig Goldwasser from Der Lachs in 1598.

Sugar is another element to consider.  There has been a misconception pluralized that honey and not sugar was the available sweetener for most of the Middle Ages.  However, in my experience as an SCA cook I have found sugar listed in dozens of resources.  For this instance, I cite Le Menagier de Paris, a late 14^th century French cookbook that employs sugar in several recipes.  This would pretty much show that sugar was contemporary for use in period cordials.  Additionally, two recipes from Cindy Renfrow's A Sip Through Time dated 1550 to 1625 utilize sugar in their composition. 

The Process of Making Liqueurs

The term liqueur is derived from the Latin word liquefacere, which means to melt or dissolve.  In practice, a liqueur is simply a sweetened spirit flavored by vegetable substances.  There are two ways to flavor a spirit into a liqueur -- maceration and distillation.  In maceration, the plants, fruits, or herbs are soaked in a base alcohol for a sufficient period of time.  The process is similar to that of making tea.  Soft fruits such as berries and currants, stone fruits like cherries and apricots, and zests of lemon, tangerine and orange are usually macerated for liqueurs.  The maceration itself lasts from just a few days to several months.  The liquid, once macerated, is referred to as an infusion.

In distillation, the flavoring agent is added to an un-aged but already distilled spirit, and distilled once again.  Most plants, herbs, and seeds are distilled, rather than macerated.  The resulting alcohol is called a distillate.

After the preparation of the distillates or infusions, the sweetener is added, usually in the form of a simple syrup.  The solution is then typically allowed to age for a period of two weeks to six months… though in this rare instance the cordial presented is nine years old.

In my introduction, I talked about the notes remaining from the process of creating this cordial.  On discovering this cordial, I decided to determine its viability by sampling a small amount in a separate vessel.  I discovered that the cordial has achieved a rich orange-brown tone similar to that of a commercially produced dark rum.  The taste to me is strong but not quite cloying, and it seems to betray itself as being an aged beverage.  This is certainly a beverage to be sipped slowly.

Bibliography

Apicius. The Roman Cookery Book. Translated by Barbara Flower and Elizabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum. London and Toronto: Harrap, 1958.

Digby, Sir Kennelm. The Closet Opened, England, 1615.

Hannum, Hurst.  Brandies and Liqueurs of the World. Doubleday, Garden City, NY, 1976.

Plat, Sir Hugh, Delightes for Ladies. Humfrey Lownes, London 1602 Crosby Lockwood & Sons, Ltd., London 1948.

Power, Eileen (translator).  The Goodman of Paris (Le Menagier de Paris), 1393, London: Routledge, 1928.  Text from the Internet Medieval Sourcebook online at http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/source/goodman.html

Renfrow, Cindy.  A Sip Through Time, A Collection of Old Brewing Recipes, author published, Sussex, NJ, 1994.

Sibley, Jane aka Mistress Arwen Evain fert Rhys ap Gwynedd, O.L. C.M. "Brewing". The Complete Anachronist. Vol.5. 

Period Non-Alcoholic Beverages - or, Beyond Tea At Feast.

SCA feasts.  When you think of a feast, several things might come to mind – a variety of foods, a selection of fare served on trenchers, an endless variety of possibilities and surprise…

and iced tea.

Here in Gleann Abhann, the
iced tea addition is real.

Yes, lords and ladies, we live in these current Middle Ages – but when it comes to dousing our thirst during feast, our choices are usually limited to “sweet” or “un.”  Some feasts, you might actually find lemonade… but that’s just about it for variety.

This course came years ago as a personal challenge.  I had suggested at a business meeting that we consider using grape juice for “wine” at a feast, and was told it was too cost-prohibitive.  Besides, I was told – it’s not exactly period.

But what is period?   I suppose it depends on your feast.  If you’re serving something that’s very late (or even post-) period, and your theme happens to be Dutch or Portuguese or Far Eastern, tea’s a no-brainer… except in period, it would have been hot or lukewarm.  And it would have likely been brewed from a tea brick, not a bag.  For early period feasts?  Wouldn’t have happened.

The tea we’re most familiar with today is orange pekoe or pekoe cut black tea.  The name comes from a bastardization of the term “bai hao,” the Chinese term meaning white tip.  The tea gained noted popularity in the 17^th century, when the Dutch founded their tea empire in the Far East.  This fine tea is still utilized today.

Green tea: not period for Europe, still
ridiculously tasty.

And green tea?  That was also the Dutch, bringing it to Europe from Japan circa 1610 So while green tea is period for Japan, it's not really period for anyone else.

Oh, both are from the 17^th century?  That’s right.  While some people were undoubtedly drinking tea before then, chances are the common gooseberry fellow’s wife wouldn’t be serving it to him.

So, what would he be drinking?

The average person in the middle age probably didn't have
access to a soda fountain on-site, either. But we sure did at
Candlelight Camp in 2004 at the Feast of Five Chefs.

Did the average person drink water?  Chances are, unless they were blessed with a spring or clear well – no.  They might mix water with wine or ale to make something palatable, but medieval people weren’t blessed with water treatment plants and hydro-chlorination.

Many – of all classes – drank milk.  It does a body good – then as now.  What sort?  Until late in period, it really depended on what was at hand.  Milk didn’t keep for long before the age of refrigeration – and was often drunk very close to straight from the cow.  What couldn’t be used up each day was usually used to make cheese or butter.

The type of milk varies depending on what you have.  Cow, goat, and sheep were popular in Western Europe.  Less used was camel’s milk – nutritious, sure… and horse’s milk. 

But most recorded medieval non-alcoholic drink preparations were based on one of three ideas – either boiling a flavoring agent with water, macerating an herb or fruit in water, and adding a syrup to water.

Here are some examples and ideas for how to incorporate them into your next feast.

Clarea:  This was water that was boiled together with honey and whatever herbs you had on hand.  Refreshing, yet simple.  In Ethiopia, this was called tej.

   Feast preparation:  Bring 2 liters of water to boil in a large stockpot. Slowly drizzle in 1 pound honey.  When completely dissolved, pour off into pitchers or bottles and chill.  One cup of honeyed water to one 2 quart pitcher – then fill with water.

Barley Tea:  Brewed like tea today – barley was placed in heated water.  Then honey was mixed in.  This drink had rather wide appeal, showing up in both medieval Europe and medieval Indian (though in India, it was likely to be mixed with jaggery instead of honey).  Records from the Dalhi Sultans record this as fuqqa.

   Feast preparation:  DO NOT ATTEMPT IN COFFEE MAKER!  The grains of barley grow a bit, like rice – and can also become sticky.  Boil at a ratio of three cups water to ½ cup barley.  You can, if you wish to use the barley, pour off the water into a separate pot to add the honey or jaggery.  Add one pound honey or ¾ pound crushed jaggery to a gallon of barley water and serve as is.  It doesn’t make a good syrup, in my experience.

I found this bag of mint for 89 cents at Walmart, and it made
up a lovely mint-heavy sugar syrup.

Mint Tea:  Many different types of mint were recognized in the Middle Ages.  Mint was a common prescription for an upset stomach because of its cooling abilities… there are plenty of records of mint tea as a beverage, but very few that describe how it was made. 

   Feast preparation:  Mint tea is easy – and best of all, can be made in the coffeemaker!  To

save money, bypass product listed as “mint tea” and either brew from fresh mint you’ve cut and dried yourself, or pick up a bag of dried mint at your local ethnic food store.  Indian Grocers here in Little Rock charges $2.99 for a very large bag, enough for a feast.  A good ratio is one ounce of mint leaves to two 8-cup coffee pots (I tend to run mine through twice - after cleaning the whole thing to keep out the coffee flavor, of course).  You might instead elect to make mint syrup by boiling eight ounces of mint in two liters of water, then adding five pounds of sugar.  This will make a nice minted syrup instead of a tea – that comes out to two tablespoons of syrup to a two quart pitcher.

Almond Milk:  Much more often made to be a substitute for milk during Lent, this was water boiled with ground almonds and often sweetened with honey.  For drinking, pomegranate juice was sometimes added.

Sage Water:  Made by placing sage in water and letting it sit.

Coriander Water:  Pretty much the same thing, except with coriander.

First you peel the zest from the lemons...

A syrup of Lemon:  First known to be documented in Andalusia, a syrup made from water boiled together with sugar and lemon peel (not the pitch) that could be added to water to create a medieval “lemonade.”

   Feast preparation:  Take a bag of lemons (usually 10-12 lemons) and zest them,

and then you squeeze.  Doing it the
other way is a bit more
challenging.

leaving behind any white pith on the lemon.  In a large stockpot, bring two liters of water to boil.  Add the zest.  Juice the lemons and add the juice, if you wish.  Slowly dissolve ten pounds of sugar, a pound at a time, into the water.  Strain through a wire sieve and bottle (I use 2 liter bottles).  You have the added bonus of having candied lemon peel!  This makes 3 to 3 ½ two liter bottles of syrup – enough for a very large feast.  Like the mint syrup, a good ratio is two tablespoons of syrup to two quarts water.

Rose or lavender water:  Noted in England in the 15^th century, a drink made from soaking rose petals in water overnight, then straining and combining the water with honey or sugar to taste.

   Feast preparation:  If you choose to prepare this for a feast, do realize this is not a sweetened drink.  It’s perfumed.  You can pick up rosewater in most ethnic and health food stores or on-line very cheaply.  The idea is to give the water the scent without a whole lot of flavor.  Try ½ teaspoon to a quart of water… and, for display, consider adding rose petals from roses that have not been chemically treated (not roses from a floral shop!).

At the 2009 Gleann Abhann Live Weapons event, I
served rose syrup, lemon water, chai and plain water
in bottles on the lowered tables. Yes, those are banana
leaves.  No, there's no silverware.

Rose syrup:  Made the same way as the lemon syrup, except using rose petals.  Tastes (from my own testing) very similar to the rose water when mixed with plain water.   Referenced in Ibn Battuta’s records of the Delhi Sultans, water sweetened with rose syrup was called sherbet.

   Feast preparation:  Forget making the syrup.  Go to your ethnic food store and buy a 750ml bottle of rose syrup.  It runs about $4.99 (amazon.com had it on for $6 a while back).  Use your two tablespoon:two quart ratio to start off with, then adjust for taste.

Pomegranate syrup:  Also Andalusian… made similarly to lemon syrup and diluted anywhere from one part syrup to three parts water – out to a one to six ratio.  A similar drink was Granatis, which was an Arabic drink.

   Feast preparation:  What does Granatis sound like?  Grenadine, of course!  You can buy Grenadine almost anywhere you can purchase alcohol… or, your ethnic food stores sell it as what it is.  This is NOT the new popular drink called POM – save your money ($5 for a single serving?  You’ve GOT to be kidding me!).  Make sure you get pomegranate syrup and not pomegranate juice.   Put a splash in your water pitchers as they go out for feast – it dilutes quickly.

Radish juice:  In Southern India in mid-period, radish juice was used to calm sore stomachs.  Having not tried this myself, I cannot imagine how.

Pratipana:  Water boiled with pepper.  In areas of southern India where the water might not be considered “clean,” boiling it with peppercorns or with long pepper was a way to purity the drink.

   Feast preparation:  If you really want to try this (!), boil 1 cup peppercorns with 2 liters of water.  Keep a lid on it!  Let it boil for about 20 minutes, then let it cool WITHOUT REMOVING THE LID.  Some people have a strong reaction to pepper vapor in the air.  Once it has cooled, you can bottle it for future use.  Pepper water was not served cool, but lukewarm or even hot… I suggest that if you want to serve it at a feast, you serve it in the same way you’d serve an aperitif… let people know what it is, and serve in taster cups.  It’s strong.  DO NOT USE CHILI PEPPERS to make this water!

Sources:

Achaya, K.T.. INDIAN FOOD: A HISTORICAL COMPANION. Oxford University Press. 1994.

Lewicki, Tadeusz. WEST AFRICAN FOOD IN THE MIDDLE AGES. Cambridge University Press. 1974.

Perry, Charles, translator. ANONYMOUS ANDALUSIAN COOKBOOK OF THE 13^TH CENTURY.  David Friedman’s website, http://www.daviddfriedman.com/Medieval/Cookbooks/Andalusian/

Power, Eileen. THE GOODMAN OF PARIS (Le Menagier de Paris). Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1928.

Wilson, C. Anne. FOOD AND DRINK IN BRITAIN From the Stone Age to Recent Times. Penguin. 1984.

The redactions here are my own.