Medieval Pork Meatballs in Almond Milk

Pumpes - Meatballs in Almond Milk

Originally published May 20, 2016. Updated June 2026.

Pumpes are among the prettiest dishes preserved in Harleian MS. 279: tender pork meatballs served beneath a smooth almond milk sauce, thickened with rice flour and finished with sugar, mace, and tiny red flowers. At first glance, the recipe looks simple. A good piece of pork is boiled, chopped very small with cloves, mace, and currants, rolled into small pellets, and served five to a dish beneath a pale almond milk pottage.

What makes this recipe so interesting is not simply that it is an early English meatball dish, but that it belongs to a much larger family of medieval shaped meat recipes. Across several English manuscripts we find related dishes called pomme dorry, powme dorrys, poumes, pumpes, pompys, and pomes. Some are boiled and roasted. Some are gilded with egg. Some are colored red or green with herbs or saffron. Some are served in broth, syrup, or almond milk. The meatball remains familiar. The sauce, color, and presentation change from manuscript to manuscript.

Here is another meatball recipe from Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books: Harleian MS. 279 (ab. 1430), and Harl. MS. 4016 (ab. 1450), with extracts from Ashmole MS. 1439, Laud MS. 553, and Douce MS. 55, edited by Thomas Austin. This is very pretty to look at, but without salt or pepper the dish is a bit on the bland side. My guess is that the majority of the seasoning would come from whatever seasonings might have been used in the pork when it was cooked. I used ground raw pork to make the meatballs, and would highly suggest that you add additional seasoning than just clove and mace. I did.

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Why This Recipe Matters

Long before meatballs found their way into bowls of tomato sauce, cooks across Europe and the Mediterranean were shaping seasoned meat into elegant little portions fit for refined tables. Roman cooks prepared shaped meats in savory sauces. Medieval Arabic cooks pounded meat with spices, saffron, onion, murri, and egg. English cooks gilded meatballs with eggs, colored them with herbs, floated them in almond milk, and crowned them with flowers.

Pumpes preserves one branch of that long culinary story. It shows how a familiar cooking technique could become something delicate, decorative, and unmistakably medieval.

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Recipe Lineage: A Medieval Family of Meatballs

Unlike many medieval recipes that survive in only a single manuscript, Pumpes belongs to a remarkable family of shaped meat dishes that can be traced across English cookery from at least the late fourteenth century into the later fifteenth century.

Earlier examples appear in Forme of Cury as Pomme Dorryle and Pommedorry. These recipes use raw pork or beef, spices, currants, and egg before the formed balls are boiled, roasted, and decorated with herbs or saffron. Liber Cure Cocorum preserves Powme Dorrys, again emphasizing raw pork, beaten eggs, boiling, roasting, and colorful gilding. A Noble Boke off Cookry continues the tradition with Pomes, showing that these decorative meatball dishes remained part of English culinary practice well into the fifteenth century.

The broader technique is older still. Roman cookery includes shaped meat preparations served in sauce, and the thirteenth-century Anonymous Andalusian Cookbook includes meatball dishes made from pounded meat, egg, spices, saffron, onion, oil, murri, and aromatic cooking liquids. These sources do not prove that English Pumpes descended directly from Roman or Andalusian recipes, but they do show that cooks across many centuries understood the same useful idea: finely chopped or pounded meat could be seasoned, shaped, cooked, and served as elegant individual portions.

What changes from manuscript to manuscript is not the meatball itself, but the finishing treatment. In some recipes the balls are boiled and then roasted. In others they are colored with herbs or saffron. In Harleian MS. 279, they are transformed by broth, almond milk, rice flour, sugar, mace, currants, and flowers. That makes Pumpes part of a living recipe family rather than a lonely curiosity in the manuscript.

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Historical Background

The name of the dish is part of the story. Medieval English spelling was far from standardized, and related recipes appear under several forms: poumes, pumpes, pompys, pomes, and pomme dorry. The word likely points toward the idea of a rounded shape, recalling the Old French pomme, or apple. These were not pumpkin dishes, but little rounded morsels of meat, shaped like small apples or pellets.

The recipe itself gives one of the most useful clues about presentation: "ley .v. pompys in a dysshe." Five meatballs were to be placed in a dish and covered with the almond milk pottage. This suggests an individual or small shared serving rather than a vague quantity poured into a communal bowl. The optional flower garnish, sugar, and mace also indicate that appearance mattered. This was not merely a way to use chopped pork. It was a dish meant to be seen.

Did You Know?

Medieval cooks decorated savory dishes with flowers centuries before edible flowers returned to modern fine dining. In Pumpes, each meatball could be topped with a small red field flower before serving.

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The Original Recipe

Original source note: The Middle English recipe appears in Thomas Austin's edition of Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books. A modern transcription is also available through Medieval Cookery. Full source links are listed in the Sources section below.

.Cxxxviij. Pumpes. Take an sethe a gode gobet of Porke, & noȝt to lene, as tendyr as þou may; þan take hem vppe & choppe hem as smal as þou may; þan take clowes & Maces, & choppe forth with-alle, & Also choppe forth with Roysonys of coraunce; þan take hem & rolle hem as round as þou may, lyke to smale pelettys, a .ij. inches a-bowte, þan ley hem on a dysshe be hem selue; þan make a gode Almaunde mylke, & a lye it with floure of Rys, & lat it boyle wyl, but loke þat it be clene rennyng; & at þe dressoure, ley .v. pompys in a dysshe, & pore þin potage þer-on. An ȝif þou wolt, sette on euery pompe a flos campy*. [? field-flower. ] flour, & a-boue straw on Sugre y-now, & Maces: & serue hem forth. And sum men make þe pellettys of vele or Beeff, but porke ys beste & fayrest.

Translation

38. Pumpes - Take and boil a good piece of pork, and not too lean, as tender as you may; then take it up and chop it as small as you may; then take cloves and mace, and chop them together with it, and also chop in raisins of Corance; then take them and roll them as round as you may, like small pellets, about 2 inches around, then lay them on a dish by themselves; then make a good almond milk, and mix it with flour of rice, and let it boil well but look that it be clean running; and when you go to serve, lay five meatballs in a dish and pour your broth thereon. And if you will, set on every meatball a field flower, wild campion, a small red flower, and above strew on sugar enough and mace; and serve them forth. And some men make the pellets of veal or beef, but pork is best and fairest.

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Flos Campi: A Flower Worth Remembering

One of the most delightful details in Pumpes appears in the final sentence of the recipe. After the meatballs have been placed in the almond milk pottage, the cook is invited to place a flos campi, literally a "flower of the field," upon each one before finishing the dish with sugar and mace. It is a reminder that medieval cooks valued presentation every bit as much as flavor.

The exact flower intended has been debated. The Middle English Dictionary describes it as:

"a special flour and hath that name for he groweth by himself in places that be nought tilled...and is a litil flour with a small stalk and the flour is reed as blood."

Many historians associate the description with wild campion or another small red field flower. For my reconstruction I chose red dianthus, known in period as the clove gillyflower, because it provides a similar appearance while remaining edible and readily available. Regardless of the exact species, the manuscript makes one thing clear: these meatballs were intended to be beautiful as well as delicious.

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Ingredients in Context

Pork

The manuscript recommends pork over both beef and veal, concluding that "pork is best and fairest." The additional fat in pork helps produce tender meatballs after boiling while also creating a pleasing pale color beneath the white almond milk sauce. Although beef and veal were acceptable substitutions, pork clearly represented the preferred presentation.

Almond Milk

Modern readers often think of almond milk as a recent innovation, yet it appears throughout medieval English cookery. Almond milk was valued for its rich texture, delicate flavor, and brilliant white color. It also allowed cooks to prepare luxurious dishes during periods of religious fasting when animal milk was restricted. Harleian MS. 279 uses almond milk repeatedly, making it one of the defining ingredients of the manuscript.

Rice Flour

Rice was an imported luxury commodity in fifteenth-century England. Ground into flour, it created smooth sauces without overwhelming delicate flavors. The recipe specifically instructs the cook to make the sauce "clean running," suggesting that the finished pottage should lightly coat the meatballs rather than becoming a thick gravy.

Roysons of Coraunce

The manuscript specifies roysons of coraunce, small dried currants imported through Mediterranean trade. Medieval cooks frequently paired meat with dried fruit, producing the characteristic sweet-savory combinations found throughout aristocratic cuisine. These currants contribute gentle sweetness while balancing the warming spices of mace and cloves.

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Household Context

Pumpes was likely prepared in the kitchens of prosperous households where imported almonds, rice, sugar, spices, and currants were readily available. Although the technique itself is straightforward, the ingredients speak of status. Individually plated portions, edible flowers, and imported luxuries suggest that this was intended for the tables of the gentry or nobility rather than as everyday fare.

The instruction to serve exactly five meatballs to a dish further suggests careful presentation rather than simple family dining. Like many recipes in Harleian MS. 279, the finished appearance was every bit as important as the flavor.

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Feast Placement

Pumpes would have been especially appropriate during the opening courses of a medieval feast or as an elegant entremet served between larger meat courses. Its delicate almond milk sauce, decorative flowers, and imported ingredients made it visually impressive while remaining relatively light compared to the heavily roasted meats that often followed later in the meal.

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Humoral Theory

Within medieval dietary theory, pork was generally regarded as nourishing and moist. The warming qualities of cloves and mace helped balance those characteristics, while almond milk softened the richness of the meat. Currants and sugar added gentle sweetness without overwhelming the savory nature of the dish. Together these ingredients produced what medieval physicians would likely have regarded as a carefully balanced first-course dish, intended to prepare the stomach for the remainder of the meal.

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Reconstruction Notes

This reconstruction taught me an important lesson about medieval recipes. My first attempt followed the manuscript quite literally using fresh ground pork. Although the finished dish was attractive and remarkably easy to prepare, it lacked the depth of flavor I expected.

Looking more carefully at the manuscript, I suspect the answer lies in the opening instruction. The original recipe begins with a boiled piece of pork, not raw ground pork. That pork may already have been seasoned during its original preparation, something the medieval cook would simply have taken for granted. By beginning with fresh ground pork, I unintentionally omitted an entire layer of flavor.

Rather than altering the historical recipe itself, I chose to add additional seasoning for modern tastes. At the very least, salt and pepper greatly improve the final result. If I prepare this dish again, I would likely begin with leftover roasted or gently seasoned pork before chopping it finely, preserving both the spirit of the manuscript and the flavor the original cook may have expected.

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Interpreted Recipe

Serves: 1 as a main dish, 2 as a side

1/4 pound ground pork
1/8 tsp. clove and mace
1 tbsp. raisins
1 cup almond milk
2 tbsp. rice flour
Small red flowers (I used red dianthus, known as clove gillyflower in period.)
Pinch of sugar and mace to garnish

Mix together the pork, clove, mace, raisins (and any additional seasoning you may wish), then shape into meatballs. I added one egg to bind the mixture together. Drop the meatballs into a pan of cool water and bring to a boil. Cook until thoroughly done.

While the meatballs are cooking, bring the almond milk and rice flour to a gentle boil until slightly thickened. I prefer a thicker sauce, so I used two tablespoons of rice flour. When the sauce has thickened and the meatballs are cooked, place them into a serving bowl, pour the almond milk over them, garnish with the flowers, and finish with a light sprinkle of sugar and mace. Add the flowers immediately before serving, as they wilt quickly.

As I noted in the original article, this was a very bland dish as reconstructed. Additional seasoning is required, at the very least salt and pepper, to better suit the modern palate. I suspect it would be especially successful using the same seasoning profile found in the lvj. Poumes recipe. Despite its mild flavor, this remains one of the prettiest dishes in Harleian MS. 279, and I would happily prepare it again for a future feast.

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Kitchen Notes

• Authenticity: The recipe has been intentionally left at its original tested yield. Medieval feast cooks can easily scale it using [The Steward's Table]
• Seasoning: The manuscript assumes previously cooked pork. Modern ground pork benefits from additional seasoning, especially salt and pepper.
• Almond Milk: Homemade almond milk produces the richest flavor, but an unsweetened commercial almond milk may also be used.
• Currants: True currants are closer to the manuscript than modern raisins, although either produces an enjoyable result.
• Flowers: Add edible flowers only at the moment of service. They wilt quickly in the warm almond milk.
• Feast Preparation: The meatballs can be prepared a day ahead and gently reheated in the finished almond milk sauce before serving.

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Kitchen Copy

Pumpes (Harleian MS. 279)

Yield:
1 main course or 2 side servings

Ingredients

1/4 pound ground pork
1/8 tsp ground cloves
1/8 tsp ground mace
1 tbsp currants (or raisins)
1 egg (optional for binding)
1 cup almond milk
2 tbsp rice flour
Pinch sugar
Pinch mace
Edible red flowers

Instructions

Mix pork, cloves, mace, currants and egg if using.
Form into small meatballs.

Poach until cooked through.

Heat almond milk and whisk in rice flour until lightly thickened.

Place five meatballs into each serving bowl.

Pour almond milk sauce over top.

Garnish with sugar, mace and edible flowers immediately before serving.

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The Steward's Table

Preparing this recipe for a feast?

Copy the Kitchen Copy above and paste it into [The Steward's Table] to automatically:

• Scale the recipe up or down
• Create a working kitchen copy
• Generate shopping quantities
• Print a feast-ready version

The Steward's Table is designed specifically for historical cooks preparing anything from a family dinner to a large SCA feast.

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Frequently Asked Questions

Why almond milk instead of dairy milk?

Almond milk was one of the defining ingredients of medieval English cookery. Besides producing a delicate white sauce, it was acceptable during many Church fast days when animal milk was prohibited.

Why are there flowers on the meatballs?

Decoration was an important part of elite medieval dining. Flowers, colored sauces, and bright garnishes demonstrated both wealth and the cook's skill while making the table more visually impressive.

Can I use beef or veal?

Yes. The manuscript specifically notes that some cooks prepared the pellets from beef or veal. However, it concludes that pork is "best and fairest."

Why does the recipe taste mild?

The original recipe begins with an already cooked piece of pork. That meat was probably seasoned during its initial preparation, something the medieval cook did not need to explain. Modern ground pork benefits from additional seasoning.

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Continue Exploring Harleian MS. 279

• lvj. Poumes – Medieval Meatballs
• Pompys – Meatballs in Almond Milk Gravy
• Harleian MS. 279 Recipe Collection
• The Theory of Digestion in Medieval Feasts
• The Medieval Meatball: From Rome to Harleian MS. 279 (Coming Soon)

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Sources & Further Reading

If you'd like to explore the original manuscripts and related works, these sources provide the foundation for this reconstruction and are well worth reading.

• Harleian MS. 279
  Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery Books, edited by Thomas Austin
  University of Michigan Digital Library


• Medieval Cookery
  Dan Myers' transcription and interpretation of Pumpes
  View the recipe


• Middle English Dictionary
  Definition of flos campi
  View dictionary entry


• Anonymous Andalusian Cookbook (13th century)
  Comparable medieval meatball recipe
  View recipe


• Forme of Cury (c. 1390)
  Project Gutenberg edition
  Project Gutenberg


• Liber Cure Cocorum (c. 1430)
  Thomas Gloning edition
  Read online


• A Noble Boke off Cookry (1468)
  Medieval Cookery collection
  View collection


• Apicius – De Re Coquinaria
  Project Gutenberg edition
  Read online

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Further Reading

One of the most enjoyable discoveries during the research for this article was realizing that Pumpes belongs to a much larger family of recipes spanning more than a thousand years. From Roman shaped meats served in savory sauces, through Arabic meatball dishes seasoned with saffron and murri, to the elegant English recipes of Forme of Cury, Liber Cure Cocorum, Harleian MS. 279, and A Noble Boke off Cookry, medieval meatballs tell a surprisingly rich story of culinary continuity and innovation.

AI Transparency

This article was originally published in 2016 and extensively expanded in 2026 using the original manuscript, comparative medieval cookbooks, historical food scholarship, and the author's tested reconstruction. The original recipe, photographs, observations, and reconstruction have been preserved while historical context has been expanded.

Papyns: Medieval Comfort Food for Breakfast, Babies, and the Infirm

Papyns: Medieval Custard for Breakfast, Babies, and the Infirm

First published January 4, 2016. Updated June 19, 2026.

Papyns with bread, a soft milk-and-egg pottage from Harleian MS 279.

Papyns is medieval comfort food: soft, warm, mild, and easy to eat. Found in Harleian MS 279, this fifteenth-century dish combines milk, flour, egg yolks, sugar, and salt into a smooth custard-like pottage served “rennyng,” or flowing.

Modern readers may think of it as a cross between custard, cream of wheat, and breakfast cereal. It is not flashy feast food. It is gentle food: the kind of dish that makes sense for children, elders, the sick, or anyone needing nourishment that does not ask too much of the teeth or stomach.

That simplicity is exactly what makes Papyns important. It gives us a glimpse of medieval food beyond roasts, pies, and elaborate subtleties. This is the food of care, recovery, and ordinary comfort.

Why this recipe matters: Papyns shows how medieval cooks made soft, nourishing foods for people who needed gentle meals. Its smooth texture and mild ingredients made it suitable for breakfast, children, the elderly, and the infirm.

Creme Boylede – A Luxurious Medieval Boiled Custard from Harleian MS 279

Creme Boylede garnished with pomegranate seeds

Originally published January 11, 2016. Updated June 2026.

Creme Boylede is a rich medieval boiled custard made from cream or milk, bread, egg yolks, butter, sugar, and salt. It appears in Harleian MS 279, a fifteenth-century English cookery manuscript dated to about 1430, and it is one of those recipes that looks simple until you begin asking what kind of dish it actually was.

Modern diners are likely to read the ingredients and think “dessert.” A medieval cook may have understood it differently. The recipe appears among the pottages, but it also instructs the cook to serve the finished custard “in manner of mortrewys,” linking it to a style of thick, carefully prepared dishes that could function as special dishes or entremets. That makes Creme Boylede a beautiful little category-goblin: part custard, part pottage, part feast-table luxury.

It is also delicious. The bread is soaked in cream or milk, warmed, strained, and then enriched with egg yolks, butter, sugar, and salt. The result is smooth, sweet, and comforting, with the texture of a soft custard and the thrift of a medieval kitchen hiding under all that cream.

Mearh Smeamete – Reconstructing an Anglo-Saxon Sausage Delicacy

Originally served at Ceilidh XVI, March 29, 2003. Updated with additional research, source notes, and modernized interpretation in June 2026.

AI-assisted formatting and editing note: This article was developed with the assistance of ChatGPT for organization, source comparison, grammar, and HTML formatting. Historical interpretation, recipe testing notes, and final editorial judgment are my own.

Mearh Smeamete: Following the Trail of an Anglo-Saxon Sausage Recipe

Sometimes revisiting an old recipe does not reveal mistakes. Sometimes it reveals how much care went into the reconstruction in the first place.

That is what happened when I returned to Mearh Smeamete, a sausage dish I served as part of an Anglo-Saxon inspired feast in 2003.

At first glance, the recipe can look surprisingly modern: pork sausage, apples, spices, vinegar, bread, and a milk-thickened sauce baked together in a casserole dish. It was delicious. It was practical. It worked beautifully in a busy feast kitchen.

But more than twenty years later, with far more sources available online than I had in 2003, I wanted to understand the reconstruction more deeply.

Not to ask, “Was Mary Savelli wrong?”

But to ask:

What was Mary seeing?

Ceilidh XVI, March 29, 2003. The original Anglo-Saxon inspired feast where Mearh Smeamete appeared on my table.

Original Feast Context: Mearh Smeamete was originally prepared for Ceilidh XVI, an Anglo-Saxon inspired feast held on March 29, 2003.

📜 Read the original feast record:
Ceilidh XVI – March 29, 2003

🍎 Explore the updated feast research:
Reconstructing an Anglo-Saxon Feast: Ceilidh XVI Revisited

The Value of Revisiting Old Recipes

One of the gifts, and occasional discomforts, of maintaining a long-running historical cooking blog is that older work remains visible.

Old recipes show what sources were available, what assumptions were common, what questions had not yet been asked, and what tools did not yet exist. In 2003, many of the resources we now take for granted were not sitting one click away. Searchable manuscript databases, digitized dictionaries, OCR text, archive scans, and online facsimiles were far less accessible.

Historical cooks often worked from the books they owned, interlibrary loans, photocopies, handwritten notes, conference conversations, and the generosity of other researchers.

That is worth remembering.

Mary Savelli’s Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England attempted something genuinely difficult: turning fragmentary evidence into dishes modern cooks could prepare, discuss, and place on the table. That work deserves to be revisited with generosity.

A Note on Mary Savelli’s Work: This revisit is not an attempt to correct Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England. If anything, it deepened my appreciation for the care behind the reconstruction. Mary was building practical bridges between incomplete Anglo-Saxon evidence and real kitchens.

What Historical Food Reconstruction Actually Looks Like

When people imagine historical cooking research, they often picture a tidy manuscript recipe waiting to be translated:

Take sausage, apples, bread, and spice...

Anglo-Saxon food rarely works that neatly.

Instead, reconstruction often feels more like archaeology than recipe transcription. Sometimes we have a word. Sometimes we have a medical warning. Sometimes we have a list of foods owed as rent, a monastic rule, a glossary entry, a dietary recommendation, or a later recipe that seems to preserve an older habit.

Sometimes the evidence is literal archaeology: seeds in midden pits, butchered animal bones, shellfish remains, charred grain, hearths, ovens, cooking vessels, residues in pottery, and the ordinary rubbish of daily life. A broken pot, a fish bone, or an apple seed may not give us a recipe, but it can help us understand what ingredients were present and how food was handled.

Other times, reconstruction follows continuity. Roman foodways influenced later European cooking. Anglo-Saxon England did not exist in a sealed jar. Ideas, ingredients, medical theories, trade goods, cooking methods, and elite tastes moved across time and place. Later Anglo-Norman and medieval English recipes cannot prove an earlier Anglo-Saxon dish by themselves, but they can show which techniques and flavor patterns remained plausible in English kitchens.

Food Archaeology Is More Than Recipes: No single clue proves Mearh Smeamete. The argument becomes stronger when several kinds of evidence point in the same direction: language, cooking technology, comparative recipes, archaeology, medical texts, and practical feast experience.

That is the kind of trail I followed for Mearh Smeamete.

What Does Mearh Smeamete Mean?

The first clue was not culinary.

It was linguistic.

In the Bosworth-Toller Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, mearh can refer to marrow or pith, but it is also glossed as a sausage. That single detail changes the way the dish reads. The title is not merely decorative Old English attached to a modern pork casserole. It points toward sausage as a meaningful part of the reconstruction.

The second word, sméa-mete, is glossed as a delicacy.

Put together, Mearh Smeamete can be understood as something like:

Sausage delicacy.

Or, more freely:

A fine sausage dish.

Language Note: The title does not prove that a complete Anglo-Saxon recipe for this dish survives. It does, however, make the reconstruction meaningful. Mearh points toward sausage, and sméa-mete points toward delicacy or fine food.

That was the first moment I began to appreciate the dish differently.

What Was Mary Seeing?

Mary’s note for Mearh Smeamete does not point to one surviving Anglo-Saxon recipe. Instead, she connects several strands of evidence. She notes that sausage is an ancient method of preserving meat, that Roman cooks were making composed dishes with sausage and forcemeat, and that Anglo-Norman cooks continued the practice of baking ground pork with spices.

That is not guesswork.

That is reconstruction from pattern.

And once I recognized that, I began to see Mearh Smeamete less as a single disputed casserole and more as a practical answer to a historical question:

If an Anglo-Saxon “sausage delicacy” had to be reconstructed for a feast table, what evidence could guide the cook?

To answer that, we need to follow the breadcrumbs.

Bald’s Leechbook, Osterhlaf, and Food Clues in Strange Places

One of the most useful things Mary did in Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England was work honestly with fragmentary evidence.

Her reconstruction of Leaxes Hlaf, or salmon loaves, shows this method clearly. Mary notes that Anglo-Saxons served seafood in some sort of loaf or patty form because of the word osterhlaf, an oyster loaf or oyster patty, found in Bald’s Leechbook. She then compares that clue with Roman fish cakes or fish dumplings from Apicius and chooses salmon and oatmeal for her practical version.

That matters because it shows her reconstruction method:

• a food word survives,
• the complete recipe does not,
• comparative evidence helps suggest a form,
• the modern cook makes a practical, transparent choice.

This is exactly the kind of method we need for Mearh Smeamete.

Bald’s Leechbook is not a cookbook, but it preserves food terms, ingredients, and dietary ideas that help reconstruct Anglo-Saxon foodways.

Bald’s Leechbook is a medical text, not a collection of kitchen recipes. But in Anglo-Saxon medicine, food and health were closely entangled. Medical texts used everyday ingredients: apples, vinegar, honey, wine, milk, butter, herbs, grains, animal fats, and spices. They also preserve food categories and dietary warnings that help us understand what people recognized as food.

That does not mean every dish was medicinal.

It means that medical texts sometimes preserve culinary clues when recipe books do not.

Reconstruction Note: A medical text does not give us a feast menu. But when a medical text preserves words for prepared foods, cooking ingredients, or dietary habits, it becomes part of the food historian’s evidence pile.

Sala Cattabia and Bread as Structure

The most suspicious part of Mary’s recipe, at least to my modern eye, was not the sausage.

It was the structure.

Bread in the bottom of the dish. Sausage and apple layered over it. A thickened sauce spooned on top. More bread over everything. Then the whole thing baked as a composed dish.

At first glance, that can feel surprisingly modern.

But Roman cookery preserves a far older world of bread vessels, soaked bread, layered fillings, minced meat and fish, forcemeat, binders, pastry, eggs, sauces, and composed dishes.

One of the most useful Roman parallels is Sala Cattabia from Apicius. It is not a sausage recipe, and it is not Anglo-Saxon. Its importance lies in what it shows bread doing.

In one version of Sala Cattabia, the cook hollows out an Alexandrian loaf, soaks it with posca, a mixture of water and vinegar, and then fills it with layered savory ingredients. The seasoning mixture includes pepper, honey, mint, garlic, fresh coriander, salted cow’s milk cheese, water, and oil. Modern reconstructions often fill the loaf with layers of cooked meat, cucumber, cheese, nuts, capers, onion, herbs, honey, oil, and sharp liquid before pressing or chilling it for service.

Other versions read less like a neat bread box and more like a layered composed dish: soaked bread with the liquid pressed out, arranged with cucumbers, cheese, herbs, honey, vinegar, broth, and savory additions.

Either way, the important point is the same.

Bread is not merely served beside the dish.

It is hollowed, soaked, pressed, layered, filled, and used as the body of the preparation.

Sala Cattabia from Apicius is not a sausage recipe, but it shows bread acting as vessel, absorbent body, and structure in a composed savory dish.

That Roman bread logic helps explain why a stuffed-loaf interpretation of Mearh Smeamete is tempting. A sturdy loaf could be hollowed, lightly moistened with vinegar-water, filled with sausage, apple, spice, and softened bread crumb, then pressed and baked or sliced for service.

That would not make it “the original” Anglo-Saxon version.

But it would be a historically plausible reconstruction built from the same kind of evidence Mary was using: an Old English food word, Roman comparative material, bread as cooking structure, and a practical feast form.

Minutal, Forcemeat, and Roman Composition Dishes

Sala Cattabia explains bread as structure.

Edwards’ discussion of Apicius helps explain the forcemeat, binder, and composition-dish logic.

In the section on fish and forcemeat ragouts, Edwards explains minutal as a chopped meat or fish ragout that could be stewed with vegetables or fruit, highly seasoned, and thickened with flour, pastry, or bread.

That one detail matters enormously for Mearh Smeamete.

Edwards’ discussion of Roman fish and forcemeat ragouts helped explain the bread, binder, and composition-dish logic behind Mary’s reconstruction.

In Minutal Marinum, fish is cooked, cooled, minced, and formed into small cakes or dumplings. Other Apician dishes use eggs to bind, pastry or bread to thicken, and sauces to hold complicated dishes together.

This gives us another possible path for interpreting Mearh Smeamete. Instead of a casserole or stuffed loaf, one could imagine an enriched sausage patty bound with bread, shaped, and cooked more like a forcemeat cake.

Again, that does not prove the exact form of Mary’s recipe.

It shows that the underlying culinary logic was real: ground or minced protein, seasoning, binder, bread or starch, and a composed final dish.

But What About the Sauce?

The milk-thickened sauce is one of the easiest parts of Mary’s recipe to misunderstand.

Butter, flour, and milk can immediately make a modern reader think of later white sauce or French culinary traditions. That reaction is understandable. We should not imagine an Anglo-Saxon cook carefully whisking together a modern béchamel.

But thickening and binding are much older kitchen habits.

Roman cooks clearly understood how to turn liquids into cohesive dishes. In De Re Coquinaria, composed dishes are thickened or stabilized using flour, bread, eggs, reduced liquids, and starches such as amydon (or amulum). Translators sometimes use the familiar word roux as shorthand for these flour-or starch-based thickening systems because they perform a similar kitchen job for modern readers.

That does not mean Roman cooks were making French roux.

It means modern translators were translating the unfamiliar into the familiar.

The more useful historical question is whether cooks in the Roman and early medieval world understood how to bind meat, liquid, grain, and seasoning into a unified composed dish.

The answer increasingly appears to be yes.

Historical Translation Note: When modern translators use words like roux, they are not claiming Romans were preparing later French mother sauces. Instead, they are translating unfamiliar thickening systems into language modern cooks immediately understand. Roman cooks likely relied on starches, flour, bread, eggs, or reduction to bind and stabilize composed dishes.

References to binding and thickening in Roman composition dishes helped me rethink Mary’s sauce as a practical modern translation of an older culinary principle.

Mary’s sauce is modernized for a contemporary kitchen, but the job it performs is historically sensible. It binds sausage, apple, bread, vinegar, and spice into a coherent feast dish.

The Turning Point: I expected the bread-and-sauce structure to be the most difficult part of the reconstruction. Instead, Roman cookery gave me evidence for hollowed and soaked bread, layered savory compositions, forcemeat, bread-thickened ragouts, eggs, flour, and binding sauces. The casserole suddenly looked much less suspicious.

Fruit with Meat: Why the Apple Matters

The next question is the apple.

To a modern cook, pork and apples feel familiar enough that the combination can almost seem suspicious. It is easy to look at sausage and apple together and think, “That sounds like modern comfort food.”

But the pairing is not out of place in the early medieval flavor world Mary was reconstructing.

Ann Hagen notes that Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman foodways show a marked interest in fruit with meat and savory dishes. Fruit sauces, sweet-sharp accompaniments, and dishes combining richness with fruit appear repeatedly in discussions of English food traditions. Fruit could brighten heavy foods, cut fat, and make rich meat or fish more pleasant to eat.

Hagen’s discussion of baked composition dishes and fruit with meat helped explain why apple belongs naturally in a reconstructed sausage delicacy.

In Mearh Smeamete, the apple is doing useful culinary work. It softens the richness of the pork sausage. It adds sweetness without turning the dish into dessert. Alongside vinegar and spice, it helps create the sweet-sharp-savory balance that appears again and again in ancient and medieval cookery.

Flavor Note: The apple in this dish should not be treated as a modern garnish pasted onto an old recipe. Fruit with meat belongs comfortably within the broader English and early medieval culinary pattern Mary was exploring.

Anthimus and the Sweet-Sour-Spiced Meat Pattern

Another helpful comparison comes from Anthimus, a sixth-century Byzantine physician writing dietary advice for a Frankish king. His work sits in that useful borderland between food and medicine, where ingredients are chosen not only for flavor but also for digestion, bodily comfort, and balance.

In his section on beef, Anthimus recommends a slow-cooked meat preparation using vinegar, honey, pepper, wine, and aromatics. This is not a recipe for Mearh Smeamete. It is not even pork. But it shows a flavor family that belongs to the same wider culinary world:

• rich meat,
• sharp vinegar or wine,
• sweet honey or fruit,
• warming pepper or spice,
• aromatic herbs.

Anthimus preserves a sweet-sour-spiced meat pattern using vinegar, honey, pepper, wine, and aromatics.

That pattern matters because it helps explain why Mary’s sausage, apple, vinegar, pepper, cinnamon, and cardamom do not feel random once placed in context. The ingredients are not identical to Anthimus, but the flavor logic is familiar: richness balanced by sharpness, sweetness, and warming spice.

Later Medieval Continuity: Not Proof, But Pattern

Later medieval English recipes cannot prove that an Anglo-Saxon cook made Mearh Smeamete in Mary’s form.

But they can show that the techniques underneath the reconstruction were not alien to English cookery.

By the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, surviving English manuscripts show many of the same culinary habits that make Mary’s reconstruction plausible: minced meat, pork, sweetness, spice, egg binding, bread thickening, baked enclosures, farced meats, and composed dishes.

That is useful continuity evidence.

It does not give us a straight line from Anglo-Saxon sausage to Mary’s casserole. History rarely hands us such tidy little ribbons. Instead, it shows that the underlying kitchen logic remained visible in later English recipes.

Continuity Note: Later medieval recipes are not proof of an earlier Anglo-Saxon recipe. They are useful because they show that minced meat, bread or flour thickening, egg binding, sweet-spiced pork, and baked composed dishes all belonged to the broader English culinary tradition.

Rapeye of Fleysshe

Harleian MS 279 includes Rapeye of Fleysshe, a dish of pork boiled, ground small, tempered with broth, sweetened with honey, thickened, enriched with egg yolks, and finished with spice. That gives us several useful parallels: pork, mincing or grinding, sweetness, broth, thickening, eggs, and spice.

It is not Mearh Smeamete.

But it shows that later English cooks were very comfortable turning pork into a sweet-spiced, thickened, composed dish.

Doucettes and Baked Sweet-Savory Pork

Doucettes, also known from later medieval English collections, brings pork, eggs, sweetness, spice, and baked enclosure into the conversation. Again, it is not Mary’s sausage casserole. But it shows that pork could belong in sweetened, spiced, egg-bound, baked preparations.

That matters because the modern eye often divides food into strict categories: sausage is savory, apples are sweet, milk sauce is modern, and pie crust is pastry. Medieval cookery is not so obedient. Sweet, savory, rich, sharp, and spiced could happily share a dish.

Liber Cure Cocorum and Thickening

Liber Cure Cocorum is also useful for understanding thickening and binding. Later medieval English recipes use words such as alye or ally for mixing, binding, or thickening dishes. Bread, flour, rice flour, egg yolks, amidon, and grains could all help bring a dish together.

This is directly relevant to Mary’s casserole. Her milk-thickened sauce may be a modern kitchen solution, but the need it answers is old: how to bind a composed dish so that meat, bread, fruit, spice, and liquid become one preparation instead of a loose pile of ingredients.

Farced and Stuffed Meats

Later English recipes also preserve farced or stuffed meats, where chopped, seasoned, or enriched mixtures are placed inside another structure. These dishes remind us that medieval cooks often thought in terms of form as much as flavor: stuffed, wrapped, enclosed, thickened, layered, pressed, or baked.

That matters for Mearh Smeamete because Mary’s dish sits in exactly that kind of world. It is not plain sausage on a plate. It is sausage transformed into a composed feast dish.

A Conservative Fourth Possibility: Coffin-Baked Sausage

There is one more possible interpretation worth mentioning, carefully.

Mary’s recipe uses bread in the baking dish. The Roman evidence gives us soaked and layered bread. The osterhlaf clue gives us loaf or patty logic. Later medieval cooking gives us enclosed dishes and coffins.

Today, when we hear “pie crust,” we often imagine tender, flaky, edible pastry. Medieval coffins were not always that. A coffin could be a sturdy paste container, made from flour and water, designed to hold food during cooking. Sometimes the enclosure might be eaten. Sometimes its main job was more practical: to hold shape, protect the contents, trap moisture, contain juices, and make transport easier.

A flour-and-water paste made thick enough to hold meat could become hard and functional rather than delicate and delicious. In that sense, it was cooking technology as much as food.

Conservative Possibility: A coffin-baked version of Mearh Smeamete is more speculative than Mary’s casserole, a stuffed loaf, or sausage patties. Still, it belongs in the range of plausible interpretations because it uses bread or paste as cooking structure rather than treating it only as a side dish.

In a coffin interpretation, the sausage, apple, vinegar, spice, and binder could be enclosed in a thick paste and baked gently. The paste would protect the filling, preserve juices, and help the dish travel or hold for service.

I would not call this the most likely original form.

But as a conservative historical possibility, it is useful. It reminds us that the question is not simply, “Casserole or not casserole?” The deeper question is:

How might an early cook have contained, protected, bound, and served a rich sausage delicacy?

Four Plausible Reconstructions

After following the evidence, I do not think Mearh Smeamete points toward one inevitable form.

Instead, it points toward a family of plausible reconstructions.

1. Mary Savelli’s Feast Casserole

This is the version I served in 2003: sausage, apple, spice, vinegar, bread, and a milk-thickened sauce baked together. It is practical, scalable, delicious, and well suited to feast service.

Its strongest support comes from Roman composition dishes, bread and pastry thickening, binders, later English thickened meat preparations, and the practical needs of a large feast kitchen.

2. A Stuffed Bread Loaf

This version leans into Sala Cattabia and osterhlaf: a hollowed loaf, lightly moistened, filled with sausage, apple, spice, and bread-bound filling, then pressed and baked or sliced for service.

This interpretation treats bread as vessel and structure.

3. Enriched Sausage Patties or Forcemeat Cakes

This version follows the logic of Minutal Marinum, oyster loaves, salmon loaves, and forcemeat dishes: sausage mixed with bread, apple, vinegar, spice, and perhaps egg, then formed into patties and pan-fried or griddled.

This interpretation treats Mearh Smeamete as a small, fine sausage delicacy.

4. Coffin-Baked Sausage Delicacy

This version is the most speculative, but still worth considering: a sausage mixture enclosed in a thick flour-and-water paste, baked for moisture retention and structure.

This interpretation treats bread or paste as cooking technology.

The Important Point: The evidence does not require one single reconstruction. It supports several historically reasonable approaches. Mary chose the one best suited to a feast kitchen, and that choice deserves respect.

Mary Savelli’s Original Reconstruction

One of the things I expected when revisiting this recipe was that I might want to move far away from the original.

Instead, I found myself appreciating Mary’s work more.

Her recipe does not claim to be a surviving Anglo-Saxon manuscript recipe. It is a practical reconstruction built from a meaningful Old English title, Roman and early medieval culinary parallels, Anglo-Norman baked meat traditions, and the English fondness for fruit with meat.

It also worked.

That matters.

Historical feast cooking is not only about what can be defended on paper. It is about what can be prepared, held, transported, baked, portioned, and served to real people at the right time. Mary’s casserole version does that beautifully.

Feast Cook’s Note: Mary’s casserole version is delicious, scalable, and practical. It can be assembled ahead, baked day-of, and served easily in a busy feast kitchen. That practicality is part of the reconstruction, not separate from it.

My 2026 Interpretation

If I were reconstructing Mearh Smeamete today, I might choose a different form.

After revisiting Sala Cattabia, osterhlaf, Roman forcemeat dishes, bread-thickened ragouts, later English pork dishes, and coffin logic, I can imagine several versions.

I might make a stuffed loaf, especially for a dramatic feast presentation.

I might make enriched sausage patties, especially if I wanted something closer to a small delicacy.

I might experiment with a rough coffin, more for cooking technology than eating pleasure.

But that is preference, not correction.

Mary’s casserole remains historically plausible, practical, and very much worth serving. Revisiting the sources does not make her version weaker. It makes the range of possibilities richer.

2026 Reflection: The question is not whether Mary chose the only possible form. The question is whether her form belongs within a historically plausible reconstruction framework. After following the evidence, I believe it does.

Humoral and Historical Flavor Notes

Mearh Smeamete balances richness with sharpness.

Pork sausage is fatty and substantial. Apple brings sweetness and tartness. Vinegar cuts through the richness. Pepper, cinnamon, and cardamom warm the dish. Bread absorbs juices and gives structure. Milk and butter soften the sharper elements, binding everything into a rich feast dish.

In an early medieval medical and dietary worldview, these contrasts mattered. Food could warm, cool, moisten, dry, stimulate digestion, or soothe discomfort. That does not mean every feast dish was medicine, but it does mean food and bodily balance were closely connected.

Seen this way, Mary’s recipe is not simply sausage, apple, and bread. It is rich meat tempered by fruit, acid, spice, grain, and dairy.

More from the Anglo-Saxon Feast Project:

• Ceilidh XVI – March 29, 2003: Original Feast Record
• Reconstructing an Anglo-Saxon Feast: Ceilidh XVI Revisited
• Æppla Syfling: Following the Trail of an Anglo-Saxon Apple Butter
• Leaxes Hlaf – Anglo-Saxon Salmon Loaves

Mearh Smeamete – Sausage Casserole

Serves: 8 as part of a feast

Ingredients

• Butter, for greasing the baking dish
• 3 cups cubed bread, divided
• 1 tablespoon oil
• 1 small onion, chopped
• 1 1/2 pounds pork sausage
• 2 large apples, chopped
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon cardamom
• 3 tablespoons white wine vinegar
• 6 tablespoons butter
• 6 tablespoons flour
• 3 cups milk

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 375°F.
2. Butter a large baking dish. Scatter half of the cubed bread over the bottom of the dish.
3. Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until softened.
4. Add the pork sausage and cook until browned, breaking it into small pieces as it cooks.
5. Stir in the chopped apples and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, just until they begin to soften.
6. Spoon the sausage and apple mixture over the bread in the baking dish.
7. Sprinkle with the salt, cinnamon, black pepper, and cardamom. Drizzle the vinegar over the sausage mixture.
8. In a saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Stir in the flour to make a smooth paste.
9. Add the milk all at once, whisking or stirring until the sauce thickens and bubbles.
10. Spoon the sauce evenly over the sausage mixture.
11. Top with the remaining cubed bread.
12. Bake uncovered for about 30 minutes, or until the top is lightly browned and the casserole is hot throughout.

Cook’s Notes

This dish can be assembled earlier in the day and baked before service. If making ahead, cover and refrigerate after assembly. Allow extra baking time if placing the dish into the oven cold.

For a firmer, more loaf-like texture, reduce the milk slightly or increase the bread by about 1/2 cup. For a richer version, use a good-quality pork sausage with enough fat to season the apples and bread.

Alternate Reconstructions

Stuffed Bread Loaf Version

Hollow out a sturdy round or oval loaf. Lightly moisten the interior with diluted vinegar, apple juice, or a mild posca-style mixture. Fill with the cooked sausage, apple, spice, and bread-bound mixture. Replace the top, press lightly, and bake until heated through. Slice to serve.

Sausage Patty Version

Combine cooked or finely chopped sausage with apple, bread crumbs, egg, vinegar, and spices. Shape into small patties and pan-fry. This moves the dish closer to oyster loaf, salmon loaf, and Roman forcemeat logic.

Coffin-Baked Version

For an experimental version, enclose the sausage mixture in a thick flour-and-water paste designed more as a baking container than a delicate edible crust. Bake until the filling is cooked through, then open the coffin and serve the contents. This version is more speculative, but it explores bread or paste as cooking technology.

Feast Service Version

Mary’s casserole remains the easiest and most reliable option for serving a crowd.

Frequently Asked Questions

What does Mearh Smeamete mean?

Mearh can mean marrow or pith, but Bosworth-Toller also glosses it as sausage. Sméa-mete means a delicacy. Together, the phrase can be understood as “sausage delicacy” or “fine sausage dish.”

Is Mearh Smeamete an original Anglo-Saxon recipe?

No complete Anglo-Saxon recipe for this exact dish survives. This is a historically informed reconstruction created by Mary Savelli using Old English vocabulary, Roman culinary parallels, and evidence from Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Norman, and later medieval foodways.

Did Anglo-Saxons eat sausage?

The Old English word mearh can refer to sausage, and sausage was already an ancient method of preserving meat. Mary’s reconstruction draws on that linguistic evidence as well as Roman and later medieval traditions of minced, ground, or forced meat dishes.

Why are apples included with sausage?

Fruit with meat appears in discussions of Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman foodways. Apples help balance rich pork, while vinegar sharpens the dish and warming spices add depth.

Why does the recipe include bread?

Bread and pastry appear in Roman ragouts and composed dishes as thickeners, binders, vessels, and structural ingredients. Anglo-Saxon evidence for osterhlaf, or oyster loaf, also suggests that bread-based savory preparations were part of the broader food world Mary was reconstructing from.

Why does the recipe use a milk-thickened sauce?

The sauce is a modern practical method for binding the casserole. While the exact sauce is not Anglo-Saxon, the broader principle of using binders and thickeners in composed meat dishes is well supported in Roman and later medieval cookery.

Could this be made another way?

Yes. The evidence could support a baked casserole, a stuffed bread loaf, enriched sausage patties bound with bread, or a more experimental coffin-baked version. Mary’s casserole version is especially useful for feast service because it scales well and can be made ahead.

Sources and Further Reading

• Mary Savelli, Tastes of Anglo-Saxon England. Anglo-Saxon Books, 2002.
• Bosworth-Toller Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, entries for mearh and sméa-mete.
• Ann Hagen, Anglo-Saxon Food: Processing and Consumption. University College London, 1992.
• Thomas Oswald Cockayne, ed., Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England, Vol. II.
• Bald’s Leechbook, British Library Manuscript Viewer.
• Anthimus, De Observatione Ciborum, especially De carnibus vero vaccinis: https://archive.org/details/anthinideobserva00anthuoft/page/8/mode/2up
• Apicius, Cookery and Dining in Imperial Rome, available through Project Gutenberg: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29728/29728-h/29728-h.htm
• Edwards, Roman Cookery of Apicius, especially the discussion of fish and forcemeat ragouts: https://archive.org/details/romancookeryofap0000apic/page/86/mode/2up
• Harleian MS 279, including later medieval English recipes such as Rapeye of Fleysshe and Doucettes.
• Liber Cure Cocorum, for later medieval English thickening and binding practices.

Final Thought: Revisiting Mearh Smeamete made me appreciate Mary Savelli’s reconstruction more, not less. I began with questions about the structure of the dish. I ended with a web of evidence: sausage, delicacy, bread as vessel, bread as binder, fruit with meat, sweet-sour-spiced flavor logic, forcemeat, thickened ragouts, later English continuity, and feast practicality. I might build the dish differently today, but Mary’s version still deserves its place at the table.

Would you serve Mearh Smeamete as a baked casserole, a stuffed bread loaf, crisp sausage patties, or a coffin-baked feast dish?

Milke Rostys – Medieval Fried Custard

Milke Rostys – Medieval Fried Custard

Originally published October 20, 2015. Updated June 7, 2026.

Milke Rostys, a medieval fried custard from Harleian MS. 279. Image © Give It Forth.

Milke Rostys are one of the more delightful dairy dishes found in Harleian MS. 279, a fifteenth-century English cookery manuscript copied around 1430. The recipe begins with sweet milk, eggs, and saffron, cooked until thickened, strained, pressed, sliced, and then browned on a griddle. The result is somewhere between a firm custard, a fresh cheese, and a golden fried pudding.

This is not a modern custard baked gently in a dish. It is a cooked and pressed dairy preparation, firm enough to slice, sturdy enough to fry, and delicate enough to serve as a transitional dish between the heavier meats of a feast and the sweeter dishes that might follow. In feast terms, Milke Rostys works beautifully as an entremet: a refined, interesting dish that appears between larger courses and gives diners a change in texture, richness, and presentation.

The word rostys may look like “roasts,” but in this recipe the final cooking is done on a greddelle, or griddle. The custard is not roasted in the modern oven sense. It is sliced and browned on a hot surface with fat, creating a crisp golden exterior and a tender interior.

Dent-de-Lion: Medieval Dandelion Recipes (Buttered Wortes & Joutes)

Dent-de-Lion: The Dandelion in Medieval Cuisine (Buttered Wortes & Joutes)

Dent-de-Lion: The Dandelion in Medieval Cuisine

“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Originally published May 22, 2015 | Updated June 5, 2026

Updated 6/5/2026: This post has been expanded to current Give It Forth standards with additional historical context, medieval herb use, Harleian MS. 279 interpretation, foraging safety notes, humoral discussion, feast applications, FAQ, and structured recipe data.

Family: Asteraceae
Usage: Culinary, Medicinal
Common names: Dandelion, dent-de-lion, lion’s tooth, blowball, cankerwort, priest’s crown, wild endive

What is dent-de-lion? Dent-de-lion, “lion’s tooth,” is an old French name for the dandelion, referring to the toothed shape of its leaves. In medieval and early modern foodways, dandelion was valued as both a bitter spring green and a useful medicinal herb.

Before dandelions became lawn enemies, they were supper.

Medieval cooks gathered a far wider variety of greens than most of us eat today, and among them was the humble dandelion, known in French as dent-de-lion, or “lion’s tooth,” for the jagged shape of its leaves. Long before people cursed them in tidy lawns, dandelions were gathered deliberately for the kitchen, the physic garden, and the stillroom.

Whether called blowball, lion’s tooth, cankerwort, priest’s crown, or wild endive, the dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) appears in culinary and medicinal traditions stretching through Arabic, Greek, Welsh, French, and later English sources. Europeans intentionally carried dandelions to North America, likely as early as the colonial period, for use as a potherb, medicinal plant, and valuable forage for bees.

In medieval cookery, bitter greens mattered. After long winters and preserved foods, spring herbs and fresh leaves brought color, nourishment, and welcome sharpness back to the table. Dandelions, with their pleasantly bitter leaves and edible flowers, fit naturally into pottages, salads, herb mixtures, and cooked greens.

Dandelion as Food and Medicine

The boundary between food and medicine was not always firm in medieval and early modern households. A useful plant might appear as a salad herb, a boiled green, a tonic, a cooling preparation, or part of a compound medicine. Dandelion belongs in that overlap. Its leaves are edible, its flowers are useful, and its roots appear repeatedly in medicinal traditions.

Historical texts show the dandelion’s importance across several centuries:

• 1562 – Bullein’s Bulwarke: Dandelions mixed with roses and vinegar were described as cooling and useful against excess heat.
• 1587 – The Good Husvvifes Iewell: Dandelion roots appear in a preparation for tissick, or lung complaints.
• 1629 – Parkinson’s Paradisi in Sole: Dandelion is noted among plants used in compound medicines, especially those concerned with cleansing and liver complaints.

That medical reputation helps explain why the plant remained useful. Bitter herbs were valued not only for flavor, but also for what they were believed to do in the body. Dandelion’s bitterness made it part of the wider world of spring greens, cleansing herbs, and plants used to restore balance after winter’s heavier foods.

⚖️ Humoral note: Later medieval and early modern herbals often understood bitter greens through the language of cooling, cleansing, and correcting excess heat or heaviness. Dandelion’s sharp, bitter leaves fit comfortably into this logic, especially as a spring green eaten after the preserved and salted foods of winter.

Medieval Greens at the Table

Medieval people ate a much wider range of greens than many modern households. The word “wortes” could refer broadly to edible herbs, greens, and vegetable matter cooked together. A medieval cook did not need a single fixed mixture. The recipe depended on the season, garden, market, and what could be gathered.

Dandelion leaves are especially plausible in this world of flexible greens. Young leaves are tender and less bitter. Older leaves are stronger and better suited to cooking. Like sorrel, nettles, beet greens, cabbage leaves, leeks, parsley, and other potherbs, dandelion could be used where a recipe called for “good herbs” rather than a fixed list.

This matters because medieval recipes often assume a cook who already understands the kitchen. They do not always specify every plant, measurement, or timing. Instead, they offer a method: gather good greens, boil them, season them, enrich them, and serve them with bread.

Buttered Wortes from Harleian MS. 279

One of the best places to see this flexible medieval approach is Buttered Wortes from Harleian MS. 279, a fifteenth-century English cookery manuscript.

Original Recipe:
“Take al maner of good herbes that thou may gete... putte hem on fire with faire water; put þer-to clarefied buttur a grete quantite. Whan thei ben boyled ynogh, salt hem... Dise brede small in disshes, and powr on the wortes, and serue hem forth.”

The phrase “all manner of good herbs that thou may get” is the heart of the recipe. It gives the cook permission, and perhaps an expectation, to use what is available. Dandelion does not need to be named specifically to fit the dish. It belongs to the same family of edible, seasonal greens a medieval cook might gather, especially in spring.

The method is simple but effective. Greens are boiled in clean water, enriched with clarified butter, salted, and served with diced bread. The bread matters. It turns a pot of greens into a filling dish, catching the buttery cooking liquid and making the pottage more substantial.

🌿 Medieval kitchen note: Buttered Wortes is not a single-vegetable recipe. It is a method for seasonal greens. Dandelion can be one part of the mixture rather than the entire dish.

Pork Custard (Charlette) – Medieval Meat-and-Milk Dish from Harleian MS. 279 (c.1430)

“.lvj. Charlette” – Pork Custard, Harleian MS. 279 (c.1430)Photo: Give It Forth

Originally published 1/16/2017 Updated 10/31/2025

Among the most puzzling entries in Harleian MS. 279 is “.lvj. Charlette” — a firm, sliceable custard of milk, pork or veal, eggs, and ale. It sits at the edge of pudding, cheese, and meat pie: a now-rare style sometimes dubbed a “hard custard.”

The name is often glossed as “meat-milk” (with char “flesh/meat” and –lette “milk”), and similar “milk-meat” recipes turn up in The Forme of Cury and A Noble Boke off Cookry. Medieval diners would have found it robust and nourishing; to modern eyes it can look… challenging. But as a piece of culinary archaeology, it’s priceless.

🥕 Dietary notes: contains meat & dairy; not vegetarian. Gluten-free if using GF ale. Try a mushroom variant for testing.

Lost Techniques Spotlight: Curds-by-Ale & the “Hard Custard” Family

• Ale-curdling, not sweet-setting: Here, hot milk is curdled by adding beaten eggs and a little ale as the acid; the eggs help bind fine curds around minced meat.
• Kin to egg-cheese & posset: The method sits between fresh cheese (acid + heat) and early egg-thickened drinks (posset). Pressing the curds overnight makes a sliceable loaf.
• Savory custards fade: By the 16th–17th c., European tastes shift toward sweet, cream-based, gently baked custards. Savory “hard custards” like charlette mostly vanish.
• Service tip: Medieval directions say to press the loaf and reheat slices in hot broth. This keeps texture tender and adds flavor.

Feast planning: Make a day ahead so it presses and chills fully. Slice cold; reheat in beef or capon broth at service.

Savoury Tostyde – Digby’s 17th-Century Cheese Toasts (The Closet, 1669)

Savoury Tostyde – Digby’s 17th-Century Cheese Toasts (Curia Lunch)

Savoury Tostyde – Digby’s 17th-Century Cheese Toasts (The Closet, 1669)

Kenelm Digby’s The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digbie, Kt., Opened (1669) is a treasure of early-modern foodways—wines, remedies, and practical dishes gathered on his travels. “Savoury Tostyde” reads less like a fixed recipe and more like a method for luxurious cheese toasts: melt “quick, fat, rich, well-tasted” cheese into used, seasoned butter (from cooking asparagus, peas, or meat gravies), optionally fold in asparagus, bacon, onions, chives, or anchovies, and serve molten over white-bread toasts; scorch the top for drama.

Original Text (Digby, 1669)

Cut pieces of quick, fat, rich, well tasted cheese, (as the best of Brye, Cheshire, &c. or sharp thick Cream-Cheese) into a dish of thick beaten melted Butter, that hath served for Sparages or the like, or pease, or other boiled Sallet, or ragout of meat, or gravy of Mutton: and, if you will, Chop some of the Asparages among it, or slices of Gambon of Bacon, or fresh-collops, or Onions, or Sibboulets, or Anchovis, and set all this to melt upon a Chafing-dish of Coals, and stir all well together, to Incorporate them; and when all is of an equal consistence, strew some gross White-Pepper on it, and eat it with tosts or crusts of White-bread. You may scorch it at the top with a hot Fire-Shovel.

Egges yn Brewte (Poached Eggs in Spiced Milk with Cheese) — Gentyll Manly Cokere, MS Pepys 1047 (c. 1490)

Delicate poached eggs in a ginger–saffron milk broth with melting cheese, served on toasted sops.

Originally published 10/20/2017 - updated 9/17/2025

In Middle English, brewte/brewet means a seasoned liquid—broth or thin sauce—used to cradle simple foods. This version from the Pepys manuscript gently poaches eggs and “tempers” the pan with sweet milk, ginger, pepper, and saffron, finishing with shaved cheese. Serve over sops (toasted bread) to catch every drop. It’s fast, elegant, and right at home in our Curia Regis brunch set.

🍳 Did you know? Manuscripts vary. Pepys 1047 specifies milk and cheese; related “brewte” dishes elsewhere take a light meat or almond stock brightened with verjuice or vinegar. Both approaches are period—choose what fits your table.

Source: Gentyll Manly Cokere, MS Pepys 1047 (c. 1490).

Original Text (c. 1490)

Egges yn Brewte. Take water and seethe it. In the same water breke thy egges and cast there-in gynger, peper, and saffron; then temper it up with swete mylke and boyle it. And then carve chese and caste thereto smale cut; and when it is ynogh, serve it forth.

Gloss: Temper with sweet milk = enrich the cooking liquid with dairy; sops = toast laid in the dish to soak the sauce.

Modern Recipe — Poached Eggs in Saffron Milk with Cheese (serves 6–8)

Apple & Curd Pancakes (1682) — A Fryed Meate in Haste for the Second Course

A Fryed Meate (Pancakes) in Haste for the Second Course (The Whole Body of Cookery Dissected, 1682)

A Fryed Meate in Haste for the Second Course — apple & curd pancakes finished with sugar.

Originally published 10/29/2017 - updated 9/17/2025

 In late 17th-century English cookery, “meat” can simply mean food/dish, not specifically animal flesh. This recipe from The Whole Body of Cookery Dissected (1682) makes quick, delicate apple-and-curd pancakes scented with rosewater, sack (fortified wine), cinnamon, and nutmeg. It’s a natural fit for a brunch or as a sweet course between heavier roasts. I originally made these for our Curia Regis Brunch set—now updated to my modern format.

Source: The Whole Body of Cookery Dissected (1682) — “A Fryed Meate (Pancakes) in Haste for the Second Course.”

Original Text (1682)

Take a pint of curds made tender of morning milk, pressed clean from the Whey, put to them one handful of flour, six eggs, casting away three whites, a little rosewater, sack, cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar, salt, and two pippins minced small, beat this all together into a thick batter, so that it may not run abroad; if you want wherewith to temper it add cream; when they are fried, scrape on sugar and send them up; if this curd be made with sack, as it may as well as with rennet, you may make a pudding with the whey thereof.

Notes: “Pippins” = firm cooking apples. “Sack” ≈ fortified white wine (e.g., dry sherry). “Curds” today map neatly to drained cottage cheese or farmer’s cheese.

Modern Recipe — Apple & Curd Pancakes (makes ~12 small)