When people think of medieval beverages, the first things that often come to mind are ale, beer, mead, and wine. Those drinks certainly belonged at many medieval tables, but they were not the whole story. Medieval cooks also prepared fruit syrups, herbal drinks, spiced waters, medicinal beverages, and cooling drinks that could be diluted with water when needed. These are the drinks that fascinate me as a feast cook, because they solve so many modern event problems while remaining beautifully rooted in historical practice.
This medieval spiced pomegranate drink is one of my favorite syrups to serve at feast. It is bright, tart, lightly spiced, beautifully colored, and always well received. It gives guests a festive non-alcoholic option that feels intentional rather than like an afterthought.
Feast Cook Wisdom: I love syrups for feast because they are inexpensive to make, easy to transport, and can be added to water to taste. A small bottle can flavor a surprising amount of beverage, and guests can decide whether they want a delicate hint of fruit or a stronger, richer drink.
This recipe is based on a pomegranate syrup from An Anonymous Andalusian Cookbook of the 13th Century. The syrup is very similar in concept to grenadine, though homemade pomegranate syrup has a deeper, more complex flavor than most commercial grenadine available today. Where modern grenadine is often very sweet and brightly colored, this syrup keeps the tart edge of pomegranate and balances it with sugar and, in my version, a little warm spice.
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.
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.
Originally published: June 29, 2025 | Updated: June 3, 2026
Updated 6/3/2026: This post has been refreshed to current Give It Forth standards with expanded historical context, clearer recipe formatting, feast service notes, dietary notes, FAQ, internal links to the Roman feast series, and structured recipe data.
What are Itria and Basyniai? These two Roman-inspired sweets were served as part of the mensa secunda, the final course of the feast. Itria is interpreted here as a honeyed sesame-and-nut sweet, while Basyniai are small fig-and-walnut pastries fried in oil and finished with warm honey.
Itria and Basyniai in the Roman Feast
The final course of a Roman-style meal was not always a modern dessert course in the strict sense. Roman diners enjoyed fresh fruit, dried fruit, nuts, honeyed sweets, cakes, and small confections, but sweet and savory flavors could appear throughout the meal. A final course might refresh the palate rather than act as a heavy sugary ending.
For the Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast, these two sweets were served alongside assorted fresh and dried fruit and sugared nuts. Together, they offered the kind of small, rich, portable treats that work beautifully at the end of a large feast.
Both recipes are practical for event cooking. The sesame sweet can be made ahead, portioned into small bites, and served cooled. The fig-and-walnut pastries are best warm, but the filling and dough can be prepared in advance, making final service easier.
🏛️ Roman feast note: These sweets were part of the mensa secunda, served after the more substantial dishes of the feast. They pair especially well with fruit, nuts, grape juice, apple juice, lemonade, or other light beverages for a modern event table.
Historical Background
Sesame and honey confections were beloved across the ancient Mediterranean. Greek and Roman foodways both made use of small sweets made from seeds, nuts, dried fruits, and honey. These were compact, rich, and easy to portion, making them especially useful for feast service.
The Greek pasteli and Roman iritia or itria bear some resemblance to seed-and-honey sweets, although ancient food terms can shift in meaning depending on source, period, and context. For this feast, Itria was interpreted as a honey-bound sesame-and-nut confection: simple, fragrant, and portioned as small bites for the end of the meal.
Basyniai reflects another familiar ancient pattern: fruit and nuts enclosed in simple dough, fried in oil, and finished with honey. Figs, walnuts, olive oil, and honey were all well-suited to Roman-style sweets. The result is rustic rather than delicate, but rich, memorable, and feast-friendly.
These sweets also help modern diners understand that Roman final courses were not necessarily the same as modern desserts. A Roman-inspired ending could include fruit, nuts, honeyed cakes, fried pastries, and small confections rather than a single large cake or pudding.
⚖️ Humoral note: Later medieval dietary theory often treated nuts as rich and substantial, dried fruits as warming and nourishing, and honey as warming and drying. Although these are Roman-inspired sweets rather than medieval recipes, the practical balance is clear: dense nuts and figs are lifted by crisp pastry, toasted sesame, and warm honey.
Recreating an Early Roman Feast – Push for Pennsic 2004
Served at Push for Pennsic 2004 · SCA Event · Early Roman Style
Originally published: November 19, 2015 | Updated: June 3, 2026
Updated 6/3/2026: This feast hub has been refreshed to current Give It Forth standards with clearer menu organization, links to the recreated recipe posts, additional Roman meal context, practical feast-planning notes, dietary notes, FAQ, and FAQ structured data.
What was the Push for Pennsic Roman Feast? This was an Early Roman-style feast served at Push for Pennsic in 2004. It was designed for more than 100 diners and built around dishes that could be prepared ahead, transported, and served at room temperature under primitive site conditions.
About This Feast
Another blast from the past! This three-course feast was presented in the Roman style, allowing a diverse selection of savory and sweet items across all three courses. Designed to accommodate over 100 diners, the menu focused on dishes that could be made ahead and served at room temperature, with only a few heated on-site using a grill.
The feast site lacked a kitchen, with only a hose for water access, making this my third, possibly fourth, large-scale feast executed under primitive conditions. Because of that, the menu needed to be practical as well as historically inspired. Dishes had to travel well, hold safely, and make sense for service without a modern kitchen.
This is one of the reasons Roman food can be so useful for SCA and event cooking. Many Roman-inspired dishes are boldly flavored, served warm or at room temperature, and built from ingredients that can be prepared in advance: olives, cheese spreads, legumes, greens, sausages, breads, fruits, nuts, and honeyed or spiced sweets.
The Roman Meal Structure
A Roman-style meal is often described in three broad parts: the gustum, or appetizer course; the mensa prima, or main course; and the mensa secunda, or final course. This structure gave the feast a historical framework while still allowing the menu to be practical for a large modern event.
Gustum: The appetizer course. These were small dishes meant to awaken the appetite. Olives, egg dishes, salads, spreads, sausages, and light vegetables could all belong here.
Mensa Prima: The main course. This was the more substantial portion of the meal, often including meats, legumes, cooked vegetables, and richer sauces.
Mensa Secunda: The final course. This might include fresh fruit, dried fruit, nuts, cakes, sweets, and other small delicacies. Roman meals did not always separate sweet and savory flavors as sharply as modern diners do, so sweet elements could appear throughout the meal.
Many dishes in this feast reflect the rich culinary heritage of Rome, inspired by texts such as Apicius and other classical sources. Some historical accuracy was necessarily interpreted through available ingredients, modern safety expectations, and the realities of cooking for a large event, but the goal was to preserve the spirit, flavor, and structure of an ancient Roman meal.
🏛️ Feast planning note: This menu works especially well for events because many dishes can be made ahead and served cold or at room temperature. That makes it useful for outdoor events, camping, Pennsic-style conditions, and sites with limited kitchen access.
Originally published 5/10/2015 - Updated 5/27/2026
Sugar plate looks simple at first glance: sugar, rosewater, a little water, and flowers. In practice, it is a small master class in medieval sugarwork. It asks the cook to understand heat, texture, timing, humidity, and the mysterious moment when syrup becomes candy.
When I first made this recipe, I worked from the version in Pleyn Delit. I originally associated it with Harleian MS. 279, but while revisiting the recipe for this update I traced the attribution more carefully. In the second edition of Pleyn Delit, the recipe is identified as GK13, which points to Goud Kokery, recipe 13, preserved in Harleian MS. 2378 and printed in Curye on Inglysch.
That discovery changed the way I read the recipe. The original Middle English text does not describe a modern hard candy in thermometer language. Instead, it tells the cook to test the sugar between the fingers, remove it from the fire, stir it, work it, and make the “plate.” That suggests a softer, worked confection may be closer to the historical method, though the hard-crack version is still beautiful for feast display.
Violet petals preserved in sugar plate. The clearer amber candy was cooked to hard crack; the paler version was cooked lower and beaten.
What Is Sugar Plate?
Sugar plate is a medieval confection made by cooking clarified sugar, flavoring it, and forming it into a sheet or slab. The word “plate” here does not mean a dinner plate. It means a flat piece, layer, or formed sheet of sugar.
This is different from sugar paste. Sugar paste is usually a kneadable mixture used for molded or sculpted sugarwork, often involving a binder such as gum tragacanth. Sugar plate, by contrast, begins as cooked sugar and is poured or worked into a flat confection.
In a medieval feast setting, sugar plate belonged to the same elegant world as comfits, preserved fruits, marchpane, wafers, and subtlety work. It was sweet, scented, decorative, and expensive enough to make a statement. A small dish of rose-scented sugar with flowers would have been both dessert and table ornament.
The Source Trail: From Pleyn Delit Back to Goud Kokery
This recipe began for me with Pleyn Delit, but the revised edition gives the source as GK13. That abbreviation refers to Goud Kokery, one of the Middle English recipe collections included in Curye on Inglysch. The printed source identifies the recipe as Suger plate, from Harleian MS. 2378.
Finding the original mattered because it changed how I interpreted the cooking process. The modern recipe gives a practical adaptation, but the Middle English instructions are more revealing about texture and technique.
Original source:Suger plate, GK13, from Goud Kokery in Curye on Inglysch, Harleian MS. 2378.
Modern interpretation: The Pleyn Delit version used for my original kitchen testing.
The original recipe gives several clues that are important for a modern cook:
It begins with clarified sugar.
The sugar is tested between the fingers, not with a thermometer.
The cook is told to avoid letting it become too stiff.
The sugar is removed from the fire and stirred.
Rosewater is added after cooking.
The sugar is worked or formed into a “plate.”
This makes me think the historical preparation was probably not a clear, glassy hard-crack candy in the modern lollipop sense. It seems more likely to have been a worked sugar confection, cooked to a stage where it could still be stirred, handled, flavored, and formed.
That does not make the hard-crack version wrong as a modern feast interpretation. It is beautiful, dramatic, and useful for display. But if I were choosing the version that feels closest to the manuscript process, I would choose the softer worked sugar plate.
Medieval Sugar Stages for Modern Cooks
Modern candy recipes usually give temperatures. Medieval recipes usually do not. Instead, cooks judged sugar by appearance, texture, behavior, and touch. That is why older confectionery language includes terms such as thread, pearl, feather, ball, and crack.
The exact temperatures below are modern approximations. They are useful for home cooks, but historical cooks would have relied on experience and physical tests.
Stage
Approx. Temp.
What It Does
Modern Use
Thread
223–235°F
Forms thin threads from spoon or fingers
Syrups, preserves
Pearl / Blow
230–240°F
Thick syrup, bubbles, stronger strands
Candied fruits, soft sugarwork
Soft Ball
235–240°F
Forms a soft ball in cold water
Fondant, fudge-like candies
Firm Ball
245–250°F
Forms a firmer but pliable ball
Caramels, chewy candies
Hard Ball
250–265°F
Holds shape but remains chewy
Nougat, divinity-style candies
Soft Crack
270–290°F
Forms flexible brittle threads
Taffy, butterscotch
Hard Crack
300–310°F
Sets hard and glass-like
Lollipops, brittle, clear candy
Caramel
320°F and above
Sugar browns and develops caramel flavor
Caramelized sugar
For this recipe, the manuscript clues point most strongly toward the thread, pearl, or soft-ball range rather than hard crack. In testing, about 230°F produced a softer, paler sugar plate that could be beaten and worked before setting.
Humoral Notes: Sugar, Rosewater, and Flowers
Medieval sweets often lived at the border between food and medicine. Sugar was valued not only for sweetness, but also for its usefulness in medicinal preparations, preserves, and digestive confections.
Rosewater adds another layer. Roses were associated with cooling and comforting properties, especially for the heart and stomach. Violets were also often understood as cooling and soothing. A rose-scented sugar confection served at the end of a meal therefore made sense as both pleasure and digestive finish.
For a modern cook, this helps explain why such a small sweet could matter. Sugar plate was not meant to be eaten by the handful. It was a fragrant, elegant closing bite: sweet, floral, and showy enough to belong on a banquet table.
Modern Recipe: Sugar Plate with Edible Flowers
I am including two modern approaches below. The softer worked version is the one I now think is closest to the manuscript process. The hard-crack version is a useful feast-table adaptation when you want clear, dramatic candy with flowers suspended inside.
Ingredients
2 cups sugar
Enough water to thoroughly wet the sugar
2 tablespoons rosewater
1 tablespoon lemon juice, optional, to help reduce crystallization
Edible flowers or petals, such as violets, roses, pinks, calendula, borage, or lavender
Confectioner’s sugar, rice flour, or lightly oiled parchment for preventing sticking
Equipment
Heavy-bottomed saucepan
Reliable candy thermometer, preferably digital
Heat-safe spatula
Parchment paper or a marble slab
Rimmed baking sheet or shallow candy molds
Safety note: Hot sugar syrup is dangerous. It sticks to skin and burns deeply. Keep children and pets away from the stove, use care while pouring, and do not taste until fully cooled.
Version 1: Softer Worked Sugar Plate
This is the version I now favor as the more historically plausible interpretation. It produces a pale, opaque, rose-scented sugar confection rather than a clear hard candy.
Method
Prepare your work surface. Line a baking sheet with parchment, or prepare a clean marble slab. Dust very lightly with rice flour or confectioner’s sugar if needed.
Prepare the flowers. Use only edible, unsprayed flowers. Remove stems and green parts. Petals are easier to use than whole blossoms.
Dissolve the sugar. Place the sugar in a heavy saucepan with just enough water to wet it thoroughly. Add lemon juice if using. Heat gently, stirring until the sugar dissolves.
Cook the syrup. Increase the heat and cook to about 230°F. This is in the thread to soft-ball neighborhood, not hard crack.
Remove from heat. Let the syrup cool slightly, then stir in the rosewater carefully. It may steam or bubble.
Beat and work the sugar. Stir with a heat-safe spatula as it cools. The sugar will begin to thicken and turn paler.
Add flowers. When the sugar is no longer violently hot but still workable, fold in the petals.
Form the plate. Pour or spread the sugar onto the prepared surface before it becomes too stiff.
Cool and serve. Let set fully, then cut or break into small pieces.
The result is softer and more delicate than modern hard candy. It is also more sensitive to humidity, so store it carefully between layers of parchment in an airtight container.
Version 2: Clear Hard-Crack Sugar Plate
This version is less likely to be the exact historical method for GK13, but it is beautiful and practical if you want a dramatic display candy. Flowers suspended in clear amber sugar look like tiny stained-glass windows.
Method
Line a rimmed baking sheet with lightly oiled parchment.
Scatter edible petals across the parchment, or have them ready to add just before pouring.
Cook the sugar syrup to 300°F.
Do not stir once the sugar has dissolved, as stirring can encourage crystallization.
Pour quickly over the petals or into molds.
Let cool completely before breaking into pieces.
This version sets rapidly. Work quickly, and do not try to handle the sugar while it is hot.
Kitchen Testing Notes
My first two attempts at hard-crack sugar plate were unsuccessful. I tested using the cold-water method, but both batches resulted in a soft, gummy candy. After that, I bought a digital thermometer, and the third attempt finally produced the clear amber candy I had been trying to make.
The lesson was immediate: sugarwork rewards accuracy. Humidity, pan size, water amount, heat level, and thermometer reliability all affect the finished candy. Medieval cooks would have learned these stages by experience. Modern cooks can absolutely learn the same skills, but a thermometer makes the learning curve less sticky.
I also tested the lower-temperature version because the manuscript wording seemed to suggest a pourable but not overly stiff candy. That batch was cooked to about 230°F and beaten as it cooled. I added petals of violets and pinks after the sugar began to turn pale.
Both versions were beautiful, and both were approved by my team of test teenagers. I had dim hope there would be leftovers based on the amount consumed by the test subjects. There were not many leftovers. This is, in my opinion, a successful sign.
Which Version Should You Make?
If you are making sugar plate for the first time, I recommend starting with the softer worked version. It is closer to the manuscript clues and gives you a better sense of how medieval sugar cookery worked by texture.
If you are making this for a feast display, a dessert board, or a dramatic final-course sweet, the hard-crack version is lovely. It may be less historically exact, but it creates a beautiful edible decoration.
Version
Temperature
Result
Best Use
Worked sugar plate
About 230°F
Pale, softer, opaque
Historical reconstruction, small sweets
Hard-crack flower candy
300°F
Clear, amber, brittle
Feast display, decorative shards
Flowers for Sugar Plate
Edible flowers turn sugar plate from simple candy into feast art. Use only flowers that are safe to eat and have not been sprayed with pesticides or florist preservatives.
Good Choices
Violets
Rose petals
Pinks or dianthus petals
Calendula petals
Borage flowers
Lavender blossoms, used sparingly
Delicate petals may discolor in very hot sugar, so add them late. For the hard-candy version, scattering petals onto parchment and pouring the syrup over them may preserve their shape better than stirring them into the pot.
For SCA Feasts, Classes, and Historical Demonstrations
Sugar plate is a useful recipe for teaching historical cooking because it shows how much older recipes depend on observation. The original does not give a thermometer reading. It gives behavior: test the sugar, watch the texture, stir it, and do not let it become too stiff.
For a class: Make both versions and let people compare texture.
For feast service: Serve small pieces with wafers, comfits, preserved fruit, or marchpane.
For display: Use the hard-crack version for dramatic translucent shards.
For historical discussion: Use the softer version to talk about sugar stages before thermometers.
For transport: Pack pieces between parchment and keep dry.
For humid weather: Store airtight and avoid leaving the candy uncovered for long periods.
Dietary Notes 🥕
Vegetarian: Yes
Vegan: Yes, assuming vegan sugar is used
Gluten-Free: Yes
Dairy-Free: Yes
Egg-Free: Yes
Common Allergens: None inherent, but confirm flower safety and possible cross-contact
Serving Suggestions
Serve as part of a banquet or final course with comfits, wafers, marchpane, and preserved fruits.
Break hard-crack sugar plate into irregular shards and arrange them on a small plate.
Cut or mold the softer worked version into small pieces once it has set.
Use rose petals for a romantic final-course sweet, or violets for a spring feast.
Package small pieces in paper twists or tiny dishes for an event treat.
...
Sources
Hieatt, Constance B. Pleyn Delit: Medieval Cookery for Modern Cooks. 2nd ed. University of Toronto Press, 1996. See “Sugar Plate,” p. 175, attributed to GK13.
AI Assistance Disclosure: Historical transcription, formatting, and redaction support were provided with the help of AI tools for research and editing. Some images were created or edited with AI tools. All historical interpretation and final text are curated and verified by the editor of Give It Forth.
Capons Salpamentati / Sopramentati in a Renaissance Carnivale First Service
Originally published: September 28, 2021, 12:19 PM Updated: May 22, 2026
Capponi sopramentati, adapted as sliced chicken pinwheels with prosciutto, herbs, cheese, lemon, and Renaissance spices.
This is one of those recipes that keeps returning to my table.
I first prepared this dish during the COVID years, when SCA feasts had largely gone quiet in our area. We had not yet returned to the normal rhythm of events and feast halls, but I still wanted to cook period food for people I loved. So I made a small historical picnic lunch for close friends. That earlier lunch can be found here: Crown Tournament Chez Beauvisage Picnic Lunch.
The dish was a hit then, and it was a hit again when it appeared in my Renaissance Carnivale feast. I was delighted to find this preparation, or something very close to it, listed in a period banquet menu. There is a particular joy in being able to point to a historical menu and say, “Here it is. This belongs here.”
This version is not a strict reconstruction of Scappi’s whole stuffed capon. Instead, it is a practical feast-cook adaptation: chicken breast, prosciutto, herbs, cheese, spices, and lemon, served cold in neat slices. It is economical, elegant, make-ahead friendly, and especially useful in a meat-forward service where a little richly flavored poultry can go a long way.
The Carnivale Menu Context
This dish appeared in the Primo servitio posto in tavola, the first service placed on the table, in a Carnivale banquet menu:
Insalata di cicoria bianca, insalata di carote, prosciutto sfilato, testa di ruffolatto fredda, fette di cedro condite con aceto rosato, zuccaro & cannella, grue arrosta fredda, capperini, capponi salpamentati & salsiccioni bolognesi.
In English, this service included white chicory salad, carrot salad, shredded prosciutto, cold testa, citron slices dressed with rose vinegar, sugar, and cinnamon, cold roast crane, capers, seasoned capons, and Bolognese sausages.
That first service is rich, bright, acidic, salty, and deeply meat-forward. The cold capon belongs beautifully in that company. It offers a composed, spiced poultry dish that can be prepared ahead and served sliced among other cold meats, salads, preserved flavors, and sharp garnishes. The lemons, capers, rose vinegar, and citron are not decorative afterthoughts. They help balance the richness of the meats and keep the opening service from feeling heavy.
Testa di ruffolatto in gelatina served beside sliced caponi sopramenti pinwheels during the Carnivale first service. The pairing shows how cold prepared meats, spice, acid, and texture worked together on the Renaissance table.
A Note on Salpamentati vs. Sopramentati
The Carnivale menu lists capponi salpamentati. In the digitized period text, the word can be easy to misread as falpamentati, because early printed books often use the long s, which resembles an f to modern eyes. Read as modern type, the word is best understood as salpamentati.
Bartolomeo Scappi’s related recipe, however, is titled cappon sopramentato. Are these precisely the same term? I cannot say that with absolute certainty. Historical spelling and culinary vocabulary are often flexible, and menus may use terms differently than recipe headings. What I can say is that the culinary context is very close: a capon preparation, heavily seasoned, suitable for cold service, and appropriate to a formal first service.
For this reconstruction, I chose Scappi’s detailed recipe for cappon sopramentato as the closest surviving practical guide to the capponi salpamentati named in the Carnivale menu.
Source Text: Scappi’s Capon Recipes
The following recipes are from Bartolomeo Scappi’s Opera dell’arte del cucinare (1570), translated by Terence Scully in The Opera of Bartolomeo Scappi (1570): The Art and Craft of a Master Cook, p. 198.
122. To boil a boneless capon
When the capon has been prepared in either of the above ways (skinned and deboned), get the flesh from the breast of another uncooked capon, and a pound of prosciutto and pork fat together, and beat those finely with knives, adding in half an ounce of common spices, a handful of finely chopped herbs, two egg yolks and two ounces of grated cheese. Stuff the capon with that mixture, pushing it into the wings and thighs; sew it up so the stuffing cannot come out, with its wings and thighs trussed, put the capon into an ample earthenware or copper pot with cold water and put that on the fire.
123. To boil and prepare the capon “sopramentato”
When the capon is plucked and drawn, whether stuffed or empty, boil it in a meat broth or else in water with a piece of prosciutto and crushed pepper. When it is done, take it out of the broth and let it drain. Then make several slashes across the thighs, body, and breast. Sprinkle it all over, especially in the slashes, with a mixture of sugar, pepper, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and fennel flour. Let it cool. When you wish to serve it, do so with it cold, with cut-up lemons over it. Before sprinkling it, you can also splash it with rose vinegar.
Authentic Recipe vs. Modern Feast Adaptation
The period recipe calls for a whole capon, optionally stuffed with another capon breast, prosciutto, pork fat, herbs, egg yolks, cheese, and common spices. That is a luxurious preparation, and exactly the sort of thing one expects from a high-status Renaissance kitchen.
My modern feast version is more modest and practical. Rather than stuffing a whole bird, I butterfly chicken breast, season it, add prosciutto and a cheese-herb mixture, roll it into pinwheels, and poach or bake it. For the Carnivale feast, I used a single butterflied chicken breast and a single slice of prosciutto to feed several diners because the rest of the service was already very meat-forward.
This is not a perfect one-to-one reconstruction. It is an interpretation. But it preserves the heart of the dish: seasoned poultry, prosciutto, aromatic spices, herbs, cheese, lemon, and cold service. More importantly, it is delicious and has become a favorite among those who have eaten it.
Common Sauce Spices
First, you will need to put together your common spices. This is delicious, and I use it quite a bit in my cooking. I have sometimes substituted cubebs and long pepper for the pepper and ginger to create a spicier blend.
Rupert de Nola’s Libre del Coch (about 1529) gives instructions for Common Sauce Spices. Roughly translated, the instructions are:
Cinnamon three parts; cloves two parts; one piece ginger; pepper a part; some dry coriander well ground; a little saffron. Be all well ground and sifted.
Testa di Ruffolatto Fredda - Cold Pressed Young Boar in Gelée (Carnivale Feast)
Testa di Ruffolatto Fredda, or cold young boar head meat, was one of the most surprising dishes served during the Carnivale Feast. It appeared on the table cold, sliced, and set in its own natural jelly. For many modern diners, the texture was unfamiliar at first. The flavor, however, won them over completely.
This was not a dish most of us eat regularly. Cold meat suspended in savory gelée can feel strange to modern palates accustomed to sliced deli meats, pâtés, or pulled pork. Yet by the end of the feast, there was none left. The turning point came when someone spread a slice onto warm bread, allowing the natural jelly to melt into it. Then someone else added capers. After that, everyone had to try it.
Testa di Ruffolatto Fredda served alongside caponi sopramenti pinwheels during the Carnivale Feast. Though unfamiliar in texture to many modern diners, the rich flavor quickly won people over.
The Original Source
This reconstruction draws on an Italian jelly-meat recipe from Libro di cucina / Libro per cuoco, a 14th/15th-century Italian culinary text translated by Louise Smithson. The recipe is not a modern head cheese recipe, but it gives us a clear period method for producing a meat jelly from collagen-rich cuts and spiced broth.
XXXI - Jelly of whatever meat. If you want to make a good jelly of any meat: of meat of pork of the woods (boar), take ears and feet and each thing, and capons and partridge, and thrush, and hare, and roebuck (venison), and pheasant, take these things and put these to the fire in part water and part vinegar and when they are boiled and well skimmed, put spices and pepper and cinnamon and ginger and saffron not beaten together, that you choose is enough with the meat. And when the meat it is enough cooked pull it out, until remains the ears and the feet until it is of enough substance. When it is pulled all these things from, pulverize all the meat and spices, and take the jelly from the fire and let it stand, and take saffron and temper with jelly and place the meat into a vessel that you want that is lined with bay leaves and put over this jelly and strain the jelly and saffron with wool (through a cloth). When it is strained over the meat, take sweet spices and mix with this same jelly and pour it above, it should be colored and good yellow, and put with to boil from that which is come together, and it will be a good jelly.
The method is wonderfully practical: cook collagen-rich meats in water and vinegar, skim carefully, season with spices, strain the broth, arrange the meat in a vessel, and allow the natural jelly to set. The result is a cold, sliceable meat dish suitable for display and service.
What Is a Ruffolatto?
At first, the word ruffolatto raised questions. It can look obscure to a modern reader, and it is easy to confuse this dish with other animal-head preparations from the same feast. However, the Grande Dizionario della Lingua Italiana identifies rufalotto, ruffolatto, and rufolatto as a young wild boar, specifically a cinghiale di pochi mesi, or a wild boar of only a few months.
This matters. The dish is not goat. It is associated with young wild boar, a prestigious game animal and an appropriate choice for a lavish Carnival banquet before the restrictions of Lent. Young boar would have offered tender meat, rich flavor, and excellent natural gelatin.
Because young wild boar is difficult to source for a modern kitchen, this feast reconstruction used country-style pork ribs. They were inexpensive, available, flavorful, and, most importantly, produced an excellent natural jelly without added gelatin.
A Cold Dish for a Banquet Table
Modern diners often imagine historical feasts as a parade of hot dishes brought steaming from the kitchen. In reality, many Renaissance banquet foods were served cool, cold, or temperate. Salads, preserved fruits, sliced meats, cured meats, jellied preparations, and composed dishes could be prepared ahead, arranged carefully, and served from the sideboard or brought to the table as part of a larger service.
Testa di Ruffolatto Fredda fits that logic beautifully. It was not a hurried dish. It required time, patience, careful skimming, cooling, and setting. Once prepared, it could be sliced and arranged neatly for the table, making it ideal for a feast with many dishes served together.
Nose-to-Tail Cooking and Banquet Luxury
To modern ears, head meat and jellied pork may sound humble or even intimidating. In historical kitchens, however, collagen-rich cuts were valuable. Feet, ears, heads, skin, bones, and joints were not waste. They were the source of texture, body, richness, and natural gelée.
This was not merely survival food. In an elite context, a well-made meat jelly showed skill. The broth needed to be skimmed cleanly, the meat cooked until tender, the seasoning balanced, and the final dish set firmly enough to slice. It was thrift and luxury at the same time, the sort of kitchen alchemy historical cooks understood deeply.
Why All the Skimming?
One of the least glamorous but most important parts of the process was skimming the pot during the first stage of cooking. As the pork slowly heated, foam rose to the surface. This is normal. It is made up of coagulated proteins and impurities released from the meat.
Removing that foam helped produce a cleaner broth and a clearer finished jelly. The original recipe specifically calls for the meat to be “well skimmed,” and this turned out to be excellent advice. For a cold sliced dish, appearance matters. A well-skimmed broth gives the finished gelée a cleaner flavor and a better look.
Why It Set Without Gelatin
One of the surprises of this reconstruction was that no added gelatin was needed. The country-style ribs produced enough natural collagen to set the broth firmly on their own.
The process was simple but slow. The pork was cooked low and slow until the meat fell from the bones. The meat was strained from the broth, then the broth was allowed to rest overnight so the fat could rise and harden. Once the fat cap was removed, the broth was reheated until it melted, poured over the shredded meat in a loaf pan, and chilled until firm.
This is the heart of traditional aspic cookery: collagen, time, and cooling. No packet of gelatin. No modern shortcut. Just patient cooking and a broth rich enough to become its own structure.
The French Connection
If you have eaten French charcuterie, this dish may feel more familiar than it first sounds. It belongs to the same broad family as fromage de tête, English brawn, German Sülze, and other European jellied or pressed meats. These dishes differ by region and seasoning, but they share the same essential idea: tender cooked meat held together by a savory natural gel.
That comparison helped me understand the dish at table. The sliced testa was not strange once treated as charcuterie. It wanted bread. It wanted something sharp. It wanted the capers that were already part of the first service.
The Surprise of the Table
I will admit that I was surprised by how well this dish was received. This is not something most of us normally eat, and the mouthfeel was unfamiliar to several diners. Served cold, the gelée gives the meat a texture somewhere between terrine, aspic, and rich pork spread.
The flavor, however, was excellent: deeply porky, gently spiced, savory, and comforting. Once someone spread it on warm bread and the gel melted into the crumb, the dish suddenly made sense. Then someone added capers, bringing salt and acidity to the rich pork, and everyone wanted to try it.
Bread had been baked for the sops beneath the crane, represented at feast by chicken, rather than specifically for the testa. Serving warm bread with the cold meat was not the strictest interpretation of the original service. Still, fresh bread had been baked, and refusing to serve it while its ghost lingered through the hall would have been a very naughty thing indeed.
By the end of the feast, there was none left. For a dish many diners approached with caution, that felt like high praise.
How Would This Have Been Eaten?
A dish like this would most likely have been served cold and sliced, as it was at the feast. Diners could cut small portions with a knife and eat them alongside other dishes from the same service. In a banquet setting, foods were not always experienced in isolation. A bite of rich meat might be followed by capers, bitter greens, preserved citron, bread, or another contrasting flavor from the table.
The capers were not written into the testa recipe, but they were present in the same service and made excellent sense. Sharp, salty, acidic foods balance rich meats beautifully. In that sense, the diners who added capers were participating in the same flavor logic that made Renaissance banquet tables so compelling.
Humoral Notes
In humoral thinking, rich meats and gelatinous broths were often associated with nourishment and strength. A dish like this would have been substantial, warming, and sustaining, especially when made from a young animal and served as part of a lavish pre-Lenten feast.
The vinegar in the cooking liquid and the sharpness of accompaniments such as capers helped balance the richness of the meat. That balance between fat and acid, rich and sharp, soft and bright, is part of why the dish worked so well for modern diners too.
Applade Ryalle: Medieval Apple Soup from Harleian MS. 279
Originally published: October 21, 2016 Updated: May 13, 2026
.Cxxxv. Applade Ryalle — prepared in variations for flesh day, fish day, and “for need.”
One of the great joys of cooking from medieval manuscripts is discovering just how flexible historical recipes could be. Applade Ryalle, found in Harleian MS. 279 (circa 1430), begins simply enough with cooked apples strained into a smooth puree. From there, however, the recipe branches into three entirely different dishes depending upon circumstance: one for flesh days using beef broth and grease, one for fish days using almond milk and olive oil, and one “for need” using wine and honey.
What emerges is not merely a recipe, but a fascinating glimpse into medieval adaptability. The same humble apple base becomes savory, creamy, or luxurious depending on the occasion and ingredients available. It is practical cookery transformed into something unexpectedly elegant.
I made all three versions during my original experiment with this recipe, and each one produced a completely different experience. The kitchen smelled gloriously of apples, wine, cinnamon, ginger, and spice — essentially autumn in a cauldron.
Coriander Flavored Marzipan Callishones
Inspired by John Murrell’s A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen (1621)
Originally published: December 31, 2020, 3:28 PM Updated: May 13, 2026
These coriander-flavored marchpane candies, called Callishones, are small molded sweetmeats made from almond paste, sugar, spice, and rosewater. They belong to the glittering world of Renaissance banqueting, where food, medicine, perfume, and display often shared the same sugared tray.
Callishones is likely related to the French calissons, traditionally pronounced roughly “cal-ee-SOHNS.”
The finished candies are delicate rather than strongly spiced. Coriander gives the almond paste a warm, citrus-like fragrance, while rosewater adds a floral note. With a touch of gold at the edges, they become tiny edible jewels fit for a feast board.
Source Spotlight: A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen
John Murrell’s A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen belongs to the early 17th-century English tradition of printed household and cookery books aimed at gentlewomen managing refined domestic tables. These books often included recipes for preserves, pastes, marmalades, comfits, marchpanes, and decorative banquet dishes.
The longer title associated with this work emphasizes learning “the whole Art of making Pastes, Preserves, Marmalades,” which places these callishones firmly in the world of sweetmeats and banquet confectionery.
Callishones were molded or printed sweetmeats made from marchpane paste. The name is related to calissons, almond-based sweets still associated with southern France. In this English recipe, the paste is flavored with coriander and musk, then shaped and dried.
Because almonds, sugar, floral waters, and aromatic ingredients were expensive, marchpane sweets were associated with wealth, banquets, weddings, and courtly hospitality. They were not merely “candy” in the modern sense. They were part dessert, part digestive, part edible art.
A Luxury Confection
In the 17th century, almonds, refined sugar, floral waters, and imported spices represented luxury ingredients. Even small sweetmeats like these reflected access to global trade and fashionable dining culture.
Original Recipe
To Make Callishones - Take halfe a pound of Marchpane paste, a thimble-full of coriander seeds beaten to a powder, with a graine of Muske, beat all to a perfect paste, print it and drie it.
For Pyes of Mutton or Beefe (A Book of Cookrye, 1591)
Originally published: December 31, 2020 · Updated: November 15, 2025
🥕 Dietary Notes: Contains gluten, beef, and dried fruit. Suet may be replaced with vegetable shortening for a vegetarian-friendly option (texture and flavor will differ from period practice).
Kitchen Notes: For SCA feasts, I always post an ingredient-based menu on the kitchen door and tables, and I am happy to accommodate dietary needs with advance notice. Medieval dishes often contain ingredients modern diners may not expect, so clear labeling is essential.
A Note on Historical “Mincemeat”
Today, “mincemeat” often refers to a sweet mixture of fruit, spices, and sometimes spirits—but from the Middle Ages through the early modern period, mince pies always contained meat. The traditional mixture blended minced beef, mutton, or veal with suet, dried fruit, warm spices, and sometimes saffron.
These were hearty, savory-sweet hand pies served throughout the winter and were far closer to a spiced meat pastry than a modern dessert.
Original Recipe (1591)
For Pyes of Mutton or Beefe.
Shred your meat and Suet togither fine, season it with cloves, mace, Pepper, and same Saffron, great Raisins, Corance and prunes, and so put it into your Pyes. ~ A Book of Cookrye Very Necessary..., 1591
Modern English
Shred your meat and suet together fine. Season with clove, mace, pepper, and a little saffron. Add large raisins, currants, and chopped prunes, and place the mixture into your pies.
A Quick Story About Mincemeat & Misunderstandings
At one SCA event where I served these pies, a guest came into the kitchen distraught after eating a mince pie “with meat in it.” She had assumed they were vegetarian, not realizing that historical mince pies always contain meat. The menu—with a full ingredient list—was posted at the kitchen door and on the tables, but modern expectations can surprise people.
This experience reinforced why I am meticulous about posting detailed ingredient-based menus and why I encourage diners to share dietary needs in advance. I can always accommodate those needs when I know about them, and it helps everyone enjoy feast day without worry.
Why Medieval Cooks Mixed Meat, Fruit, and Spices
To a modern palate, combining beef with raisins and saffron may seem unusual, but in the 15th and 16th centuries this combination reflected the height of good cookery. Medieval recipes often balanced warm and cold humors using meat, fruit, and spices to keep the body in proper “temperament.”
Dried fruits brought sweetness and moisture; spices like mace, clove, and pepper added warmth and helped “correct” the perceived coldness or dampness of certain foods. Saffron contributed both color and a sense of luxury. A pie like this was not a random flavor mashup, but a carefully considered dish grounded in medieval food philosophy.
Mince Pies at the Medieval Table
Pies were central to medieval and Tudor feasts. A well-made pie demonstrated the cook’s skill, the host’s wealth, and the kitchen’s organization. Small, hand-sized pies like these were easy to portion out in a noisy hall, could be served hot, and traveled well on trenchers or small plates.
Mince pies appear in banquet menus, civic feasts, and household accounts as part of winter and holiday fare. Rich with meat, fat, fruit, and spice, they signaled generosity as much as good taste.
Historical Background
In medieval and Tudor England, mince pies were part of a long tradition of mixing meat with fruit and warm spices. This blend of savory and sweet flavors created a rich, festive pie that was especially popular during winter months and holidays. The dried fruit added subtle sweetness, the suet added richness, and the spices—clove, mace, pepper, and saffron—brought warmth and luxury.
By the 18th and 19th centuries, mince pies evolved into the sweet-only versions we know today, but in 1591, they were still very much a savory meat dish with a delicate sweet note.
How Mince Pies Changed Over Time
In the 16th century, mince pies were hearty, savory dishes that happened to include fruit. Over the 17th century, the amount of sugar and dried fruit increased, and the spice blends became more elaborate. By the 18th and 19th centuries, many “mincemeat” recipes had lost the meat entirely, relying instead on suet, fruit, sugar, and alcohol.
This 1591 recipe belongs to that earlier, meat-forward tradition. If your only experience of mince pies involves modern Christmas desserts, these will be a completely different—and delightfully historical—experience.
What These Pies Taste Like
These pies are savory first, with gentle sweetness from the dried fruits. The spices and saffron provide warmth and fragrance without overpowering the meat. They’re rich, filling, and wonderfully medieval—best enjoyed warm, and very much a hand pie rather than a dessert.
Why Saffron?
Saffron was one of the most prized spices in Tudor England. It added not only a golden hue, but also warmth and gentle floral notes. Its presence in a pie signaled celebration, hospitality, and expense—saffron was never used casually. A pinch in the filling is a small nod to the luxury this recipe would have represented on a 16th-century table.
What Suet Adds to the Recipe
Suet is the hard, clean fat from around the kidneys of cattle or sheep. It has a higher melting point than butter, which gives medieval pies their characteristic light, crisp bite and keeps the filling rich without becoming greasy.
Rendered suet (tallow) also acted as a preservative fat in winter cookery. When mixed with dried fruit and spices, it produced a filling that stayed good far longer than fresh meat alone. For cooks working with cool pantries and open hearths, this made mince pies both festive and practical.
How to Serve These Mincemeat Pies
These pies are best served warm from the oven and make excellent hand food for feasts, holiday tables, potlucks, or outdoor events. Their rich filling and small size make them ideal for the first or second course of an SCA feast.
If you want to stay close to period service, consider pairing them with:
a hot spiced drink, ale, or hippocras
a simple salad of herbs or “sallet” greens
a pottage or broth as a preceding course
Cook’s Notes
These little pies surprised me with how comforting and deeply flavorful they were. The saffron lifts the filling, the prunes add richness, and the suet gives the mixture the perfect texture. They remind me of other European holiday meat pastries, but with a distinctly medieval soul. If you enjoy this recipe, it pairs beautifully with other late 16th-century dishes and makes a fine addition to a winter or Christmas-themed board.
Context: In Muromachi-period formal dining (honzen ryori), o-zoni is a welcoming soup — a composed bowl of mochi (rice cake), seasonal vegetables, and savory elements in a clear broth. The feast version here uses square kaku-mochi in vegetarian kombu-shiitake dashi so more diners could enjoy it. Regional variations exist, but rice cake is essential.
A symbolic red-and-white salad of daikon and carrot lightly pickled in sweetened vinegar — a bright accent to the first tray of the Muromachi-period Honzen Ryori feast.
Kohaku-namasu represents more than flavor: the colors themselves are auspicious. Red symbolizes joy and protection from evil; white represents purity and celebration.
The dish was introduced from China during the Nara period and became a central feature of Osechi Ryori — the traditional New Year’s cuisine of the Heian court.
Crown Tournament 2019: Mikawa ae (Miso and Sesame Cucumber Pickles)
From the Muromachi-period Honzen Ryori menu served at Crown Tournament (October 19, 2019): crisp cucumbers dressed in a miso–sesame emulsion, bright with rice vinegar and shiso.
Mikawa ae — Photo courtesy of Avelyn Grene (Kristen Lynn)
Originally published 11/25/2019 Updated 11/6/2025
This beautifully simple dish was a standout on the first tray. The balance of salt, sweetness, and umami offered a refreshing counterpoint to the grilled and simmered items.
The redaction draws on Sengoku Daimyo’s Redactions of Japanese Dishes, aligning with techniques seen in late medieval Japan.
Fukujinzuke (red pickles for curry) 福神漬け Photo courtesy of Avelyn Grene (Kristen Lynn)
Originallypublished 10/29/2029 Updated 10/31/2025
Fukujinzuke (福神漬け) is a sweet–salty soy-pickled relish traditionally served with Japanese curry rice (kare-raisu).
Its name honors the Shichi Fukujin—the Seven Lucky Gods—each symbolizing a different virtue.
A classic preparation uses seven vegetables such as daikon, lotus root, cucumber, eggplant, carrot, shiitake, and burdock.
Though curry and fukujinzuke date from Japan’s Meiji era (1868–1912), these pickles trace their roots to far older preservation arts.
Including them in the Crown Tournament Feast provided guests with a glimpse of how Japanese foodways evolved from the Muromachi period’s elegant honzen ryōri to later, modern tastes.
Tsukemono—Japanese pickles—form an essential part of nearly every meal.
They cleanse the palate, add color and texture, and reflect regional produce and technique.
Methods range from simple salt cures (shiozuke) and vinegar brines (amasuzuke) to soy-based (shoyuzuke), miso (misozuke), rice-bran (nukazuke), and sake-lees (kasuzuke) fermentations.
Our fukujinzuke is a shoyuzuke: vegetables simmered briefly in a soy–sugar–vinegar brine for a glossy, gently candied finish.
Commercial versions are often tinted red; traditional homespun ones remain soy-brown.
A sliver of beet can replace the food dye for color if desired.
🥕 Dietary Notes: Vegan & vegetarian. Contains soy.
For gluten-free, use tamari. Omit candied ginger for low-sugar or allium-free adaptation.
Capon Farced – Medieval Chicken with Grapes & Sausage (Harleian MS 279, 1430) | Baronial Twelfth Night FeastTwelfth Night Feast: Spatchcocked roast chicken with “farce” balls and giussel, plus pickled blueberries (a barberry stand-in). Originally published 12/31/202 Updated 10/30/2025
Capon Farced (stuffed capon) is a showpiece bird from Harleian MS. 279 (c. 1430): parsley and suet are parboiled, then mixed with hard-boiled egg, spices, and fruit (grapes “in time of year,” or onions), sometimes with minced pork, to stuff and roast the bird. For our Baronial Twelfth Night Feast, I adapted the recipe using a modern spatchcock roast and served the farce as sausage balls on the side for even cooking and speed at scale.
In medieval dietetics, poultry was considered warm and moist—suitable to winter. Sweet fruit and fragrant spices (ginger, cinnamon, cloves—optionally saffron) moderated the richness of suet and meat. Historically, stuffing kept birds moist at a hearth; for modern feast service, spatchcocking (removing the backbone to flatten the bird) ensures fast, even roasting and crisp skin without drying the meat.
How to Spatchcock (Butterfly) a Chicken
With sturdy kitchen shears, cut along both sides of the backbone (around the “parson’s nose”) and remove it. Flip the bird breast-side up and press firmly over the breastbone until it lies flat. It’s easiest when slightly firmed from the chill; expect a few crunches—normal!
Context. This post expands on Gervase Markham’s early-17th-century candying method from The English Huswife (1623), part of his famous “banqueting-stuffe”—the delicate sugarwork served at the end of elite meals. Candying preserved seasonal produce for winter and created jewel-like sweets for feast courses and subtleties. Below you’ll find Markham’s original text and a carefully tested modern method I use for SCA feast work.
Symbolism of the Turtle (Kame) — Longevity, Wisdom & Protection in Muromachi Japan
Urashima Tarō carried by a turtle to the Dragon Palace (Ryūgū-jō). Image via Kyuhoshi.
Originally Published 10/22/2019 - Updated 10/20/2025
In Japan, the turtle (kame) is a joyful emblem of longevity, wisdom, protection, and steady good fortune. It appears in courtly art, shrine lore, and folktales—from the patient, long-tailed minogame to the northern guardian Genbu (Black Tortoise). For our Muromachi-period Crown Tournament feast, turtle symbolism tied neatly to the suppon hot pot we served: a nourishing dish with deep historical roots.
During Japan’s Muromachi period (1336–1573), when Zen aesthetics and courtly rituals blended with warrior culture, symbolic animals often appeared in art and ceremonial meals. The turtle (kame), long associated with immortality and wisdom, represented the enduring stability of the shogunate and the virtues of patience and loyalty — qualities praised in poetry, calligraphy, and seasonal foods alike.
