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?

Medieval Braised Greens with Peas | Lange Wortys de Pesoun (Harleian MS 279, c.1430)

Originally published December 13, 2015. Updated June 12, 2026 with revised interpretation notes, manuscript-first cooking guidance, modern substitutions, recipe schema, and additional historical context.

AI-assisted formatting and editing note: This article was updated with the assistance of ChatGPT for organization, grammar, HTML formatting, and checklist review. Historical interpretation, recipe judgment, cooking experience, and final editorial decisions are my own.

Medieval Braised Greens with Peas | Lange Wortys de Pesoun

One of the unexpected gifts of keeping a historical cooking blog for many years is the chance to return to earlier work with better tools, more experience, and kinder eyes.

When I first interpreted Lange Wortys de Pesoun in 2015, I was still learning how slippery medieval recipe categories can be. If something was cooked in a pot, I tended to think of it as soup. That made sense at the time. Many medieval recipes do live somewhere near the broad family of pottages, broths, sewes, bruets, and spoonable dishes.

But after more years of cooking from manuscripts, I have learned that a pot does not always mean soup.

Sometimes it means a thick pottage. Sometimes it means a braised vegetable dish. Sometimes it means greens lightly coated in a drawn pea broth. Sometimes, wonderfully, it can be all of those things depending on how much liquid the cook chooses to leave in the pot.

Lange Wortys de Pesoun, from Harleian MS 279, is one of those flexible dishes. It can be served brothy as a first-course pottage, especially with bread, or cooked down into a softer braised greens dish to accompany fish, eggs, cheese, bread, or a larger medieval meal.

Either way, it is lovely.

Lange Wortys de Pesoun, a 15th-century dish of greens, peas, onion, saffron, and broth from Harleian MS 279.

A Note from My 2015 Kitchen: My first version of this dish used beef broth because that was what I had made and had available in the kitchen. Today, reading the manuscript more closely, I would treat oil or fresh fish broth as the manuscript-first choices. Vegetable stock also makes a useful modern substitution, especially for a vegan or vegetarian table.

That earlier version was still delicious, but this update brings the interpretation closer to the wording of the original recipe.

The Original Recipe

The recipe appears in Thomas Austin’s edition of Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books, from Harleian MS 279, dated to about 1430.

.ij. Lange Wortes de pesoun.—Take grene pesyn, an washe hem clene an caste hem on a potte, an boyle hem tyl þey breste, an þanne take hem vppe of þe potte, an put hem with brothe yn a-noþer potte, and lete hem kele; þan draw hem þorw a straynowre in-to a fayre potte, an þan take oynonys, and screde hem in to or þre, an take hole wortys and boyle hem in fayre water: and take hem vppe, an ley hem on a fayre bord, an cytte on .iij. or iiij., an ley hem to þe oynonys in þe potte, to þe drawyd pesyn; an let hem boyle tyl þey ben tendyr; an þanne tak fayre oyle and frye hem, or ellys sum fresche broþe of sum maner fresche fysshe, an caste þer-to, an Safron, an salt a quantyte, and serue it forth.

A Working Translation

Take green peas, wash them clean, and put them in a pot. Boil them until they burst. Then take them from the pot, put them with broth in another pot, and let them cool. Draw them through a strainer into a clean pot. Then take onions and cut them into two or three pieces. Take whole wortes and boil them in clean water. Lift them out, lay them on a clean board, and cut them into three or four pieces. Add them to the onions in the pot with the strained peas. Let them boil until tender. Then take good oil and fry them, or else add fresh broth from some kind of fresh fish. Add saffron and salt in quantity, and serve it forth.

Manuscript Interpretation Note: The recipe does not begin with chopped frozen vegetables and a modern stock cube. It begins with fresh green peas cooked until they burst, strained into a pea broth or purée, whole greens cooked separately, onions cut in large pieces, and a final enrichment with either good oil or fresh fish broth.

What Are Wortys?

Wortys, or wortes, refers broadly to edible greens, especially members of the cabbage and brassica family. For this recipe, kale, collards, cabbage leaves, mustard greens, or similar sturdy greens are more faithful choices than tender spinach or chard.

The manuscript tells the cook to boil the greens whole, lay them on a board, and cut them into three or four pieces. That suggests a dish with soft, recognizable pieces of greens rather than finely chopped greens dissolved into soup.

This is one of the reasons I now read the dish as sitting between pottage and braise.

Why So Many Greens?

Greens appear frequently in medieval cooking because they were practical, nourishing, and widely available. Cabbage-family plants, leafy greens, and garden herbs could fill out a meal without requiring expensive ingredients. They were useful in household cooking, feast kitchens, fasting meals, and first-course dishes.

They also gave medieval cooks enormous flexibility. Greens could be boiled, chopped, braised, strained, enriched with broth, dressed with oil, colored with saffron, sharpened with vinegar, or thickened into a pottage. In manuscript cookery, wortes are not merely background vegetables. They are part of a larger system of economical, seasonal, and adaptable cooking.

Peas in the Medieval Kitchen

Peas are among the oldest cultivated foods, and they were familiar in Europe long before Harleian MS 279 was copied. Roman cookery includes recipes for peas, and medieval cooks inherited a long tradition of using both fresh and dried legumes.

By the Middle Ages, peas were not exotic. They were useful food. Dried peas could be stored and cooked into thick pottages during leaner seasons, while fresh green peas belonged more naturally to spring and early summer tables. That matters for this recipe because the manuscript calls for grene pesyn, or green peas.

Modern readers may picture bright, sweet garden peas. Medieval peas were probably not exactly the same as the tender frozen peas in our grocery stores. Many period peas were field peas: starchier, earthier, and often better suited for drying, boiling, and thickening. Fresh peas were certainly known, but the sweetness and tenderness of many modern varieties are the result of later selection.

Modern Pea Note: Frozen English peas are the easiest modern substitute and work very well. Marrowfat peas give a starchier, earthier result that may feel closer to older field peas. Split peas can be used in a pinch, but they make a thicker pea pottage and change the texture of the dish.

Peas, Pottage, and Texture

The peas are not simply tossed into the pot as a vegetable. They are boiled until they burst, cooled with broth, and drawn through a strainer. This creates a soft pea base that thickens and flavors the dish.

Fresh peas would make this a natural spring or early summer dish. Dried peas could also be used, though they require longer soaking and cooking. Either way, the peas provide body, sweetness, and substance.

In 2015, I treated this as a soup, and it works beautifully that way. With extra liquid, Lange Wortys de Pesoun becomes a comforting first-course pottage. With less liquid, it becomes braised greens in a pea-rich sauce.

That flexibility is part of its charm.

Oil, Fish Broth, and Fasting Food

The final instruction gives two options: use good oil, or else add fresh broth made from fresh fish.

That detail matters. It places the recipe comfortably within the world of medieval fasting and fish-day cookery. It can be made without meat broth, without dairy, and without eggs. With oil, it becomes fully vegan by modern standards. With fish broth, it remains appropriate for many medieval fast-day tables while adding depth and savor.

Modern Kitchen Choice: For a manuscript-first version, use olive oil or a light fish broth. For a vegetarian or vegan version, use olive oil and vegetable stock. Beef broth or chicken broth will make a delicious dish, but those are modern substitutions rather than the strongest reading of this specific recipe.

Lange Wortys de Pesoun: Medieval Greens with Peas

Serves: 8 as a first-course pottage or side dish

Ingredients

• 2 cups (280 g) fresh or frozen green peas
• 2 cups (480 ml) light fish broth, vegetable stock, or water, plus more as needed
• 1 large onion, peeled and cut into halves or thirds
• 1 1/2 pounds (680 g) sturdy greens such as kale, collards, cabbage leaves, or mustard greens
• 2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil, or additional fresh fish broth
• Pinch of saffron
• Salt, to taste

Method

1. Place the peas in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook until the peas are very soft and beginning to burst.
2. Drain the peas, then combine them with 1 cup (240 ml) of the broth, stock, or water. Let them cool slightly.
3. Mash the peas well or blend briefly. Press them through a strainer for a smoother medieval-style drawn pea base.
4. Bring a separate pot of clean water to a boil. Add the whole greens and cook until softened.
5. Lift the greens from the water, drain well, and lay them on a board. Cut them into three or four large pieces.
6. Place the strained peas in a clean pot. Add the onion pieces and enough broth, stock, or water to make a thick pottage or loose sauce.
7. Add the cooked greens. Simmer until the onions and greens are tender.
8. Stir in the olive oil, or add fresh fish broth if using that option. Add saffron and salt to taste.
9. Serve warm. Leave it brothy for a pottage, or cook it down slightly for a braised greens dish.

Modern Kitchen Notes

For a brothy pottage: Add more liquid and serve with bread. This version works well as a first-course dish.

For braised greens: Use less liquid and cook the dish gently until the pea base lightly coats the greens.

For a vegan version: Use olive oil and vegetable stock or water.

For a fish-day version: Use a light fresh fish broth. Avoid a broth that is too strong or oily, since the greens and peas are delicate.

For dried peas: Soak dried green or marrowfat peas overnight, then cook until very soft before straining. The cooking time will be much longer than with fresh or frozen peas.

For softer greens: Spinach or chard may be used in a modern kitchen, but they cook down quickly and do not behave quite like sturdier medieval wortes.

How I Would Serve It

This dish belongs beautifully in a first course. It can sit beside bread, fish, eggs, or mild cheese. For a feast table, I would serve it in a broad dish with enough pea broth to keep it moist, but not so much that the greens disappear into soup.

For a spring-inspired first course, I can imagine Lange Wortys de Pesoun served with a light fish dish such as tench prepared one of three ways, fresh bread for sopping, simple egg dishes, and a mild cheese.

That gives the table variety without heaviness: greens, peas, fish, bread, eggs, and cheese. It is simple, seasonal, and very satisfying.

Feast Planning Note: This is an economical first-course dish. Peas and greens stretch well, the recipe can be made meatless, and the final texture can be adjusted depending on the rest of the menu. Serve it looser if the course needs a pottage, or thicker if you need a vegetable accompaniment.

Humoral and Historical Flavor Notes

Medieval medical and dietary thought often understood foods through qualities such as hot, cold, moist, and dry. Greens were often treated as cooling and moistening. Peas added substance and nourishment, but could also be considered heavy if not well cooked. Onion brought warmth. Saffron was warming and aromatic. Oil added richness and moisture, while fish broth made the dish more savory without turning it into a meat-day preparation.

Read this way, Lange Wortys de Pesoun is not merely greens and peas in a pot. It is a balanced preparation: green, soft, nourishing, lightly sweet, gently aromatic, and suitable for a fasting or first-course table.

The long cooking and straining of the peas also matters. It softens what might otherwise be a coarse legume and turns it into a gentle base for the greens. The saffron and onion lift the dish from plain boiled vegetables into something warmer, more fragrant, and more feast-worthy.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is Lange Wortys de Pesoun a soup?

It can be served as a soup-like pottage, especially if more broth is added. The manuscript also supports a thicker braised interpretation, where the strained peas coat the greens rather than surrounding them with liquid.

What does “wortys” mean?

Wortys, or wortes, refers to edible greens. In this recipe, sturdy brassica greens such as kale, collards, cabbage leaves, or mustard greens are good choices.

What kind of peas should I use?

Fresh peas are closest to the wording of the recipe, but frozen English peas are the easiest modern substitute. Marrowfat peas give a starchier result. Split peas can be used, but they will make the dish thicker and closer to pea pottage.

Should this recipe use beef broth?

The manuscript specifies good oil or fresh fish broth. Beef broth can make a tasty modern version, and I used it in my earlier interpretation because I had homemade beef broth available, but it is not the manuscript-first choice.

Can this be made vegan?

Yes. Use olive oil and vegetable stock or water. The oil option in the manuscript makes this one of the easier Harleian recipes to adapt for a vegan table.

Can I use frozen peas?

Yes. Frozen peas are an excellent modern substitute for fresh green peas. Cook them until soft, then mash or blend and strain them to create the pea base.

Is this a Lenten dish?

It fits comfortably with Lenten or fasting food because it can be made with oil or fish broth rather than meat broth, dairy, or eggs.

More Medieval Greens and Wortys Recipes

• Medieval Wortys: A Harleian MS 279 Greens Recipe Hub
• Lange Wortys de Chare: Medieval Greens in Broth
• Whyte Wortes: White Greens from Harleian MS 279
• Joutes: Braised Greens from Harleian MS 279
• Browse More Greens Recipes

Sources and Further Reading

• Thomas Austin, ed., Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books, Harleian MS 279 and Harleian MS 4016.
• Harleian MS 279, c.1430.
• Additional interpretation based on practical cooking experience with medieval pottages, sewes, bruets, greens, and drawn dishes.

Final Thought: Revisiting this recipe reminded me why old posts are worth preserving and updating. My 2015 version captured the pleasure of the dish. My 2026 reading understands the manuscript more carefully. Between the two is the real work of historical cooking: learning, cooking, returning, and learning again.

Would you serve Lange Wortys de Pesoun as a brothy first-course pottage, or as braised greens beside the rest of the meal?

Hidden tags: Lange Wortys de Pesoun, Lange Wortes de Pesoun, Harleian MS 279, medieval greens recipe, medieval peas recipe, wortes, wortys, pottage, medieval pottage, braised greens, Lenten recipe, fasting food, vegan medieval recipe, vegetarian medieval recipe, saffron, onion, beans and legumes, 15th century English cookery, manuscript cookery, medieval vegetables, historical food research, medieval peas, field peas, marrowfat peas, first course medieval meal

Let Lory (Larded Milk): Medieval English Custard Recipe | Harleian MS 279

Let Lory, also called larded milk, from Harleian MS 279

First Published: February 8, 2017
Updated: June 2026

Few medieval dishes feel as curious and unexpected to modern diners as Let Lory, sometimes called larded milk. Found in Harleian MS 279, dated to about 1430, this unusual English dish sits somewhere between a soft custard, a fresh cheese, and a delicate entremet. Milk scented with saffron is gently curdled with eggs, drained, and dressed with a warm sauce of sweetened yolks and warming spices.

To modern eyes, Let Lory may appear unusual, yet medieval cooks seem to have delighted in dishes of curdled milk and eggs. Similar preparations appear across Europe, from the English Forme of Cury recipe for Letelorye to French recipes for larded milk. These dishes blurred the line between custard, cheese, and composed delicacy.

Rather than a hearty pottage or broth of the first course, Let Lory feels especially at home among the entremets, the often-overlooked dishes served between courses to delight guests and shift the rhythm of the feast. Soft, rich, and lightly perfumed with saffron and spice, it makes an excellent conversation piece for historical dinners, reenactment feasts, or anyone curious about the stranger corners of medieval cookery.

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.

Welcome to Give It Forth – Medieval Cooking, Historical Recipes & Manuscript Interpretation

Welcome to Give It Forth – Medieval Cooking, Historical Recipes, and Manuscript Cookery

Originally published in 2015 | Updated June 2026

Welcome to Give It Forth. If you found your way here, I am guessing you have an interest in food, history, old recipes, feast tables, herbs, gardens, or some wonderful combination of all of those things. Pull up a chair. There is usually something simmering.

In the Society for Creative Anachronism, I am known as Mistress Bronwyn ni Mhathain. When this blog began, I was still finding my way through the recipes, feasts, and historical food questions that had captured my imagination. Since then, I have become a Laurel in Cooking Research in the SCA, and I host the Historic Cookery group on Facebook, where cooks, researchers, reenactors, and curious food-history people gather to ask questions, share sources, and puzzle through old recipes together.

Give It Forth began in 2015 as a place to keep track of what I was doing: experiments, feasts, almost-feasts, ideas, gardens, herblore, herbcraft, and my ongoing attempts to make historical recipes understandable for modern cooks. Over the years, it has grown into a long-running historical cookery project focused on medieval recipes, early historical foodways, manuscript interpretation, feast planning, redactions, and practical cooking for real kitchens and real events.

Where This Project Began

I learned to cook with my grandmother and my mom. That matters, because this project has always lived somewhere between the kitchen table and the manuscript page. It is research, yes, but it is also memory, practice, curiosity, and the stubborn belief that old recipes deserve to be cooked, tasted, questioned, and shared.

One of the central texts behind this blog is 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 book was the last book my mom gave to me before she passed. She had helped me when I was creating feasts in my earliest years in the SCA, and we had wanted to work through these recipes together. At the time, neither of us was able to interpret them confidently.

Give It Forth became, in part, my way of continuing that work.

Why the name Give It Forth? Historical recipes do not truly come alive until they are tested, tasted, shared, and discussed. This blog is about taking what survives in manuscripts and early printed books, working through it in a modern kitchen, and giving it forth again.

What You Will Find Here

This blog is not only a recipe collection. It is a working notebook, feast archive, research cabinet, kitchen diary, and historical rabbit hole with crumbs in the margins.

Here you will find:

• Medieval and early historical recipes translated, interpreted, and adapted for modern kitchens.
• Harleian MS 279 and other manuscript cookery projects with attention to wording, ingredients, method, and context.
• SCA feast planning and feast documentation including menus, service notes, scaling, and lessons learned.
• Ancient, medieval, Tudor, Renaissance, and early modern foodways explored through practical cooking.
• Herbs, gardens, and seasonal food preservation because the kitchen does not begin at the stove.
• Camp and event cooking notes for people trying to serve historical food under less-than-perfect conditions.

Research, Redaction, and Real Food

My goal is to make historical recipes approachable without flattening them into modern food with old-fashioned names. A good redaction should ask what the source says, what the words meant, what ingredients were likely intended, what techniques were available, and how a modern cook can responsibly bring that dish to the table.

Sometimes that means keeping a dish simple. Sometimes it means admitting uncertainty. Sometimes it means revisiting an older interpretation and saying, “I would do this differently now.” That is not failure. That is how living research works.

Historical cooking is full of small mysteries: a verb that could mean more than one thing, a spice mixture that shifts by source, a manuscript recipe with no measurements, a dish that makes sense only when placed back into its course or feast setting. Those are the puzzles I love.

📜 Manuscript cookery note: Many medieval recipes are instructions written for cooks who already knew the kitchen. They often omit quantities, temperatures, and detailed steps. The work of redaction is not just translation. It is interpretation, testing, and practical judgment.

For Cooks, Researchers, and the Historically Curious

Whether you are an SCA cook planning a feast, a home cook curious about medieval food, a reenactor looking for practical dishes, a gardener interested in herbs, or a researcher chasing down one stubborn ingredient, I hope you find something useful here.

I try to write for the person standing between a source text and a cutting board. That means I care about historical context, but I also care about whether the dish can be cooked, served, transported, scaled, and eaten by real people.

Some posts are polished recipes. Some are feast records. Some are experiments. Some are old posts being revisited with better tools, better sources, and a few more years of cooking behind me. The archive is part research trail, part kitchen road map, and part invitation.

A Note of Thanks

I am still pleasantly surprised by how this blog has grown. To those who have subscribed, shared interpretations, cooked from the recipes, asked questions, pointed me toward sources, or helped make this project better: thank you.

Give It Forth began as a personal project, but it has become a community-facing one. Every question, feast, class, conversation, correction, and kitchen experiment has helped shape it.

Here is to the next chapter, the next manuscript puzzle, the next feast table, and the next dish worth giving forth.

Enjoy!

Yonnie

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New here?

You may enjoy starting with these areas of the blog:

• Start Here: Historical Recipes for the Modern Cook
• Harleian MS. 279 (ab 1430)
• Browse Recipes by Era
• Feast Planning Resources and Downloads
• Historical Herbal and Culinary Resources

AI Assistance Disclosure: This updated introduction was revised with the help of AI tools for structure, clarity, formatting, and SEO support. The personal history, research direction, historical interpretation, and final editorial choices are by the author of Give It Forth.

Krambe – Roman Cabbage with Caraway, Fish Sauce, and Herbs

Course: Mensa Prima (Main Course / Vegetable Side)
Origin: Ancient Rome
Served: Warm or cold
Event: Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast

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 updated structured recipe data.

What is Krambe? Krambe is cabbage, a humble but important vegetable in the Roman diet. This Roman-inspired version is boiled until tender, chopped, and dressed with olive oil, wine, liquamen or fish sauce, caraway, onion, coriander, salt, and pepper.

Krambe in the Roman Feast

This cabbage dish was served as part of the Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast, where it appeared in the mensa prima, the more substantial part of the meal. After the opening course of olives, flatbread, sausages, cucumbers, and cheese spread, dishes like cabbage, chickpeas, and smoked ham gave the feast its heartier center.

Krambe works especially well for large feast service because it is inexpensive, sturdy, and flexible. It can be served warm, cooled, or chilled, and its dressing gives a plain vegetable enough brightness to stand beside richer Roman-inspired dishes.

The combination of olive oil, wine, fish sauce, onion, caraway, and herbs gives the cabbage a sharp, savory flavor. It is not a modern mayonnaise-based cabbage salad. It is closer to a dressed cooked vegetable: tender, seasoned, aromatic, and practical for event cooking.

🏛️ Roman feast note: Krambe pairs well with Lucanicae, Erebinthoi Knakosymmigeis, and Petaso paro Mustacei. Its acidity and herbs help balance the richer dishes on the table.

Historical Background

“Krambe,” from Greek krambē, refers to cabbage, a vegetable that appears frequently in discussions of ancient food and medicine. Cabbage was a common food, but it also carried a strong reputation as a useful household remedy.

Roman authors such as Cato the Elder praised cabbage for its supposed medicinal properties. In De Agricultura, Cato gives cabbage an almost heroic place among garden plants, treating it as useful for digestion, health, and recovery. Whether or not we accept those claims today, they show how seriously Romans could regard an ordinary vegetable.

Apicius also includes cabbage preparations, reminding us that cabbage was not only medicinal or humble. It could be dressed, seasoned, and brought to table as part of a flavorful meal. Roman cooks often relied on combinations of oil, wine, vinegar or wine-based liquids, herbs, spices, and liquamen to make simple ingredients lively.

This version reflects that Roman habit of treating vegetables with strong seasoning. The fish sauce provides salt and depth, the wine sharpens the dressing, the olive oil enriches the cabbage, and the caraway gives a warm aromatic note.

⚖️ Humoral note: Later medieval dietary theory often treated cabbage as a vegetable that could be heavy or windy if poorly prepared. Boiling, draining, seasoning, and dressing it with warming spices and sharp liquids would have made practical sense to later cooks, even though this recipe is Roman-inspired rather than medieval.

Itria – Sesame Seed Biscuit & Basyniai – Fig and Walnut Cakes: Ancient Roman Sweets

Course: Mensa Secunda (Final Course / Dessert)
Origin: Ancient Rome
Served: Itria cooled; Basyniai warm
Event: Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast

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.