🍊 Oranges after the Portugal Fashion - Candied Renaissance Oranges (Sir Hugh Plat, 1609)

Originally published 1/18/2015 - Updated 9/10/2025 - Refreshed 5/27/2026

Imagine being served what appears to be a glossy orange at a Renaissance banquet, only to discover that it has been boiled, candied in sugar syrup, filled with marmalade, and sliced open like a jewel-bright hard-boiled egg. Sir Hugh Plat’s Delights for Ladies (1609) preserves exactly that kind of culinary theater in his recipe “To preserve Orenges after the Portugall fashion.”

This is not a simple orange preserve. It is edible display. Whole oranges are softened, sweetened, filled with a stiff orange marmalade made from their own pulp, returned to syrup, and then served in slices. Plat promises that the finished fruit “will cut like an hard egge,” which is one of those historical recipe instructions that sounds impossible until you see it happen on the plate.

I have served these at feast, and one of the best things about them was that people thought they were table decorations. They sat on the table looking so bright, polished, and ornamental that diners did not immediately realize they were meant to be eaten. The servers had to explain that yes, the oranges were part of the menu. That moment is exactly why this recipe matters. It shows how Renaissance sweets could blur the line between food, decoration, luxury, and conversation piece.

Best historical choice: use Seville or bitter oranges if you can find them. I first made this recipe with ordinary sweet oranges, which worked, but later a generous member of the historical food community sent me bitter oranges and helped refine the quantities. I wish I could remember whether it was Ken Albala or David Friedman, but I remain deeply grateful for the opportunity. The bitter orange version was, to my taste, far better: more balanced, less cloying, firmer in set, and much closer to what Plat seems to describe.

Whole oranges simmering in sugar syrup. Plat’s method creates both candied fruit and marmalade in one showpiece.

Why This Recipe Matters

Plat’s preserved oranges are a perfect example of early modern English banquet culture. By the late 16th and early 17th centuries, elite tables used sugar, preserved fruits, marchpane, comfits, and molded sweets to display wealth and skill. These foods were often served in a banquet course, not necessarily as the main meal, but as a refined display of delicacy, hospitality, and status.

The phrase “after the Portugall fashion” is especially interesting. Portugal was strongly associated with citrus, sugar, maritime trade, and fashionable imported luxuries. Sweet oranges were sometimes linked with Portuguese trade and cultivation, while bitter oranges remained especially useful in preserves and marmalades because of their peel, acidity, bitterness, and natural pectin. In a recipe like this, the name signals more than geography. It suggests refinement, foreign fashion, and an expensive style of sweetmaking.

It is also worth remembering that “marmalade” did not always mean the soft breakfast spread we know today. Early marmalades were often stiff fruit pastes, closer to quince paste or fruit cheese. Plat’s instruction that the oranges should slice “like a hard egg” makes much more sense when we imagine a firm, sliceable citrus paste tucked inside the candied peel.

Historical Recipe

To preſerue Orenges after the Portugall faſhion. Take Orenges & coare them on the ſide and lay them in water, then boile them in fair water til they be tender, ſhift them in the boyling to take away their bitterneſſe, then take ſugar and boyle it to the height of ſirup as much as will couer them, and ſo put your Orenges into it, and that will make them take ſugar. If you haue 24. Orenges, beate 8. of them till they come to a paſte with a pounde of fine ſugar, then fill euery one of the other Orenges with the ſame, and ſo boile them again in your ſirup: then there will be marmelade of orenges with your orenges, & it will cut like an hard egge.

- Sir Hugh Plat, Delights for Ladies (1609)

Modernized Transcription

To preserve oranges after the Portugal fashion: core each orange on the side and soak them in water. Boil them in clean water until they are tender, changing the water during boiling to reduce their bitterness. Then boil sugar to a syrup, enough to cover the oranges, and put the oranges into it so they take sugar. If you have 24 oranges, beat 8 of them to a paste with a pound of fine sugar, then fill each of the remaining oranges with that paste. Boil them again in the syrup. Then there will be marmalade of oranges within your oranges, and it will cut like a hard egg.

Bitter Oranges vs. Sweet Oranges

If you can find them, Seville oranges, also sold as bitter oranges, sour oranges, marmalade oranges, or sometimes naranja agria, are the best choice for this recipe. They are more bitter than supermarket navel or Valencia oranges, but that bitterness is exactly what makes the preserve work. The sharpness balances the sugar and gives the finished confection a much more complex flavor.

Bitter oranges also behave better in the kitchen. Their peel is well suited to candying, and their higher pectin helps the marmalade filling set firmly. Sweet oranges can certainly be used, and I include a sweet-orange adaptation below, but they tend to produce a softer, juicier filling unless the pulp is drained and cooked down.

Factor	Seville / Bitter Oranges	Sweet Oranges
Historical fit	Best choice	Modern adaptation
Flavor	Bittersweet, complex, aromatic	Milder and sweeter
Pectin	Higher, firmer set	Lower, softer filling
Best use	Historical recreation and feast display	Accessible home version

Where to look: Seville or sour oranges are often seasonal, usually appearing in winter. Try Latin American groceries, Mediterranean or Middle Eastern markets, specialty produce shops, or online citrus growers. If you see “marmalade oranges,” those are usually exactly what you want.

Humoral and Feast Notes

In early modern food theory, oranges were often understood as cooling and drying, with bitter or sour oranges especially valued for cutting richness and stimulating appetite. This makes them a sensible banquet sweet after heavy meats, sauces, and rich dishes. The sugar, while luxurious, was also treated as useful in preservation and digestion, not merely as indulgence.

For a feast table, these oranges work beautifully as an entremet, subtlety, or banquet-course confection. They can sit among marchpane, comfits, candied peels, preserved fruits, wafers, or hippocras. They are especially effective because they do not immediately announce themselves as food. They invite the diner to ask: “Is that decoration?” And then the feast begins to talk back.

Cold Roasted Crane (Chicken Adaptation) – Domenico Romoli’s Carnivale Feast (1560)

Cold Roasted Crane (Chicken Adaptation) – Pollo Arrosto alla Maniera di Gru

Cold Roasted Crane, adapted with chicken: a period-style reconstruction for the Primo servitio posto in tavola from Domenico Romoli’s 1560 Carnivale banquet.

Originally prepared for the Carnivale Feast project. This dish belongs to the Primo servitio posto in tavola, the first service set upon the table in Domenico Romoli’s 1560 banquet plan. In the printed menu, the dish appears as grue arrosta fredda, or cold roasted crane. Since crane is neither practical nor appropriate for a modern kitchen, this version uses chicken while preserving the table logic, method, and service style of a large roasted bird served cool or cold as part of a Renaissance first course.

At first glance, “cold roasted crane” may sound like the sort of ingredient that sends modern cooks quietly backing away from the recipe. Yet that strangeness is part of its value. Crane was not everyday food. It belonged to the same world as swan, peacock, heron, capon, and other impressive birds that appeared on elite tables as signs of wealth, access, skill, and spectacle. A bird like crane was food, certainly, but it was also theater. It told the guests that this was not a household supper. This was a table laid for display.

For this reconstruction I used chicken, not because chicken is identical to crane, but because it allows the modern cook to reproduce the structure of the dish: a large bird, briefly boiled, roasted, cut into pieces, dressed with a saffron-colored onion and wine sauce, and served over softened bread. In that sense, the dish is not merely “roast chicken.” It is roast chicken wearing crane’s court clothes.

Why Crane?

Crane appears in medieval and Renaissance dining as one of the large birds associated with noble or courtly service. It was a prestige item, not a humble barnyard bird. Even where a full prescriptive Italian recipe has not been found in the sources I have available, the culinary treatment is not mysterious. Large birds were boiled, roasted, sauced, carved, and served according to the same family of techniques used for other game and domestic fowl.

This matters because historical cooking often requires us to distinguish between an exact ingredient and a period method. The crane is the prestigious ingredient. The method is the recoverable part: parboil, roast, sauce, cut, arrange, serve. Chicken cannot replicate the social status of crane, but it can preserve the practical and culinary logic of the dish.

How Was a Crane Carved?

One of the clearest reminders that crane belonged to formal table service comes not from an Italian recipe, but from an English carving manual. The Boke of Kervynge, printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1508, gives specific instructions for carving crane:

“A crane syse the wynges fyrst & beware of the trumpe of his brest.”

In modern terms, the carver was instructed to take the wings first and to take care around the “trump” or central breast structure. This sort of instruction reminds us that large birds were not simply cut apart in the kitchen and carried out anonymously. They could be part of formal service, handled with specialized knowledge and presented in ways that showed refinement. The full text of The Boke of Kervynge may be read at Wikisource, and a digitized copy is also available through the Cambridge Digital Library.

Although this is an English source, not an Italian one, it is useful comparative evidence for late medieval and early Renaissance table culture. It shows that crane occupied a recognizable place among ceremonial birds, and that diners and servers understood it as something requiring proper handling.

The First Service: Cold Meat, Sharp Flavors, and Display

The Primo servitio posto in tavola was not a random scattering of dishes. It was a carefully arranged opening act, designed to delight the eye, stimulate the appetite, and set the tone for the feast to follow. Cold meats made sense in this setting. They could be prepared ahead, arranged attractively, and served alongside salads, relishes, preserved foods, sauces, and breads.

In this Carnivale first service, the cold roasted bird sits among bitter chicory salad, sweet-sour carrot salad, dressed citron, capers, cold pork testa, capon in sopromenti, and Bolognese sausages. The logic is beautifully balanced: bitter, sharp, rich, aromatic, salty, and sweet. The chicken provides a familiar savory center, while the onion, wine, saffron, and bread connect it to the more formal sauce-and-sop traditions of period dining.

That bread is important. To modern diners, sauce-soaked bread often reads as “soggy bread.” To a period diner, it could be part of the point. Bread was not just a side item. It absorbed broth, fat, wine, and spice. It became the edible foundation of the dish. In medieval and Renaissance cookery, sops were a well-established way to carry flavor and make sauce substantial.

Period-Style Reconstruction

I was unable to locate a prescriptive crane recipe in the 14th to 16th-century Italian culinary sources available to me. This reconstruction is therefore style-faithful rather than a direct transcription from Romoli. The method is based on period Italian culinary practice and service conventions for large birds: brief boiling, roasting, cutting into portions, simmering briefly in sauce, and arranging the meat with bread and sauce for service.

The source menu comes from Domenico Romoli’s La singolare dottrina, first printed in 1560. Digitized copies of Romoli’s work are available through Google Books and the Bayerische StaatsBibliothek.

📜 Period Italian, Style-Faithful Reconstruction

Italian

English Translation

Pollo arrosto alla maniera di gru Togli un pollo grande ben mondo, et fallo bollire alquanto in una pignatta grande. Poi mettilo allo spiedo, et rostiscilo bene, ma non ripieno. Togli una cipolla, et tagliala minuta, et friggila bene in sugna, et colorala con zafferano. Abbi pane tagliato et alquanto tostato, et vino bono, et fa’ bollire il vino con la cipolla. Taglia il pollo a pezzi, et fallo bollire brevemente nel detto vino. Nel brodo magro della salsa ammorbidisci il pane. In un tagliere grande ordina la salsa, le spezie et la carne con ordine, et alla fine metti sopra un poco del grasso della salsa, et servi.

Roast Chicken in the Manner of Crane Take a large chicken, well cleaned, and boil it briefly in a large pot. Then put it on the spit and roast it well, but not stuffed. Take an onion and cut it small, and fry it well in lard, coloring it with saffron. Have bread sliced and lightly toasted, and good wine; boil the wine with the onion. Cut the chicken into pieces and boil it briefly in the said wine. In the lean broth of the sauce soften the bread. On a large trencher arrange the sauce, spices, and meat in good order, and at the end put over some of the fat from the sauce, and serve.

Humoral and Dietary Context

From a period dietary perspective, this dish is more balanced than it first appears. Chicken was often treated as a gentler, more digestible meat than heavier red meats or strongly flavored game. Wine, onion, and saffron add warmth and aroma. The saffron also gives the sauce a golden color, making the dish visually richer and more appropriate for a feast table.

Served cold or cool, the roasted bird would not have felt as heavy as a hot roast brought straight from the fire. The wine and onion sauce stimulates the appetite, while the bread carries the liquid and fat. In the larger first service, this dish sits between richer meats and sharper accompaniments, helping explain why Romoli’s opening table feels so carefully composed rather than merely abundant.

At Our Table

This dish was good, but it was not the star of our table. I suspect that in period, a cold roasted crane would have been one of the prestige dishes of the service: visually impressive, formally carved, and understood as an elite bird. In our modern recreation, the chicken was pleasant and familiar, but it was overshadowed by the more exciting dishes around it. The capon in sopromenti was more interesting, and the Bolognese sausages were the dish people fought over.

The sops were the hardest sell. Sauce-soaked bread is not something most modern diners are used to eating, although I remember “gravy bread” as a treat when I was younger. For this feast, I used a rustic Italian loaf that I baked in the oven. Everyone tried the bread beneath the chicken, but the reaction was unanimous: to modern palates, it read as “just soggy bread.” This is useful information, not a failure. It shows one of the places where period texture expectations and modern preferences diverge sharply.

The onion sauce was also received as “just okay” at first. I prepared it simply, with onion, saffron, and wine, and did not add additional seasoning beyond the historical flavor base. Diners added their own salt and pepper and liked it better. I also reduced the sauce because it was initially too brothy to cling to the chicken, but the reduction made the flavor more intense. In the future, I might use a slightly different wine, season the sauce more confidently, or add a very small touch of sugar to soften the onion and wine. For my own portion, I used a mixture of lemon juice, water, and a small splash of white wine vinegar instead of the wine sauce.

That is one of the joys of recreating a feast rather than merely reading one. The menu may suggest that this dish should command attention, but the table decides for itself. In this case, the cold crane-style chicken served its role as a familiar anchor, but the surrounding dishes stole the applause.

Fette di Cedro Condite – Citron with Rose Vinegar, Sugar & Cinnamon (Carnivale Feast, Romoli 1560)

A Renaissance Citrus Dish from the Carnivale First Service

Published: May 22, 2026

A modern Carnivale feast interpretation of fette di cedro condite con aceto rosato, adapted with blood oranges, rosewater, lemon juice, sugar, cinnamon, dates, and chocolate mint.

At first glance, fette di cedro condite con aceto rosato, zuccaro & cannella seems almost too simple to hold its own on a Renaissance feast table. Slices of citron. A little rose vinegar. Sugar. Cinnamon. Let it stand, then serve it in the first course.

And yet this small dish may be one of the quiet keys to understanding the whole opening service.

The Primo servitio posto in tavola, the first service placed on the table, was not shy. It included bitter salads, carrot salad, shredded prosciutto, cold testa, cold roast crane, capers, seasoned capons, and Bolognese sausages. In other words, it was rich, salty, fatty, spiced, and deeply meat-forward. A dish of perfumed citrus was not an afterthought. It was relief. It was contrast. It was brightness set deliberately among abundance.

The Carnivale Menu Context

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 first 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.

This is exactly where the citron belongs. It sits between the heavy and the sharp, the fatty and the fragrant. The service already contains several balancing elements: bitter chicory, sweet carrots, capers, rose vinegar, citrus, and lemon used elsewhere on the table. Renaissance menu design was not merely a parade of impressive dishes. It was culinary architecture. The cook built contrast into the meal so diners could keep eating, keep tasting, and keep being delighted.

That matters because a feast is not only a list of foods. It is pacing. A slice of perfumed citrus after pork, sausage, or cold capon wakes the mouth back up. It clears the palate without removing the sense of luxury. In this case, the citron dish acts almost like a bright little window cracked open in a room full of roasted, salted, and spiced meats.

Why Citrus Appeared on Renaissance Tables

Citrus fruits carried prestige in Renaissance food culture. They were tied to Mediterranean trade, elite gardens, medicinal use, and the pleasure of aroma as much as flavor. Modern cooks often think of citrus primarily as juice, but period cooks valued perfume, rind, bitterness, acidity, and visual drama.

Citron, or cedro, was especially prized. It is one of the older cultivated citrus fruits, with a thick aromatic rind and relatively little juice compared with modern oranges or lemons. It is not the same thing as the diced candied citron many people know from fruitcake, though that candied peel tradition comes from the same broad appreciation for citron’s fragrant rind.

On an elite table, citron brought more than flavor. It signaled access. It suggested refinement. It also offered a sensory contrast to rich meats, heavy sauces, and preserved foods. When dressed with rose vinegar, sugar, and cinnamon, citron became sweet, sharp, floral, and warm all at once.

What Is Rose Vinegar?

Rose vinegar is exactly the sort of ingredient that reminds us how differently historical cooks thought about flavor. It combines acidity with perfume. Rather than simply making a dish sour, it adds fragrance and elegance. In a period kitchen, roses belonged not only in gardens and perfumes, but also in syrups, waters, vinegars, conserves, and medicinal preparations.

In this recipe, rose vinegar gives the citron a floral sharpness. It would have softened the fruit’s bitterness, lifted its aroma, and made the dish feel more refined. The sugar moderates the acidity, while cinnamon adds warmth and spice.

For my feast, I did not use wine vinegar. Wine and wine vinegar can trigger migraines for me, so I made a practical substitution: rosewater with a splash of lemon juice. This preserved the two most important features of rose vinegar, floral fragrance and acidity, while making the dish something I could safely eat myself. Historical cooking is most meaningful when the table includes the cook, too.

Source Text

Original Italian	English Translation
Togli cedri maturi, et mondali bene della scorza grossa et dell’amaro. Tagliali in fette sottili. Metti sopra aceto rosato in poca quantità, zucchero quanto basta, et un poco di cannella pesta. Lasciali stare alquanto tempo, et servili nel primo servizio.	Take ripe citrons and clean them well of the thick peel and bitterness. Cut them into thin slices. Put over them a little rose vinegar, sugar as needed, and a little ground cinnamon. Let them stand for a short while, and serve them in the first service.

Authentic Recipe vs. Feast Adaptation

The period recipe calls for citron, rose vinegar, sugar, and cinnamon. That is the historical anchor of this post. It is the dish named in the Carnivale menu, and it belongs exactly where the menu places it: in the first service, among dishes that need brightness and contrast.

My modern Carnivale version used blood oranges because citron was not available. If I had been able to source citron, pomelo, or Oroblanco grapefruit easily, I would have considered those as substitutes because their structure is closer to citron. Blood oranges are juicier and softer than citron, but they were available, beautiful, and very effective in the same culinary role.

The goal was not to pretend that blood orange is citron. It is not. The goal was to preserve the function of the dish: bright citrus, floral acidity, sweetness, warm spice, and visual contrast in a meat-heavy first service.

For the feast, I used blood oranges with rosewater, a splash of lemon juice, sugar, a light sprinkle of cinnamon, dates, and a sprig of chocolate mint. The cinnamon softened into the blood orange juices rather than sitting harshly on top. The dates added a little richness, while the mint lifted the whole dish back into freshness.

The result landed somewhere between fruit salad, palate cleanser, and tiny jeweled luxury. Against a table of cold meats, capers, sausage, capon, and testa, it punched far above its weight.

What to Use When Citron Is Unavailable

Citron can be difficult to find in modern grocery stores. For a closer texture, I would look first for pomelo or Oroblanco grapefruit. Both offer a thicker structure and a less aggressively juicy character than oranges. A thick-peeled lemon can work in a small amount if the pith is carefully removed, though it will be sharper and more intense.

Blood oranges are not the closest historical substitute, but they are a beautiful feast adaptation. Their color alone makes them worthwhile on a banquet table. In this service, where visual contrast mattered, the deep red-orange slices looked dramatic beside pale meats, greens, and capers.

Capponi Sopramentati – Renaissance Spiced Capon Served Cold

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.

Common Sauce Spices, Amended

• 1 tablespoon cinnamon
• 2 teaspoons cloves
• 1 teaspoon ginger
• 1 teaspoon pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon dry coriander, ground
• Pinch of saffron

Testa di Ruffolatto Fredda – Cold Pressed Young Boar in Gelée (Carnivale Feast)

Published: May 21, 2026

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.

Insalata di Carote – Roasted Renaissance Carrot Salad (Primo Servitio)

Published: May 21, 2026

Insalata di Carote – Roasted Renaissance Carrot Salad (Primo Servitio)

Insalata di Carote, or carrot salad, appears as part of the Primo servitio posto in tavola, the first service placed upon the table, in the Carnivale Feast menu inspired by Domenico Romoli’s sixteenth-century Italian banquet tradition.

At first glance, this seems like one of the humbler dishes on the table. It appears beside chicory salad, shredded prosciutto, cold pressed head meat, citron dressed with rose vinegar, cold roasted crane, capers, capons, and Bolognese sausages. Yet this simple roasted carrot dish became one of the quiet successes of the feast. The carrots were sweet, almost parsnip-like, and the bright oil-and-vinegar dressing brought them beautifully into balance. By the end of the meal, not a single carrot remained.

Insalata di Carote served feast-style with hand-torn prosciutto. The original menu lists carrot salad and shredded prosciutto separately, but they paired beautifully on the same platter.

The Original Menu Context

Primo servitio posto in tavola

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.

Translation: White chicory salad, carrot salad, shredded prosciutto, cold pressed head meat, slices of citron dressed with rose vinegar, sugar, and cinnamon, cold roasted crane, capers, capons salpamentati, and Bolognese sausages.

This carrot salad belongs to the same opening service as Insalata di Cicoria Bianca con Uva Passera e Scalognetti, another light salad dish from the Carnivale Feast. Together, these dishes helped create contrast at the beginning of the meal: bitter greens, sweet roots, sharp vinegar, salty cured meat, preserved fruit, and rich cold meats.

What Was the Primo Servitio?

In Renaissance Italian dining, a servitio was not simply a modern course in the plated sense. It was a structured presentation of several dishes placed before the diners, often emphasizing variety, abundance, and contrast. The primo servitio posto in tavola, or first service placed on the table, acted as the opening movement of the banquet.

Rather than immediately overwhelming diners with the richest foods, the first service often included dishes that awakened the appetite: salads, dressed vegetables, cured meats, preserved fruits, capers, and cold or temperate preparations. These foods offered brightness, acidity, salt, sweetness, and texture before the heavier dishes of the meal appeared.

That makes a carrot salad more important than it first appears. It is not merely a side dish. It is part of the architecture of the table.

Italian Food, French-Style Service

For this modern recreation, the Carnivale Feast was served in a French-style manner, with multiple dishes available at once for diners to sample. This is a practical and familiar way to serve a historical feast today, especially when cooking for a group without the army of servers, carvers, and attendants available to elite households of the past.

Sixteenth-century Italian banquet service had its own logic. Dishes were organized into services, and many foods passed through the credenza, or sideboard, where they could be arranged, sliced, dressed, garnished, or otherwise finished before appearing at table. Cool and temperate dishes such as salads, cured meats, preserved fruits, and dressed vegetables were especially suited to this kind of preparation.

In the original menu, insalata di carote and prosciutto sfilato are listed as separate dishes. At feast, because serving dishes were limited and because the flavors worked so well together, the hand-torn prosciutto was placed over the roasted carrots. This should be understood as a feast presentation choice rather than a claim that the original dish required prosciutto. Happily, the pairing was delicious.

Reconstructing a Missing Recipe

No direct prescriptive recipe for insalata di carote has yet been identified in the Italian culinary sources consulted for this project. This is not unusual. Historical menus often preserve the names of dishes without explaining how they were prepared, especially when the preparation may have been familiar to contemporary cooks.

For this reconstruction, I consulted Platina’s De honesta voluptate et valetudine, Maestro Martino’s Libro de arte coquinaria, Bartolomeo Scappi’s Opera dell’arte del cucinare, and Domenico Romoli’s La singolare dottrina. While these sources do not appear to provide a direct carrot salad recipe, they do support a broader culinary pattern: vegetables could be cooked, cooled or served temperate, and dressed with oil, vinegar, salt, and sometimes spices.

The method used here follows that logic. The carrots were cooked until tender, cooled, and dressed simply with olive oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper. A small touch of honey was added for modern taste, softening the acidity of the vinegar and echoing the sweet-sour balance beloved in Renaissance cooking.

A Comparative Early Modern Sallet

Although the Italian recipe remains elusive, a later English example helps show that cooked root vegetables could indeed be treated as salads in early modern cuisine. Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook includes a “Diverse Sallet Otherways” made with boiled parsnips arranged with small salad greens, watercress, lettuce, alexander buds, oil, and vinegar. In a modern redaction of that dish, carrots and parsnips are often paired together.

This does not prove that Romoli’s insalata di carote was prepared in the same way. It does, however, support the broader idea that cooked roots dressed with oil and vinegar belonged comfortably within the early modern salad tradition.

A Humble Vegetable at a Noble Table

Carrots have a long and colorful history. The cultivated carrot likely originated in the region of Central Asia and Persia, especially around modern Iran and Afghanistan, before traveling west through trade, agriculture, and Mediterranean exchange. By the medieval and Renaissance periods, carrots were known in Europe, though they were not necessarily the bright orange supermarket carrots most familiar today.

Sixteenth-century Italian cooks may have encountered carrots in several colors, including white, yellow, purple, red, or reddish-orange forms. The standardized sweet orange carrot became more dominant later, especially through Dutch cultivation in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. For this recreation, I used modern orange carrots because they were readily available.

That practical substitution is worth noting, but not apologizing for. Modern orange carrots are sweeter and more uniform than many historical varieties, and roasting intensified that sweetness beautifully. In this dish, they became almost parsnip-like, which made them especially pleasing against the sharpness of vinegar and the saltiness of prosciutto.

Humoral Notes

In Renaissance dietary thinking, raw foods were often approached with caution, while cooked vegetables were generally considered easier to digest. Root vegetables such as carrots were associated with warmth and nourishment, especially when cooked. Serving them dressed with oil and vinegar in the first service made sense within the broader logic of the meal: they were gentle, appetizing, and helped prepare the stomach for richer foods to come.

The oil softened the dish, the vinegar sharpened it, and the small touch of honey rounded the dressing. This balance of sweet, sour, salty, and rich flavors is one of the reasons Renaissance food can feel surprisingly modern when handled with restraint.

Recreating a Renaissance Banquet from Domenico Romoli - Primo servitio posto in tavola from a Carnivale Feast from 1560

A Carnivale Feast from 1560 - Recreating a Renaissance Banquet from Domenico Romoli

An interpretation of the opening table display described by Domenico Romoli in La Singolare Dottrina (1560), where salads, meats, citrus, and other dishes were arranged together in the French banquet style.

Originally Published: March 16, 2026
Updated: May 21, 2026

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.

Carnivale in Renaissance Italy was a season of spectacle. Cities filled with masks, music, parades, and elaborate feasts that stretched long into the evening. It was a moment when kitchens became theaters and cooks became artists, presenting dishes that celebrated abundance before the fasting season of Lent began.

One of the most fascinating glimpses into these celebrations comes from Domenico Romoli’s La Singolare Dottrina (1560). Romoli, sometimes called Panunto, wrote one of the great culinary and household manuals of the Italian Renaissance. His book contains not only recipes, but also advice on hospitality, household management, and the orchestration of grand banquets.

Among its treasures is a Carnivale menu (“Convito del mese di Febbraio per la festa alla francese, per il Carnevale” — a banquet for the month of February, prepared in the French style, for Carnivale), structured in the elegant service style of the period. Each course builds upon the last, moving through a sequence of dishes that balance flavors, textures, and spectacle.

Recently, I set out to recreate this Carnivale feast, cooking through a selection of dishes inspired by Romoli’s menu. Some recipes translated easily to the modern kitchen; others required a bit of interpretation. Measurements had to be estimated, ingredients adapted, and techniques tested.

The result was a delightful culinary journey into the Renaissance table.

Lucanicae – Ancient Roman Sausages (Apicius-Inspired Roman Sausage Recipe)

Lucanicae – Ancient Roman Sausages (Apicius-Inspired Roman Feast Recipe)

This dish was served as part of the Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast.

Originally published: June 29, 2025 at 3:44 PM | Updated: May 19, 2026

Updated 5/19/2026: This post has been expanded to current Give It Forth standards with additional historical context, feast service notes, Pennsic/camp cooking guidance, an appetizer-sized recipe for eight, dietary notes, FAQ, internal links to the full Roman feast menu, and structured recipe data.

What are Lucanicae? Lucanicae were seasoned sausages associated by Roman writers with Lucania in southern Italy. This version is inspired by Roman sausage traditions and the flavors of Apicius: minced meat, pepper, pine nuts, and liquamen or fish sauce, shaped small for feast service and grilled or gently cooked before finishing.

Lucanicae – Grilled Roman Sausages

Course: Gustum (Appetizer)
Origin: Ancient Rome
Served: Warm or Room Temperature
Event: Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast

Historical Background

Lucanicae, the seasoned sausages of Roman origin, were named after the region of Lucania in Southern Italy. Roman soldiers are said to have learned the technique of stuffing spiced meat into casings from the Lucanians. These sausages are the ancestors of modern varieties such as Italian luganega and Spanish longaniza.

Did You Know?
The Roman author Varro writes: “Lucanicae are so called because soldiers learned to prepare them from the Lucanians: they stuff minced meat into casings made from intestines, along with various seasonings.” – Varro, De Lingua Latina 5.22

For more on ancient Roman sausage-making, see the digitized Latin and English text of Apicius – De Re Coquinaria.

The surviving Roman cookery tradition does not give us a modern sausage recipe with neat measurements, temperatures, and timing. Instead, it gives us a flavor-world: pepper, liquamen, herbs, nuts, wine, vinegar, smoke, roasting, and meats prepared for household tables, taverns, military travel, and feasts. This redaction is therefore not a claim of exact reconstruction. It is a practical, feast-tested interpretation designed for SCA service, camp conditions, and modern food safety.

Lucania, Soldiers, and Sausage-Making

The Roman explanation for lucanicae ties the sausage to Lucania, a region of southern Italy. Whether the Roman army truly learned the technique there or later writers preserved a convenient food etymology, the association matters. Sausages are portable, efficient, flavorful, and well suited to feeding groups. Minced meat mixed with salt, spice, and fat can stretch ingredients, cook quickly, and serve neatly in small portions.

For a feast cook, that ancient practicality still applies. A platter of small, bite-sized sausages looks abundant, serves cleanly, and works beautifully in an appetizer course. At Push for Pennsic, these are best treated as a gustum: a savory opening bite served with other small Roman-inspired dishes rather than as a large modern entree.

🏛️ Feast-cook note: A mound of small, meatball-sized sausages is pleasing to the eye and gives a generous impression while keeping portions appropriate for an appetizer course. About 1 tablespoon of meat mixture per sausage gives two or three bites, and 1 pound of meat makes roughly 30 small sausages.

Modern Interpretation

This simplified grilled version uses bulgur to approximate the grainy texture of some Roman forcemeats and mixes pork and beef for richness. Pine nuts add a distinctly Roman touch, and liquamen, or modern fish sauce, gives the meat its salty, savory backbone.

Historically, sausage could be stuffed into casings, but feast conditions are not always generous. This version may be shaped into small patties, rolled into bite-sized sausage logs, stuffed into casings, or gently poached in plastic wrap when casings are unavailable. The goal is not to make a modern deli sausage, but to create a flavorful Roman-inspired bite that can survive real event conditions.

Why These Ingredients?

• Ground meat: Pork is especially appropriate for Roman cookery, though a pork and beef blend gives a rich, accessible modern texture.
• Bulgur: This is a modern practical choice that gives texture and helps the mixture hold together. It also echoes the use of grains and fillers in historic forcemeat traditions.
• Liquamen / fish sauce: Roman cookery used fermented fish sauces extensively. Modern fish sauce is the easiest substitute.
• Pine nuts: Pine nuts appear frequently in Roman recipes and add richness, texture, and a distinctly ancient Mediterranean character.
• Pepper: Black pepper was a prized imported spice and appears often in Apicius-style seasoning.

⚖️ Humoral note: Later medieval dietary theory often treated pork and beef as heavy meats that benefited from warming spices, salt, vinegar, mustard, or sharp sauces. While this recipe is Roman rather than medieval, the flavor logic still makes sense at table: pepper, fermented fish sauce, and accompaniments such as mustard, olives, herbs, or wine help cut the richness of the meat.

Okashi – Anmitsu and Japanese Sweet Traditions (Muromachi Feast Recreation)

Jasmine green tea ice cream on agar (kanten), surrounded by red bean paste and a drizzle of black sugar syrup.

Imagine my surprise when I realized I’d never published the final tray of the feast! This course—built around Anmitsu—was my nod to banquet finales that closed with fruit and confections. My interpretation layers agar jelly, fresh fruit, shiratama mochi, sweet red bean paste (anko), black sugar syrup (kuromitsu), and jasmine green tea ice cream.

Historical Frame: Okashi in Context

In the Muromachi period (1336–1573), formal banquet cuisine (honzen ryori) treated sweets as refined, seasonal endings rather than everyday fare. Sugar was scarce and costly; sweetness often came from beans, grains, or fruit. As long-distance trade expanded, imported sugars and new tools elevated confectionery into an art closely linked with tea culture—favoring elegance and balance over intense sweetness.

Seasonal Aesthetics: Confections mirrored the time of year—spring blossoms, summer greens, autumn leaves, winter snows. Their fleeting forms encouraged contemplation of impermanence and gratitude at table.

Trade, Technique, and Evolution

Maritime trade in the 16th century brought refined sugar and new implements that influenced sweet-making. Hybrid sweets (like castella sponge) arose from cultural exchange. Meanwhile, temple kitchens and courtly households continued to favor plant-based textures and subtle flavors, keeping okashi aligned with ideals of restraint.

Cross-Cultural Parallels

Just as medieval Europe prized marchpane and sugar plate as status-laden table art, Japan refined bean- and rice-based sweets into edible miniatures of the natural world. In both traditions, confectionery served as display, diplomacy, and delight.

• Heian → Kamakura: fruits, nuts, lightly sweetened treats
• Muromachi: codified banquets; sweet courses as refined finales
• Edo: wagashi artistry flourishes with broader sugar access

Ingredient Insights

Agar (kanten): a seaweed-derived gelling agent long valued in Buddhist vegetarian cooking and later central to clear, delicate jellies in confectionery.

Anko (red bean paste): sweetened adzuki paste that underpins many classic sweets. Texture ranges from smooth to rustic and chunky.

Kuromitsu (black sugar syrup): made from unrefined brown sugars—deeper, rounder, and more mineral than modern white sugar syrups.

From Sauce to Aspic – The 500-Year Journey of Galentyne → Galantine

From hot medieval sauce to elegant cold aspic — the shifting identity of galentyne/galantine.

What’s in a name? Few dishes illustrate the transformations of European cuisine as vividly as galentyne. In the 14th century, it meant a spiced, bread-thickened sauce for meats or fish. By the 19th century, galantine had become a boned, stuffed, aspic-set cold dish — a centerpiece of French haute cuisine. Here we trace that remarkable journey across 500 years, with original recipes and modern adaptations.

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Medieval Origins (14th–15th c.)

Harleian MS. 279 (England, c.1430): Fyletes in Galentyne is one of the best known. Pork is roasted, cut up, and stewed with onions, pepper, ginger, bread, and vinegar, finished with blood or sanders for color.

“Take fayre porke of the fore quarter, and rost hit tyl hit be almost ynogh; … and colour hit with blode, or elles with sandres, and then lat hit boyle up wel, and serve it forth.”

See the full recipe in our updated Fyletes in Galentyne post.

Fylettys en Galentyne - Pork in Spiced Onion Sauce (Stew & Sauce Interpretations, Harleian MS. 279, c.1430)

Fylettys en Galentyne – Pork in Spiced Onion Sauce (Harleian MS. 279, c.1430)

Kitchen test photo from the original 2016 post, showing the stew interpretation of Fyletes in Galentyne.

Fyletes in Galentyne appears in Harleian MS. 279 (c.1430) and exemplifies a common medieval pairing: roasted or half-roasted meat finished in a rich, spiced sauce. The “galentyne” is thickened with bread and given depth either by blood (for savory richness) or by sanders (red sandalwood) to tint and flavor. Both are legitimate medieval options, so we present them side by side.

Note on interpretation: When this recipe was first published here on February 11, 2016, I presented it as a stew — simmered pork and onions in a spiced broth. On closer reading, however, the text more clearly aligns with the medieval understanding of galentyne as a sauce for meat: roast pork finished with a thickened, spiced, colored sauce. 

Both versions are plausible, so I’ve left my original interpretation here (Version A) and added the sauce-based version (Version B). The original post has been updated and republished on September 10, 2025 to reflect this correction.

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Original Recipe (Harleian MS. 279, c.1430)

Englishe:
“Take fayre porke of the fore quarter, and rost hit tyl hit be almost ynogh; then take and smyte hit in fayre pecys, and caste hit in a fayre potte; then take oynons and shredde hem small, and frie hem in fayre grece, and caste hem to the porke, and stew hit togydre; then take gode broth of beef or motton, and caste thereto; then take powder of peper and of gynger, and caste thereto; and take bred ystepid in vinegre, and strayne hit thorow a straynoure, and caste thereto; and colour hit with blode, or elles with sandres, and then lat hit boyle up wel, and serve it forth.”

Modern Translation:
Take good pork from the forequarter and roast it until nearly done; cut into pieces and place in a pot. Chop onions, fry them in fat, and add to the pork. Stew together with good beef or mutton broth. Add pepper and ginger. Take bread soaked in vinegar, strain it, and add. Color with blood—or else with red sandalwood—and let it boil well. Serve forth.

Cormarye – Spiced Wine Pork Roast (Forme of Cury)

Cormarye – Spiced Wine Pork Roast (Forme of Cury)

“The Feast in the House of Levi” (detail), Paolo Veronese. Used here as period context for spice-laden pork roasts such as cormarye.

Source: The Forme of Cury, c. 1390 (ed. Hieatt & Butler). Adapted in Redon et al., The Medieval Kitchen (1998).

Original Recipe

Take Colyaundre, Caraway, garlec ygrounde, powdour fort, and salt, medle all this togyder and lay it on a fylett of pork al holes, and lay it to roste; when it is rosted enough, take vinegre and wyne and the juyce of the pork, medle hem togyder, and serve forth.

Translation

Take coriander, caraway, ground garlic, strong spice powder, and salt. Mix all this together and spread it over a fillet of pork, pricking it well. Roast it. When it is cooked enough, take vinegar, wine, and the juices of the pork, mix them together, and serve it forth.

Medieval French Cooking: Une Vinaigrette (Beef & Onions in Spiced Wine Sauce)

Une Vinaigrette (Beef & Onions with Wine-Ginger Sauce)

“The Feast in the House of Levi” (detail), Paolo Veronese. Used here as period context for a Renaissance savory pie.

Context

Une Vinaigrette appears in medieval French sources and was translated by Terence Scully (1998). The dish layers beef (or lamb) with onions and serves it in a sauce of red wine, broth, breadcrumbs, and warming spices—ginger, grains of paradise, pepper, saffron, and vinegar. The result is both hearty and sharp, showing the medieval palate for savory meats balanced with spice and sour notes.

Humoral Qualities

In humoral theory, beef is heavy, hot, and dry, suited to those with strong digestions or balanced by moistening and cooling elements. The onions and wine add heat and sharpness, while the vinegar offers a cooling, cutting quality to aid digestion. The dish would have been considered appropriate in a main roast course, but could also appear earlier to stimulate appetite.

Provenance

The recipe for Une Vinaigrette comes from Le Viandier, one of the most important medieval French cookbooks. Traditionally attributed to Guillaume Tirel (called Taillevent), master cook to King Charles V of France, the text survives in several manuscripts from the late 14th and 15th centuries. It reflects the refined cooking of the French court, where sauces of wine, vinegar, and warming spices balanced the heaviness of roasted meats. Terence Scully’s 1998 edition (The Viandier of Taillevent, University of Ottawa Press) provides a critical edition of the extant manuscripts and the English translation used here.

Original French

Une vinaigrette. Prenez buef ou mouton et coupez en pièces, puis mettez-les à rostir au gril. Prenez oignons et taillez par rondelles, et friez en sain de lart bien cuit. Puis prenez bon vin vermeil et bouillon de buef, et mettez du pain blanc tosté et broyé pour lier. Mettez gingembre, graine de paradis, poivre et saffran, et un petit de vinaigre. Couliez vostre sausse, et mettez vostre viande et oignons dedans; ou les servez à part, et la sausse en un autre plat.

This passage is the basis for Scully’s English rendering: beef or mutton, roasted with onions, served in a sauce of red wine, broth, breadcrumbs, ginger, grains of paradise, saffron, pepper, and vinegar.

Original Text & Modern Translation

Original (Scully, 1998)

Modern Interpretation

Take beef or mutton and cut it in pieces, then put them to roast on the grill. Take onions and slice them into rounds, and fry them in grease until well cooked. Then take good red wine and beef stock, put therein white bread toasted and ground to thicken it, and season with ginger, grains of paradise, pepper and saffron, and a little vinegar. Strain the sauce and put the meat and onions therein; or serve the meat and onions separately, with the sauce in a dish.

Cut beef or lamb into chunks and roast or grill until done, but not overcooked. Slice onions into rounds and sauté them in butter, oil, or lard until golden. For the sauce, simmer red wine and beef broth with breadcrumbs until smooth. Add ginger, pepper, grains of paradise (or allspice), saffron, and a splash of vinegar. Strain the sauce and serve it either mixed with the meat and onions, or on the side as a dip. Excellent served on its own, or with rice or pasta.

The Importance of Color in the Middle Ages

A medieval banquet scene from an illuminated manuscript, where rich colors—red, blue, green, and gold—signaled wealth, virtue, and festal meaning.

The Importance of Color in the Medieval and Renaissance World

Color in the medieval and Renaissance world wasn’t decoration—it was language. Every hue carried meaning, from the virtues on a knight’s shield to the foods on a feast table. This article explores the rich symbolism of color across heraldry, religion, humoral medicine, and banqueting, with a case study of the tawny-hued drink Tannye from Harleian MS. 279. Discover how cooks used spices, herbs, blood, and even saffron to dye their dishes with purpose, and how diners read those colors as signs of faith, fortune, and health.

Charles Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol” — A Christmas Dinner in Honor of the Cratchits (Victorian Menu)

Updated: August 19, 2025

Featuring recipes for: Roast Goose, Sage & Onion Stuffing, Mashed Potatoes, Apple Sauce, Beef Gravy, Christmas Plum Pudding — plus bonus pantry sauces: Harvey’s Sauce & Mushroom Ketchup.

A Christmas Dinner in Honor of the Cratchits

The Third Visitor — John Leech, 1843

Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1861

A Christmas Carol. In Prose. Being a Ghost Story of Christmas (1843) is my perennial December re-read. It’s timeless, hopeful—and born of a darker reality Dickens refused to ignore. Before we sit down to the Cratchits’ dinner, a little context.

Menu at a Glance

• Roast Goose with Sage & Onion Stuffing
• Mashed Potatoes & Apple Sauce
• A Good Beef Gravy
• Christmas Plum Pudding
• Harvey’s Sauce & Mushroom Ketchup (bonus pantry recipes)

Fourteenth-Century Italian Feast – A Historical Menu Reconstructed February 24, 2001

Detail from “The Feast in the House of Levi” (1573), Paolo Veronese—an evocative Renaissance banquet scene setting the tone for our reconstructed medieval Italian feast.

Fourteenth-Century Italian Feast  

On February 24, 2001, at the VA Medical Center, I cooked this feast for Ceilidh XIV. It was a reconstruction of a fourteenth-century Italian banquet, drawing from sources such as Redon, Sabban & Serventi (The Medieval Kitchen) and Scully (The Art of Cookery in the Middle Ages). While some of my original redactions have been lost to time, the surviving notes and recipes are preserved here, alongside new adaptations.

This hub collects the menu at a glance, with links to each individual dish. Each recipe page includes the original text, modern interpretation, substitutions (🥕 Dietary Suggestions), and cook’s notes for scaling to feasts.