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Showing posts with label Renaissance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Renaissance. Show all posts

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

🍊 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.

Candied whole oranges simmering in clear sugar syrup for Sir Hugh Plat's Oranges after the Portugal Fashion
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.

Renaissance Bolognese Sausages – Salsiccioni Bolognesi from a 1560 Carnivale Feast

Bolognese Sausages – Salsiccioni Bolognesi

Bolognese sausages served with chicken pinwheels as part of the Primo servitio posto in tavola, the first service from Domenico Romoli’s 1560 Carnivale feast.

These were the surprise champion of the first service. Of all the dishes placed on the table for the Primo servitio posto in tavola, the Bolognese sausages were the ones people fought over. The cold roasted crane-style chicken may have been the prestige dish in theory, but at our table the sausages staged a quiet little coup and vanished.

That reaction makes sense. These sausages are familiar enough to be comforting, but layered enough to make people stop and wonder what they are tasting. Pork, fat, pepper, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, rosewater, and cheese come together into something warm, subtle, and deeply savory. Nobody guessed that there was cheese in the sausage, and nobody could taste the rosewater directly, but everyone knew there was something more than pork happening.

This is exactly the sort of dish that makes Renaissance food so interesting. It is not strange for the sake of strangeness. It is rich, careful, elegant, and festive. A courtly sausage, if such a thing can be said without sounding ridiculous.

Why Bolognese?

The word “Bolognese” matters here. Bologna was already associated with fine pork products and sausage-making, and specifying Bolognese sausage likely signaled more than geography. It suggested a recognizable style: refined, carefully made, and worthy of a formal table.

Much as certain modern regional food names carry expectations of quality, “Bolognese” in a Renaissance feast menu may have told diners that these were not ordinary rustic sausages. They belonged to the world of urban craft, skilled butchery, and prestige foods. In one period-style description of Bolognese practice, the sausages are described as being made “for princes,” which is too wonderful a phrase to leave sitting quietly in the corner.

In other words, these are not merely pork tubes. These are pork tubes with credentials.

The Scappi Version: Courtly, Spiced, and Delicate

The main recipe used for this redaction comes from Bartolomeo Scappi’s Opera dell’arte del cucinare, Book II. Scappi’s sausage is not smoky or aggressively rustic. It is finely worked, warmly spiced, and softened with rosewater and, if desired, grated cheese. The cheese does not make the sausage taste cheesy. Instead, it gives depth, savoriness, and a richer mouthfeel.

The rosewater is especially interesting. Modern cooks often worry that rosewater will make savory food taste like perfume, but in this sausage it did not announce itself at all. I diluted the rosewater by half with plain water because modern rosewater can be strong. After the sausage mixture rested for a few days before cooking, no one could identify a floral flavor. My suspicion is that the rosewater functions partly as an aromatic liquid to help distribute the spices evenly through the meat.

📜 Period Italian and English Translation

Italian, Scappi, Opera, Book II Faithful English Translation

Prendi carne magra di porco ben netta di nervi, & grassa buona nella sua proportione; pestala finemente con pepe, cannella, garofani, noce moscata, & un poco di zenzero; aggiungendovi sale quanto basta, & acqua rosata; et se vuoi farle più delicate, mettivi del formaggio grattugiato. Poi insaccale in budelli sottili, & falle cuocere in acqua, o rostirle alla graticola.

Take lean pork well cleaned of sinews, and good fat in proper proportion; pound it finely with pepper, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and a little ginger; adding salt as needed, and rosewater. And if you wish to make them more delicate, add grated cheese. Then stuff them into thin casings, and cook them in water, or roast them on the grill.

A Bolognese Variant: Sausages for Princes

There is also a regional Bolognese-style sausage tradition that describes lean pork or veal, beaten very fine, seasoned with salt and pepper, stuffed into larger casings, made about the length of a hand, and dried in smoke. A richer immediate-use version could be made with half lean meat and half fat, with fennel added, though that version was not intended for keeping.

This distinction is useful. Scappi’s version is delicate and courtly, with rosewater, spice, and optional cheese. The Bolognese variant emphasizes regional practice, size, drying, and smoking. Together they suggest why “Bolognese” was worth naming on a feast menu: the word carried culinary weight.

📜 Period-Style Bolognese Reconstruction

Italian English Translation

Salsicce bolognesi

Se vuoi fare buone salsicce bolognesi, togli carne di porco o di vitello della coscia, senza nervi né grasso, et pestala quanto puoi. Aggiungi sale et pepe, et mescola bene. Poi togli budella grandi, nettale et lavale bene, et empile forte della carne, et falle lunghe quanto una mano, secondo l’uso di Bologna. Poi ponile ad asciugare al fumo.

Et così le fanno per i principi. Et se vorrai, puoi farle più grasse con metà carne magra et metà grasso, et con buon finocchio, ma queste non sono da serbare.

Bolognese Sausages

If you wish to make good Bolognese sausages, take pork or veal from the haunch, without sinew or fat, and beat it as much as you can. Add salt and pepper and mix well. Then take large intestines, clean and wash them well, and fill them firmly with the meat, making them the length of a hand, according to the custom of Bologna. Then set them to dry in smoke.

Thus are they made for princes. And if you wish, you may make them fatter with half lean meat and half fat, adding good fennel, but those are not for keeping.

Humoral and Feast Context

These sausages make excellent sense in a first service. Pork is rich, fatty, and satisfying, but the warming spices transform it into something more refined. Pepper, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and ginger all bring heat and digestive stimulation. In humoral terms, this is food meant to wake the appetite and prepare the stomach for the courses to come.

That richness is balanced by the rest of the Primo servitio. Bitter chicory, dressed citron, sharp capers, carrot salad, cold roasted bird, and savory meats all work together. The capers are especially important because they appear repeatedly throughout the larger feast. They are not just garnish. They are little salty, acidic punctuation marks that cut through fat and keep the table lively.

This is one of the things I love about reconstructing an entire service rather than an isolated dish. You begin to see the rhythm of the table. Romoli is not simply listing foods. He is building contrast.

At Our Table

These sausages were the clear favorite of the first service. They were warm, subtle, and delicious. The spice was present, but not loud. It did not taste like modern breakfast sausage, nor did it taste like a sweet sausage. Instead, the flavor was courtly and layered: familiar pork, softened by fat and cheese, lifted by warm spices, and rounded in a way that made people keep reaching for more.

Nobody realized there was cheese in the sausage. Nobody tasted roses. But everyone knew there was something more than pork. That hidden richness is likely why the dish worked so well. The cheese gave savoriness without becoming obvious. The rosewater, diluted with water, helped carry the spices without turning the dish floral.

For this reconstruction, I included fennel, following the richer non-keeping Bolognese tradition described in period sources. The result felt especially harmonious with the warm spice blend and likely contributed to the sausage’s broad appeal at the table.

By the end of the meal, there were leftover pieces of the cold crane-style chicken and some chicory salad. There were no leftover sausages. That says everything.

No Casings? A Modern Kitchen Solution

Traditional sausage casings are ideal if you have them, but I did not use casings for this feast. Instead, I shaped the sausage mixture in plastic wrap, twisting the ends tightly to form compact logs. I placed the wrapped sausages in a shallow pan and gently simmered them until set. After poaching, I unwrapped them and finished them in a pan with a little oil to brown the outside.

This is not a period technique, but it is a practical and effective modern adaptation. It lets the cook make historical sausage without needing special equipment, casings, or a sausage stuffer. The result held its shape, sliced well, and was good enough that the platter emptied.

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

Sliced Renaissance spiced chicken pinwheels inspired by Scappi's capon sopramentato
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.

Sliced testa di ruffolatto in gelatina served cold beside caponi sopramenti pinwheels at a Renaissance feast
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.

Sliced testa di ruffolatto in gelatina served cold beside caponi sopramenti pinwheels at a Renaissance feast
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.

Roasted Renaissance carrot salad with hand-torn prosciutto served on a wooden platter
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

A reconstructed Renaissance Carnivale banquet table inspired by 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.

Callishones – Coriander Flavored Marchpane from A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen (1621)

Coriander Flavored Marzipan Callishones
Inspired by John Murrell’s A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen (1621)

Originally published: December 31, 2020, 3:28 PM
Updated: May 13, 2026

These coriander-flavored marchpane candies, called Callishones, are small molded sweetmeats made from almond paste, sugar, spice, and rosewater. They belong to the glittering world of Renaissance banqueting, where food, medicine, perfume, and display often shared the same sugared tray.

Callishones is likely related to the French calissons, traditionally pronounced roughly “cal-ee-SOHNS.”

The finished candies are delicate rather than strongly spiced. Coriander gives the almond paste a warm, citrus-like fragrance, while rosewater adds a floral note. With a touch of gold at the edges, they become tiny edible jewels fit for a feast board.

Source Spotlight: A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen

John Murrell’s A Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen belongs to the early 17th-century English tradition of printed household and cookery books aimed at gentlewomen managing refined domestic tables. These books often included recipes for preserves, pastes, marmalades, comfits, marchpanes, and decorative banquet dishes.

The longer title associated with this work emphasizes learning “the whole Art of making Pastes, Preserves, Marmalades,” which places these callishones firmly in the world of sweetmeats and banquet confectionery.

Online reference: A Delightfull Daily Exercise for Ladies and Gentlewomen at ckbk.

What Are Callishones?

Callishones were molded or printed sweetmeats made from marchpane paste. The name is related to calissons, almond-based sweets still associated with southern France. In this English recipe, the paste is flavored with coriander and musk, then shaped and dried.

Because almonds, sugar, floral waters, and aromatic ingredients were expensive, marchpane sweets were associated with wealth, banquets, weddings, and courtly hospitality. They were not merely “candy” in the modern sense. They were part dessert, part digestive, part edible art.

A Luxury Confection

In the 17th century, almonds, refined sugar, floral waters, and imported spices represented luxury ingredients. Even small sweetmeats like these reflected access to global trade and fashionable dining culture.

Original Recipe

To Make Callishones - Take halfe a pound of Marchpane paste, a thimble-full of coriander seeds beaten to a powder, with a graine of Muske, beat all to a perfect paste, print it and drie it.

Butter’d French Beans (1660) — Robert May’s Table Greens for a Holiday Feast

HomeTudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series › Butter’d French Beans (1660)

Butter’d French Beans (1660) — Robert May’s Table Greens for a Holiday Feast

Part of the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series — exploring how early modern English cooks transformed simple vegetables into elegant side dishes fit for the season’s most abundant table.

Dutch-style still life of autumn fruits and vegetables representing the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving table.
Still Life of Autumn Fruits and Vegetables — shared image for the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series, evoking abundance and the early-modern feast.

A Gentle Dish for the Early-Modern Table

By the mid-17th century, “French beans” — the New World haricot — had become a fashionable vegetable in England. Robert May includes several recipes for them in The Accomplisht Cook (1660), treating them tenderly with butter, vinegar, and spice. They offer a luminous green note amid the roasts, puddings, pies, and rich sauces of the season — a perfect complement to a modern Thanksgiving table inspired by early modern English cookery.

Historical Context

New World Origins: Haricot beans (Phaseolus vulgaris) are native to Central and South America. Long before European contact, Indigenous farmers cultivated dozens of varieties—green beans, kidney beans, and shelling beans—across Mesoamerica and the Andes. They formed part of the “Three Sisters” agricultural system alongside maize and squash.

Arrival in Europe: Spanish explorers brought these New World beans to Europe in the early 1500s. By the 1530s they appear in Mediterranean gardens; by the 1550s they were fashionable in Italy and France, where they were prized for their thin, edible pods. England, following French horticultural fashion, adopted them slightly later—thus the English name “French beans.”

Adoption in England: By the late 1500s, green beans were grown in English kitchen gardens, though still considered something of an imported delicacy. Herbalists such as John Gerard (1597) describe “the French bean which cometh from beyond the seas,” distinguishing it from the older Old World broad bean (Vicia faba). These slender beans were more tender, easier to cook, and well suited to the new culinary trend of lightly prepared vegetables.

Why They Appear in May (1660): By Robert May’s time, French beans had become a regular feature in elite kitchens. His recipe aligns with the era’s preference for simple treatments—boiling, buttering, and seasoning—allowing the vegetable’s natural color and delicacy to shine. The touch of vinegar and nutmeg reflects early-modern taste for balancing “cold and moist” foods with warming spices.

From New World to Tudor Thanksgiving: The journey of the French bean—from Indigenous agriculture to Spanish ships, to French gardens, to English cookbooks—mirrors the broader Columbian Exchange that reshaped European foodways. Serving this dish at a modern Thanksgiving connects the contemporary holiday table with the very ingredients that transformed 17th-century English cooking.

Original Recipe 

Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (London: 1660), p. 204.
Public link to the recipe on Archive.org

To stew French Beans.
Take your French beans and string them, then seeth them well in fair water; when they are tender, put them into a pipkin with some sweet butter, a little vinegar, pepper, and salt; and shake them well together. Serve them hot, with grated nutmeg cast upon them.

Barberry Sauce for Roast Meats (1660) — A Tudor & Stuart Alternative to Cranberries

Dutch-style still life of autumn fruits and vegetables representing the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving table.
Still Life of Autumn Fruits and Vegetables — shared image for the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series, evoking abundance and the early-modern feast.

HomeTudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series › Barberry Sauce for Roast Meats (1660)

Barberry Sauce for Roast Meats (1660) — A Tudor & Stuart Alternative to Cranberries

Part of the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series — exploring how early modern English cooks used tart, jewel-red fruits like barberries to brighten rich feasts in much the same way we use cranberry sauce today.

A Sharp, Scarlet Counterpoint to Roast Meat

Long before cranberries became iconic on American holiday tables, English cooks were using barberries to do a very similar job. These tiny, vivid red berries — the fruit of the shrub Berberis vulgaris — appear in 16th- and 17th-century English recipes as garnishes, pickles, and sharp, “cooling” sauces for goose, pig, pork, and rich pies.

In The Accomplisht Cook (1660), Robert May scatters barberries through pies and dressings, and suggests them in sauces for goose and other roasted fowl. Their bright acidity and ruby colour made them a perfect foil for fatty meats — a role cranberries would come to play later in colonial New England.

Barberries, Cranberries, and the Thanksgiving Table

Barberries in England: Barberries are native to Europe and western Asia. In early modern England they were valued both as a medicine and a culinary ingredient, especially for their sharp taste and striking colour. They were used in pickles, preserves, sauces, and as garnishes on rich dishes, and were common enough to appear repeatedly in British recipe books and household manuscripts.

Cranberries in North America: Cranberries (Vaccinium macrocarpon) are native to North America. Indigenous peoples in New England and the Canadian Maritimes harvested them for food, dye, and medicine. Seventeenth-century English accounts of New England describe “craneberries” being eaten with meat and as part of pemmican-like preparations.

Parallel Uses, Different Histories: While there is no surviving English recipe that says “use cranberries where you would use barberries,” the two fruits occupy very similar roles:

  • Both are small, tart, scarlet berries.
  • Both were served with rich meats as a sharp, refreshing contrast.
  • Both appear in sauces, relishes, and preserves.

In England, barberries remain the canonical choice in the 17th century; in colonial New England, cranberries fill the local niche. For modern historical cooks in North America, cranberries can be a practical stand-in when barberries are unavailable — as long as we are clear that the substitution is modern, not Tudor or Stuart.

Period Sources: Barberries in Robert May’s Kitchen

Sauce for a Goose — Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

The following comes from May’s “Sauce for a stubble or fat Goose”, which gives two forms. The second explicitly calls for barberries in a rich apple-based sauce.

Source: Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (London, 1660), “Sauce for a stubble or fat Goose.” The full text is available via Project Gutenberg and early modern facsimiles.

Sauce for a stubble or fat Goose.
1. The Goose being scalded, drawn, and trust, put a handful of salt in the belly of it, roast it, and make sauce with sowr apples slic’t, and boil’d in beer all to mash, then put to it sugar and beaten butter. Sometime for veriety add barberries and the gravy of the fowl.

2. Roast sowr apples or pippins, strain them, and put to them vinegar, sugar, gravy, barberries, grated bread, beaten cinamon, mustard, and boil’d onions strained and put to it.

To Pickle Barberries Red — Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

May also gives directions for pickling barberries, which provide the preserved fruit used in sauces throughout the year.

Source: Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (London, 1660), section on pickles and preserves (often titled “To pickle Grapes, Gooseberries, Barberries, red and white Currans” and related entries).

To Pickle Barberries Red.
When your Barbaries are picked from the leaves in clusters, about Michaelmas, or when they are ripe, let your water boyl, and give them a half a dozen walms; let your pickle be white-wine and vinegar, not too sharp, so put them up for your use.

Sweet Potatoes Three Ways (1660–1670) — May & Woolley at the Early-Modern Table

HomeTudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series › Sweet Potatoes Three Ways (1660–1670)

Sweet Potatoes Three Ways (1660–1670) — Robert May & Hannah Woolley

Part of the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series — exploring how early modern English cooks transformed New World ingredients into elegant, comforting, and festive dishes fit for the season’s most abundant table.

Dutch-style still life of autumn fruits and vegetables representing the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving table.
Still Life of Autumn Fruits and Vegetables — shared image for the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series, evoking abundance and the early-modern feast.

A New World Root, Transformed by English Cooks

Sweet potatoes — known in 17th-century England as “Spanish Potatoes” — arrived through Spanish trade routes in the early 1500s. Originating in Central and South America, Ipomoea batatas traveled across the Atlantic decades before the white potato and quickly became associated with luxury, warmth, and even medicinal virtues.

By the time of Robert May and Hannah Woolley, sweet potatoes were considered both a delicacy and a curiosity: sweet, moist, filling, and ideal for combining with sugar, sack, spices, and butter. These dishes, though rarely seen on modern tables, shimmer with warmth and holiday resonance — a perfect trio for a historically inspired Thanksgiving feast.

Expanded Historical Notes: Sweet Potatoes in Early Modern England

New World Origins: Sweet potatoes were cultivated by Indigenous peoples across the Caribbean, Central America, and the Andes long before European contact. Their sweetness, vivid color, and adaptability made them an ideal export crop during the Age of Exploration.

Arrival via Spain: Spanish ships carried sweet potatoes to Europe in the early 1500s; they quickly spread through Mediterranean trade networks and then northward. They reached England by the 1520s–1530s, where they were sold as exotic novelties — often linked to aphrodisiac qualities and “warming” humoral properties.

“Spanish Potatoes” vs. “Potatoes”: Early modern English texts differentiate between:

  • Spanish Potatoes — sweet potatoes
  • Potatoes — the newly introduced white/Irish potato
May uses both terms; Woolley uses both interchangeably depending on the edition. In culinary practice, the sweet potato is the one combined with sugar, spices, and citrus.

Humoral Medicine: Sweet potatoes were classed as “hot and moist,” nourishing and gentle on the stomach. Combined with warming spices (cinnamon, nutmeg), sugar, or sack (fortified wine), they were thought to strengthen the body in cold months — making them an ideal winter dish.

Culinary Meaning: These recipes show how New World ingredients integrated into English feasting culture — sweet, rich, buttery, and festive. Serving them today forms a bridge between the Columbian Exchange and the modern Thanksgiving table.

Period Recipes (Three Ways)

1. Robert May — The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

“To butter Potatoes.”
From The Accomplisht Cook, Book V, p. 225 (1660).
Public link to May’s recipe

To butter Potatoes.
Take Potatoes and roast them, then peel them and slice them; then strew sugar, cinnamon, and salt on them, and put in a piece of butter; then toss them up, and serve them hot.

2. Hannah Woolley — The Queen-Like Closet (1670)

“To Preserve Potatoes.”
Book I, “To Preserve Potatoes.”
Public link to Woolley

To Preserve Potatoes.
Take your Potatoes, and slice them very thin, then boil them in water till they be tender; then take them up, and dry them, and boil Sugar and water to a thickness; then put in your Potatoes, with a little Rosewater, and so keep them for your use.

3. Woolley Tradition — Potato Pottage (17th c.)

Referenced across multiple household manuals of the 1650s–1670s; a warming household dish.

Potato Pottage.
Boil your Potatoes in fair water or broth till they be tender; then bruise them, and put to them strong broth, a little grated bread, sweet butter, and such herbs as you like; season it with Salt, and so serve it well stewed.

Pumpion Pie (1658 & 1670) — The Earliest English Pumpkin Pie from The Compleat Cook and The Queen-Like Closet

England’s earliest spiced pumpkin pies: 1658 & 1670 English “pumpion” pies layered with apples or scented with sack and rosewater—two period versions, two modern bakes.

Pumpion Pie (1658 & 1670) — The Compleat Cook & The Queen-Like Closet

HomeTudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series › Pumpion Pie (1658 & 1670)

Part of the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving Series — Early modern English cooks balanced spice, fruit, and rich sauces to delight feast guests. In that spirit, we imagine how 17th-century dishes—roasts, puddings, and pies—might grace today’s Thanksgiving table with historical flavor and good cheer.

Dutch-style still life of autumn fruits and vegetables representing the Tudor & Stuart Thanksgiving table.

A Pie of Pumpion and Apple — England’s First Pumpkin Pies

By the mid-1600s, New World “pumpions” (pumpkins) found a home in English kitchens. Two of the earliest printed examples—The Compleat Cook (1658) and Hannah Woolley’s The Queen-Like Closet (1670)—reveal different approaches: one layers herbed pumpkin fritters with sliced apples and currants, finished with a wine-egg caudle; the other stews and mashes the pumpkin, perfumes it with rosewater and sack, and glazes it with a sweet caudle. Together, they prefigure the later Anglo-American pumpkin custard pie while retaining a distinctly Restoration palate.

Historical Context: The Journey of the Pumpkin

From the New World to the Old: Pumpkins (Cucurbita pepo) are among the oldest cultivated crops in the Americas, domesticated in Mexico around 7000–5500 BCE. By the 15th century they were a staple from South America to New England. Spanish and Portuguese explorers carried seeds home in the early 1500s, where the “Indian gourd” quickly took root in Iberian and Italian gardens.

Arrival in England: The word pompion (later spelled pumpion or pumpkin) entered English by 1548, from French pompon and ultimately Latin peponem, “melon.” William Turner’s Herbal (1551–68) lists the pompion among familiar garden plants, and John Gerard’s Herbal (1597) describes “the great round pompion,” judging it “cold and moist in the second degree.” English cooks viewed it as a vegetable requiring the balancing warmth of spice, wine, and butter.

Early English Recipes: By the mid-1600s, the pumpkin had moved from curiosity to kitchen. The herbed, apple-layered pie in The Compleat Cook (1658) and Hannah Woolley’s sweeter rosewater version in The Queen-Like Closet (1670) mark its first recorded uses in English cookery. Both reflect a transitional taste—part vegetable fritter, part custard pie—infused with the season’s abundance of spice.

Across the Atlantic Again: English colonists in New England found pumpkins thriving in Indigenous fields and adopted them eagerly. By the late 17th century, colonial cooks abandoned herbs and apples for smooth spiced custards, giving rise to the pumpkin pie of early American tradition, immortalized in Amelia Simmons’s American Cookery (1796).

DateEventLocation
~7000 BCEPumpkins domesticatedMesoamerica
Early 1500sIntroduced to Europe by Spanish explorersIberia
1536Described in Mattioli’s CommentariiItaly
1548First English record of “pompion”England
1597Gerard’s Herbal notes “great round pompion”England
1658The Compleat Cook publishes “Pumpion Pie”London
1670Hannah Woolley’s Queen-Like ClosetLondon
1796Amelia Simmons’s American CookeryUnited States

Humoral Insight: Early modern physicians classified pumpkins as “cold and moist.” Period cooks corrected this by adding warming ingredients—spice, sugar, and eggs—making dishes like pumpion pie both healthful and seasonally balanced.

Glossary: Pompion — early English spelling of pumpkin; Caudle — a warm sauce of egg yolk and wine; Verjuice — acidic juice from unripe grapes used for tartness.

Original Recipes

A. The Compleat Cook (1658)

To make a Pumpion Pie.
Take about halfe a pound of Pumpion and slice it, a handfull of Tyme, a little Rosemary, Parsley and sweet Marjoram slipped off the stalks, and chop them small, then take Cinamon, Nutmeg, Pepper, and six Cloves, and beat them; take ten Eggs and beat them, then mix them, and beat them altogether, and put in as much Sugar as you think fit, then fry them like a froiz; after it is fryed, let it stand till it be cold, then fill your Pye, take sliced Apples thinne round wayes, and lay a row of the Froiz, and a layer of Apples with Currans betwixt the layers while your Pye is fitted, and put in a good deal of sweet Butter before you close it; when the Pye is baked, take six yolks of Eggs, some white Wine or Verjuice, and make a Caudle thereof, cut up the Lid, and pour it in, then sugar it, and serve it up.

B. Hannah Woolley, The Queen-Like Closet (1670)

To make a Pumpion Pye.
Take the Pumpion, and pare it, and slice it thin, and stew it till it be tender, then mash it and season it with beaten Spice, Sugar, and Rosewater, and lay it in your Pye, and put in good store of Butter, and when it is baked, pour in a Caudle made of Eggs, Sack, and Sugar, and serve it hot.

Period Technique: A caudle is a lightly thickened sauce of wine (or sack) and egg yolks, poured into a hot pie to glaze and enrich it just before serving.

Choose Your Pie: The 1658 version is savory-sweet with herbs, apples, and currants; the 1670 version is silkier and perfumed with rosewater and sack. Both are unmistakably 17th-century.

A grand 17th-century “sallet” of roast meats, pickled vegetables, citrus, and herbs — Robert May’s elegant Tudor salad for a Thanksgiving feast.

A Grand Sallet of Minced Capon and Pickled Things – Robert May’s Festive Cold Salad (1660)

A Dutch still-life of meats, citrus, and salad greens evoking a 17th-century banquet table.
A Dutch still-life evoking the abundance of a 17th-century banquet — a perfect match for the spirit of Thanksgiving.

Editor’s Note: As autumn turns to feast season, the next several posts on Give It Forth explore a different kind of Thanksgiving table — one inspired not by Pilgrims and pumpkins, but by the kitchens of Tudor and Stuart England. These 16th- and 17th-century dishes, drawn from sources like Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook (1660), showcase the foods and flavors that would have graced a festive English winter board. Presented here in modern form, each recipe offers a way to bring history to an American Thanksgiving — blending Old World elegance with New World abundance.

Historical Note: The Tudors and Stuarts did not celebrate Thanksgiving as we do in America today. This series simply imagines how dishes from their winter feasts — roasts, “made dishes,” puddings, and spiced pies — might have found their way, in spirit and flavor, to the modern table. It’s a chance to explore the shared themes of gratitude, abundance, and seasonal celebration across centuries.

The Historical Recipe

To make a Grand Sallet of minced Capon, Veal, roast Mutton, Chicken or Neats Tongue.
Minced capon or veal, &c. dried tongues in thin slices, lettice shred small as the tongue, olives, capers, mushrooms, pickled samphire, broom-buds, lemon or oranges, raisins, almonds, blew figs, Virginia potato, caparones, or crucifix pease, currans, pickled oysters, taragon.

How to dish it up.
Any of these being thin sliced, as is shown above said, with a little minced taragon and onion amongst it; then have lettice minced as small as the meat by it self, olives by themselves, capers by themselves, samphire by it self, broom-buds by it self, pickled mushrooms by themselves, or any of the materials abovesaid. Garnish the dish with oranges and lemons in quarters or slices, oyl and vinegar beaten together, and poured over all, &c.

To make a grand Sallet of divers Compounds.
Take a cold roast capon and cut it into thin slices square and small, (or any other roast meat as chicken, mutton, veal, or neats tongue) mingle with it a little minced taragon and an onion, then mince lettice as small as the capon, mingle all together, and lay it in the middle of a clean scoured dish. Then lay capers by themselves, olives by themselves, samphire by it self, broom buds, pickled mushrooms, pickled oysters, lemon, orange, raisins, almonds, blue-figs, Virginia Potato, caperons, crucifix pease, and the like, more or less, as occasion serves, lay them by themselves in the dish round the meat in partitions. Then garnish the dish sides with quarters of oranges, or lemons, or in slices, oyl and vinegar beaten together, and poured on it over all.

On fish days, a roast, broil’d, or boil’d pike boned, and being cold, slice it as abovesaid.

— Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

The Historical Recipe

To make a Grand Sallet of minced Capon, Veal, roast Mutton, Chicken or Neats Tongue.
Minced capon or veal, &c. dried tongues in thin slices, lettice shred small as the tongue, olives, capers, mushrooms, pickled samphire, broom-buds, lemon or oranges, raisins, almonds, blew figs, Virginia potato, caparones, or crucifix pease, currans, pickled oysters, taragon.

How to dish it up.
Any of these being thin sliced, as is shown above said, with a little minced taragon and onion amongst it; then have lettice minced as small as the meat by it self, olives by themselves, capers by themselves, samphire by it self, broom-buds by it self, pickled mushrooms by themselves, or any of the materials abovesaid. Garnish the dish with oranges and lemons in quarters or slices, oyl and vinegar beaten together, and poured over all, &c.

— Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

Green Pudding of Sweet Herbs – A Tudor Boiled Pudding from The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

Green Pudding of Sweet Herbs – A Tudor Boiled Pudding from The Accomplisht Cook (1660)

Editor’s Note: As autumn turns to feast season, the next several posts on Give It Forth explore a different kind of Thanksgiving table — one inspired not by Pilgrims and pumpkins, but by the kitchens of Tudor and Stuart England. These 16th- and 17th-century dishes, drawn from sources like Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook (1660), showcase the foods and flavors that would have graced a festive English winter board. Presented here in modern form, each recipe offers a way to bring history to an American Thanksgiving — blending Old World elegance with New World abundance.

Historical Note: The Tudors and Stuarts did not celebrate Thanksgiving as we do in America today. This series simply imagines how dishes from their winter feasts — roasts, “made dishes,” puddings, and spiced pies — might have found their way, in spirit and flavor, to the modern table. It’s a chance to explore the shared themes of gratitude, abundance, and seasonal celebration across centuries.

Dutch still-life style roast bird with herbs, citrus, bread and pewter dishes on a dark table.
A 17th-century-inspired feast still life. Alongside the roast, dishes like green puddings of sweet herbs added color and richness to the Tudor–Stuart table.

On a Tudor or early Stuart winter table, not every “pudding” was sweet. Many were savoury, herbal, and vividly green — rich with cream and egg yolks, scented with mace and nutmeg, and studded with currants and dates. Robert May’s “green boil’d Pudding of sweet Herbs” is one of these: a bread-and-cream pudding colored with spinach juice and flavored with a whole garden of herbs.

He tells us that these puddings are “excellent for stuffings of roast or boil’d Poultrey, Kid, Lamb, or Turkey, Veal, or Breasts of Mutton.” In other words, they could be served in slices as a side dish, or used as a rich, herbal forcemeat filling for meat and fowl.

The Original: A Green Boil’d Pudding of Sweet Herbs

To make a green boil’d Pudding of sweet Herbs.

Take and steep a penny white loaf in a quart of cream and only eight yolks of eggs, some currans, sugar, cloves, beaten mace, dates, juyce of spinage, saffron, cinamon, nutmeg, sweet marjoram, tyme, savory, peniroyal minced very small, and some salt, boil it in beef-suet, marrow, (or none.) These puddings are excellent for stuffings of roast or boil’d Poultrey, Kid, Lamb, or Turkey, Veal, or Breasts of Mutton.

This short paragraph carries a great deal of information: it tells us the base (bread and cream), the enrichment (egg yolks, suet, marrow), the “green” element (spinach juice and herbs), the seasoning (currants, dates, sugar, spices), and the preferred cooking method (boiled as a pudding, then served or used as stuffing).

What Is a Boiled Pudding?

In the 16th and 17th centuries, many puddings were cooked not in tins, but in cloth. The mixture was poured into a floured or buttered linen or canvas pudding cloth, tied securely, and boiled in a pot of water or broth until set. Afterward, the pudding was turned out, sometimes browned before the fire, and served in slices. The same method works for both sweet and savoury puddings.
Glossary: Penny Loaf, Spinage, & Peniroyal

Penny white loaf: A small, fine white bread, roughly similar to a modern small boule or 250–300 g of white sandwich bread (without the crusts).

Juyce of spinage: Spinach juice — spinach leaves pounded or blended, then squeezed to extract a vivid green juice used to color and flavor the pudding.

Peniroyal (pennyroyal): A strongly flavored mint family herb. Because modern pennyroyal is not considered food-safe, we omit it here and rely on marjoram, thyme, and savory instead.

Tudor Appetizers: Entrées de Table from The Accomplisht Cook

Tudor Appetizers: Entrées de Table from The Accomplisht Cook

Editor’s Note: As autumn turns to feast season, the next several posts on Give It Forth explore a different kind of Thanksgiving table — one inspired not by Pilgrims and pumpkins, but by the kitchens of Tudor and Stuart England. These 16th- and 17th-century dishes, drawn from sources like Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook (1660), showcase the foods and flavors that would have graced a festive English winter board. Presented here in modern form, each recipe offers a way to bring history to an American Thanksgiving — blending Old World elegance with New World abundance.

Historical Note: The Tudors and Stuarts did not celebrate Thanksgiving as we do in America today. This series simply imagines how dishes from their winter feasts — roasts, “made dishes,” and spiced pies — might have found their way, in spirit and flavor, to the modern table. It’s a chance to explore the shared themes of gratitude, abundance, and seasonal celebration across centuries.

Dutch still-life style Tudor roast turkey surrounded by herbs, citrus, and bread sippets.
A clove-studded roast turkey in the Tudor–Stuart style, served with citrus, herbs, and bread sippets. Here it stands in for the “entrance to the table” in Robert May’s 1660 kitchen.

If the roast turkey is the great centerpiece of a holiday table, then the entrées de table are its graceful opening act. In the mid-seventeenth century, English cooks like Robert May borrowed the French idea of “made dishes” — elegant, composed plates of meats, vegetables, and fruits — and set them out as an entrance to the table: the first sight that greeted guests as they sat down to dine.

They are, in many ways, the ancestors of our modern appetizers: small, complex, carefully arranged dishes meant to delight the eye as much as the appetite.

“Another made Dish in the French Fashion”

Another made Dish in the French Fashion, called an Entre de Table, Entrance to the Table.

Take the bottoms of boil’d Artichocks, the yolks of hard Eggs, yong Chicken-peepers, or Pidgeon-peepers, finely trust, Sweetbreads of Veal, Lamb-stones, blanched, and put them in a Pipkin, with Cockstones, and combs, and knots of Eggs; then put to them some strong broth, white-wine, large Mace, Nutmeg, Pepper, Butter, Salt, and Marrow, and stew them softly together.

Then have Goosberries or Grapes perboil’d, or Barberries, and put to them some beaten Butter; and Potato’s, Skirrets or Sparagus boil’d, and put in beaten butter, and some boil’d Pistaches.

These being finely stewed, dish your fowls on fine carved sippets, and pour on your Sweet-Breads, Artichocks, and Sparagus on them, Grapes, and slic’t Lemon, and run all over with beaten butter, &c.

Somtimes for variety, you may put some boil’d Cabbidge, Lettice, Colliflowers, Balls of minced meat, or Sausages without skins, fryed Almonds, Calves Udder.

This is less a single recipe than a palette of ingredients: delicate pieces of poultry, artichokes, asparagus, grapes, potatoes, skirrets, pistachios, cabbage, and cauliflower — all gently stewed in white wine and butter, then arranged over carved sippets (toasted bread) and finished with lemon and more butter. It is sophisticated, seasonal, and abundantly flexible, just as a modern appetizer spread might be.

Historical Note: What Is an “Entre de Table”?

In early modern menu language, an entré(e) or entre de table was a “made dish” that entered the table with the first course. Rather than a single roast, it was a composed plate or platter: small pieces of meat, vegetables, and fruits layered together in a rich broth or sauce. These dishes sat between the great roasts and pies, offering variety and visual interest. They are close cousins to what we would now call appetizers or small plates.

Glossary: Sweetbreads, Sippets & Pipkins

Sweetbreads: The delicate thymus or pancreas of calf or lamb, prized for its tender texture. In modern kitchens, you can substitute small pieces of chicken thigh or breast for a similar feel.

Lamb-stones, cockstones & combs: Period terms for various small offal pieces and cockerel combs used as delicacies. For most modern cooks, diced chicken or turkey can stand in.

Knots of Eggs: Tiny curds or clusters made by stirring beaten egg into hot liquid, or small egg yolks poached together.

Pipkin: A small earthenware pot used for gentle stewing over coals.

Sippets: Thin slices or shapes of bread, toasted or fried, used to soak up sauces and form the base of a dish.

Robert May’s Roast Turkey (1660): Basting, Saucing, Baking & Carving a Feast Bird

Robert May’s Roast Turkey (1660): Basting, Saucing, Baking & Carving a Feast Bird


Dutch still-life style Tudor roast turkey surrounded by herbs, citrus, and bread sippets.
A clove-studded roast turkey in the Tudor style, served with citrus, herbs, and bread sippets. Adapted from Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook (1660).

This month, we’re setting the table for a different kind of Thanksgiving — one with a Tudor and Stuart flavor. From Robert May’s 1660 “Accomplisht Cook” to earlier Tudor household manuals, we’ll explore how roast birds, herb puddings, and fruit-studded pies once filled English Christmas and winter feasts. Each recipe has been adapted for a modern kitchen — perfect for cooks who want to bring a little early modern elegance to their Thanksgiving table.

When we think of “traditional” holiday turkey, most of us picture a very modern table. But by the time The Accomplisht Cook was printed in 1660, Robert May already had a fully developed system for roasting, basting, saucing, baking, and even carving great birds like turkey, bustard, and peacock. This post gathers several of his turkey-adjacent passages into one place and offers a modern redaction you can actually put on a holiday table.

Historical Note: The Birds of Robert May’s Table

Turkey: Native to the Americas, turkeys were introduced to England in the early 1500s through Spanish and English trade with the New World. By the reign of Henry VIII they were already fashionable; by the late Tudor period, they regularly appeared at Christmas feasts, often replacing peacock or swan as the grand centerpiece.

Bustard: The great bustard (Otis tarda) was a huge wild game bird native to southern England and the open downs. Weighing up to 30 pounds, it was prized for its rich meat and rarity. Overhunting led to its extinction in Britain by the early 19th century (though reintroduction efforts have since succeeded on Salisbury Plain). In May’s time, serving a bustard was a display of elite access to rare game — the Restoration equivalent of a trophy roast.

Peacock & Swan: These older medieval showpieces were still occasionally served, but more often preserved in decorative pies or replaced with turkey and goose for practicality.

Capons, Pheasants, and Partridges: These smaller birds filled the secondary places on the table, roasted or baked in pairs for symmetry, often “larded” with bacon for richness and shine.

Of Fatting Turkies (Robert May, 1660)

For the fatting of turkies sodden barley is excellent, or sodden oats for the first fortnight, and then for another fortnight cram them in all sorts as you cram your capon, and they will be fat beyond measure. ... Their eggs are exceeding wholesome to eat, and restore nature decayed wonderfully.

Context: May’s note shows how recently turkeys had joined English barnyards. Introduced from the New World just a century earlier, they were still treated as curiosities worth special care. His method—first feeding boiled grain, then hand-cramming like capons—was meant to produce the rich, buttery birds served at Christmas. The mention of “restoring nature decayed” reflects period belief in food as medicine: turkey eggs were considered strengthening for the elderly or convalescent.

Historical Note: Of course, the Tudors and Stuarts did not celebrate Thanksgiving as we do in America today. This series simply imagines how dishes from their winter feasts — from Robert May’s 1660 Accomplisht Cook to earlier Tudor cookbooks — might have found their way, in spirit and flavor, to the modern table. It’s a chance to explore the shared themes of gratitude, abundance, and seasonal celebration across centuries.

Think of this as an early modern English answer to Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner: a roast turkey, richly basted, brightly sauced, optionally baked in pastry, and carved at table as a piece of performance art.

Robert May and the Seventeenth-Century Christmas Table

Robert May (1588–1664) worked in both English and French-influenced kitchens, and his Accomplisht Cook sits at the turning point between late Tudor/early Stuart foodways and the Restoration court. His famous “Bill of Fare for Christmas Day” shows just how lavish a noble household’s table could be, and it’s one of the earliest English Christmas menus that features turkey alongside swan, venison, and minced pies.

A Bill of Fare for Christmas Day (Robert May, 1660)

From The Accomplisht Cook — A 17th-century Christmas table as it might have been set in a great English household, featuring the first and second courses for one “mess.”

First Course

  1. Oysters.
  2. A collar of brawn.
  3. Stewed broth of mutton marrow-bones.
  4. A grand sallet.
  5. A pottage of caponets.
  6. A breast of veal in stoffado.
  7. A boil’d partridge.
  8. A chine of beef, or surloin roast.
  9. Minced pies.
  10. A jegote of mutton with anchovy sauce.
  11. A made dish of sweet-bread.
  12. A swan roast.
  13. A pasty of venison.
  14. A kid with a pudding in his belly.
  15. A steak pie.
  16. A hanch of venison roasted.
  17. A turkey roast and stuck with cloves.
  18. A made dish of chickens in puff paste.
  19. Two bran geese roasted, one larded.
  20. Two large capons, one larded.
  21. A custard.

Second Course

Oranges and Lemons.

  1. A young lamb or kid.
  2. Two couple of rabbits, two larded.
  3. A pig souc’t with tongues.
  4. Three ducks, one larded.
  5. Three pheasants, one larded.
  6. A swan pye.
  7. Three brace of partridge, three larded.
  8. A made dish in puff paste.
  9. Bologna sausages, anchovies, mushrooms, caviare, and pickled oysters in a dish.
  10. Six teels, three larded.
  11. A gammon of Westphalia bacon.
  12. Ten plovers, five larded.
  13. A quince pye or warden pie.
  14. Six woodcocks, three larded.
  15. A standing tart in puff-paste with preserved fruits and pippins.
  16. A dish of larks.
  17. Six dried neats’ tongues.
  18. Sturgeon.
  19. Powdered geese.
  20. Jellies.
Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook (1660): A Christmas Day bill of fare featuring roast turkey “stuck with cloves”.

Within this world, turkey is both fashionable and firmly embedded in the performance of a winter feast. May then shows us in detail how to baste it, sauce it, bake it, and even how to carve it in front of the company.

Divers Bastings for Roast Meats

Before we ever get to the carving knife, May begins with the art of basting. His “divers bastings” turn a plain roast into something scented, glazed, and showy.

Divers Bastings for roast Meats.

1. Fresh butter.

2. Clarified suet.

3. Claret wine, with a bundle of sage, rosemary, tyme, and parsley, baste the mutton with these herbs and wine.

4. Water and salt.

5. Cream and melted butter, thus flay’d pigs commonly.

6. Yolks of eggs, juyce of oranges and biskets, the meat being almost rosted, comfits for some fine large fowls, as a peacock, bustard, or turkey.

In modern terms:

  • Butter or clarified suet give a rich, golden, crisp skin.
  • Claret wine and herbs add aroma and colour, especially good on mutton or stronger meats.
  • Cream and butter make a delicate pale glaze for roast pig.
  • Egg yolks, orange juice, and crushed biscuits form a sweet, glossy crust for grand birds, finished with comfits scattered over the top.
Historical Note: What Was “Claret Wine”?

In the seventeenth century, claret referred broadly to light red wines imported from Bordeaux and Gascony — the word itself comes from the French vin claret, meaning “clear wine.” Early clarets were pale, almost rosé-like, because they were fermented briefly on the grape skins and shipped young. By Robert May’s day, claret had deepened in color but was still lighter and sharper than modern Bordeaux blends.

Modern Substitute: Use a medium-bodied dry red wine such as a Bordeaux, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, or Côtes du Rhône. For recipes that emphasize freshness (like bastings or sauces), a Pinot Noir or red table wine works beautifully. Avoid sweet or heavy fortified wines — May’s claret would have been tart and food-friendly, not rich or syrupy.

Historical Note: What Was “Bisket”?

In early modern English cookery, a bisket (or “bisket bread”) meant any hard, twice-baked bread — the word comes from the French biscuit, literally “twice cooked.” There were two main types:

Hard Bisket: a plain, crisp rusk used for travel or shipboard rations (like naval hardtack).
Fine or Musked Bisket: a delicate, sweetened version flavored with sugar, rosewater, musk, and sometimes anise or caraway seeds. These were the precursors to our modern ladyfingers and biscotti.

When May calls for “biskets” to be crushed into a sauce or basting (as in his egg yolks, juyce of oranges and biskets glaze), he’s referring to the fine sweet type — a dry sponge or rusk used to thicken or sweeten a mixture, not the savory ship’s biscuit.

Modern Substitute: Use crushed ladyfingers, biscotti, or dried sponge cake crumbs for sweet dishes. For savory sauces, plain melba toast or water crackers will approximate the texture and mild flavor of historical bisket bread.

For a modern turkey inspired by May, a simple claret-and-herb baste during roasting, followed by an optional egg-and-orange glaze near the end, is both period-plausible and achievable in a home kitchen.

Sauces for Roast Land-Fowl

May then turns to sauces, many of them built on bread, onions, citrus, nuts, and fruit. These are mainly intended for turkey, bustard, peacock, pheasant, partridge, and other land-fowl.

Sauces for all manner of roast Land-Fowl, as Turkey, Bustard, Peacock, Pheasant, Partridge, &c.

1. Slic’t onions being boil’d, stew them in some water, salt, pepper, some grated bread, and the gravy of the fowl.

2. Take slices of white-bread and boil them in fair water with two whole onions, some gravy, half a grated nutmeg, and a little salt; strain them together through a strainer, and boil it up as thick as water grewel; then add to it the yolks of two eggs dissolved with the juyce of two oranges, &c.

3. Take thin slices of manchet, a little of the fowl, some sweet butter, grated nutmeg, pepper, and salt; stew all together, and being stewed, put in a lemon minced with the peel.

4. Onions slic’t and boil’d in fair water, and a little salt, a few bread crumbs beaten, pepper, nutmeg, three spoonful of white wine, and some lemon-peel finely minced, and boil’d all together: being almost boil’d put in the juyce of an orange, beaten butter, and the gravy of the fowl.

5. Stamp small nuts to a paste, with bread, nutmeg, pepper, saffron, cloves, juyce of orange, and strong broth, strain and boil them together pretty thick.

6. Quince, prunes, currans, and raisins, boil’d, muskefied bisket stamped and strained with white wine, rose vinegar, nutmeg, cinamon, cloves, juyce of oranges and sugar, and boil it not too thick.

7. Boil carrots and quinces, strain them with rose vinegar, and verjuyce, sugar, cinamon, pepper, and nutmeg, boil’d with a few whole cloves, and a little musk.

8. Take a manchet, pare off the crust and slice it, then boil it in fair water, and being boil’d some what thick put in some white wine, wine vinegar, rose, or elder vinegar, some sugar and butter, &c.

9. Almond-paste and crumbs of manchet, stamp them together with some sugar, ginger, and salt, strain them with grape-verjuyce, and juyce of oranges; boil it pretty thick.

There is a whole post lurking in these nine sauces alone, but for our turkey we can simplify to one or two options:

  • A simple onion and bread sauce enriched with nutmeg, butter, and a splash of white wine (nos. 1–2, 4).
  • A **citrus bread sauce** with egg yolks and orange or lemon juice (no. 2), which feels especially festive.
  • An almond and verjuice sauce for a more luxurious, almost gravy-like accompaniment (no. 9).

A Green Boil’d Pudding of Sweet Herbs

May also gives us a green boiled pudding that he explicitly recommends as a stuffing or side for roast poultry, kid, lamb, or veal. It functions very much like a rich, herbal “stuffing pudding”.

To make a green boil’d Pudding of sweet Herbs.

Take and steep a penny white loaf in a quart of cream and only eight yolks of eggs, some currans, sugar, cloves, beaten mace, dates, juyce of spinage, saffron, cinamon, nutmeg, sweet marjoram, tyme, savory, peniroyal minced very small, and some salt, boil it in beef-suet, marrow, (or none.) These puddings are excellent for stuffings of roast or boil’d Poultrey, Kid, Lamb, or Turkey, Veal, or Breasts of Mutton.

For a modern table, this could be adapted as a savoury-herbal bread pudding baked in a dish or used to stuff a turkey loosely in the cavity (mind your food-safety timings).

To Bake a Turkey (for Hot or Cold Service)

At last we come to the baked turkey itself. May’s version is technically a baked pie — the bird boned, larded, heavily seasoned, and sealed in pastry and butter. He offers both a cold, preserved version, and a hot, freshly sauced one.

To bake Turkey, Chicken, Pea-Chicken, Pheasant-Pouts, Heath Pouts, Caponets, or Partridge for to be eaten cold.

Take a turkey-chicken, bone it, and lard it with pretty big lard, a pound and half will serve, then season it with an ounce of pepper, an ounce of nutmegs, and two ounces of salt, lay some butter in the bottom of the pye, then lay on the fowl, and put in it six or eight whole cloves, then put on all the seasoning with good store of butter, close it up, and baste it over with eggs, bake it, and being baked fill it up with clarified butter.

Thus you may bake them for to be eaten hot, giving them but half the seasoning, and liquor it with gravy and juyce of orange.

Bake this pye in fine paste; for more variety you may make a stuffing for it as followeth; mince some beef-suet and a little veal very fine, some sweet herbs, grated nutmeg, pepper, salt, two or three raw yolks of eggs, some boil’d skirrets or pieces of artichocks, grapes, or gooseberries, &c.

For most of us, a whole boned turkey baked in a giant pie is a little ambitious on a weeknight; but the flavour profile and saucing adapt beautifully to a more familiar roast.