Can you imagine eating two to three pounds of bread a day—and washing it down with ale? In late medieval and early modern kitchens, bread was the staple, from four-day-old trencher loaves to fine white table bread. This overview compares two elite white breads I bake often: manchet “after my Ladie Graies use” (1594) and Robert May’s “French bread” (1685).
Originally published 1/2/2015 / updated 10/1/2025
For roughly a third of the medieval calendar—Lent and other fast days—cooks avoided meat, dairy, and eggs. Far from the stereotype of endless roasts, elite kitchens leaned on almond milk as a flexible stand-in for dairy: it could be drawn “thick” or “thin,” seasoned sweet or savory, and tailored to the dish at hand.
Because every trained cook knew how to make it, many manuscripts don’t bother giving a basic recipe. When they do spell it out, we learn that medieval almond milk could be drawn with plain water, sugar-water (white or “black”/brownish sugar), or tempered with honey—and in practice, cooks also drew it with broth for savory dishes, or wine for rich Lenten fare and sweets. Below are period texts with clean translations, followed by kitchen-ready modern methods for each variant.
xj. Froyde almoundys. Take blake sugre, an cold water, an do hem to in a fayre potte, an let hem boyle to-gedere, an salt it an skeme it clene, an let it kele; j^an take almaundys, an blawnche hem clene, an stampe hem, an draw hem, with fe sugre water thikke y-now, in-to a fayre vessel: an [yf] fe mylke be nojt swete y-now, take whyte sugre an caste fer-to.
11. Cold Almond Milk. Take black sugar and cold water and put them in a pot; let them boil together, salt and skim clean, and let it cool. Then take almonds, blanch them, and grind them; draw them with the sugar-water thick enough into a fair vessel. If the milk is not sweet enough, add white sugar.
Source: Austin, Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery Books, Harl. MS 279.
Froyte de almondes. Take blak sugur and cold water, and caste the sugur and þe water in a potte; and lete hem boile togidre, and salt, and skeme hem clene, and let hit kele; And þen take Almoundes, and blanche hem clene, and stampe hem in a morter al smal, and drawe hem thik ynowe thorgh a streyner with sugur water… And serue hit forth in maner of potage, And namely in lenton tyme.
Cold Almond Milk. Boil black sugar with water, salt and skim clean, let cool. Blanch and grind almonds very fine; draw them thick enough through a strainer with the sugar-water… Serve it as a kind of pottage, particularly in Lent.
Source: Austin, Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery Books, Harl. MS 4016.
Take brokyn sugure or for fawte ther of take claryfied hony and put hit into fayre water And set hit on the fyre and boyle hit and skymme hit clene and set hit be syde the fyre and let hit cole and then blanche thy almondys cast them yn a morter and bray them small temper hem up with þe same water.
Take crushed sugar—or, if lacking that, clarified honey—and put it in fair water. Set it on the fire, boil and skim clean; set aside and let cool. Then blanch almonds and grind them small; temper them with the same water.
Source: MS Pepys 1047 (transcription at OldCookery.com).
Notes: These texts show the core technique (blanch → grind → draw/strain) and clearly attest to sugar-water and honey-water variants. In practice, medieval recipes also direct cooks to “draw with broth” for savory pottages and sauces, or with wine for certain feast dishes and sweets. “Thick” vs. “thin” is a matter of almond-to-liquid ratio.
Originally Published 11/10/2015 / Updated 10/1/2025
“The more things change, the more they remain the same.” That phrase feels especially true when we look at almond milk. Today, we reach for it as a dairy-free alternative in lattes or smoothies. In the Middle Ages, cooks turned to it for many of the same reasons: dietary restrictions, health, and versatility.
Almond milk appears in nearly every major medieval cookbook — from the English Forme of Cury (c. 1390) to French texts like Le Viandier. Whether thickened into custards, stirred into pottages, or sweetened for desserts, it was a foundational ingredient in European kitchens from the 13th–15th centuries. Understanding almond milk helps unlock a whole category of medieval recipes.
The almond tree (Prunus dulcis) is native to the regions of modern-day Iran and Central Asia. Cultivation spread westward along trade networks into Persia and the Mediterranean by the first millennium BCE. The Greeks and Romans knew almonds well — Roman authors like Pliny the Elder mention them, and they were commonly served at banquets.
Through Roman expansion and later Arab influence in Spain and Sicily, almonds became established throughout southern Europe. By the 9th–10th centuries, almond-based dishes appear in Arabic medical and culinary texts, praised both for flavor and for their gentle, “cooling” effect in humoral medicine.
In this way, the humble almond traveled thousands of miles — from Asian orchards to English feasting halls — and almond milk became one of the most common “dairy substitutes” in medieval Europe.
In Galenic medicine, almonds were considered “hot and moist.” Almond milk, tempered with water, was thought gentler on the stomach than cow’s milk and was prescribed for the sick or those with delicate digestion. This idea echoes modern perceptions of almond milk as “lighter” and easier to digest.
Medieval almond milk was made almost exactly as we do today:
The ratio determined the thickness. Recipes often call for “thick” almond milk when a rich base was needed, or a thinner version for soups and sauces. Sweetening with sugar, honey, or rosewater was common, while savory versions might use broth or even wine.
The parallels are striking:
What was once a Lenten necessity has become a café staple.
Originally published 3/26/2017 / Updated 10/1/2025
The name can sound jarring to modern ears, but in Middle English it had an entirely different meaning. You’ll find it spelled rapeye, rapy, rape, or rapé across manuscripts like Harleian MS. 279, Forme of Cury, Liber cure cocorum, and A Noble Boke off Cookry. The most likely origin is the Old French rapé (“grated” or “rasped”), from the verb raper (“to grate, scrape”). This makes sense: most recipes called for grated or pounded dried fruit, thickened with rice flour or bread.
In practice, Rapeye could mean either a sauce or a fruit paste/pudding. Some versions are clearly sauces for meat or fish; others, like this one, stand as thick fruit dishes in their own right. The Forme of Cury has a “Rape” made of figs and raisins strained with wine; the Liber cure cocorum “Rape” is a raisin sauce sharpened with vinegar. Our apple–date Rapeye is more of a spoon dish or pudding, but the common thread is fruit grated or mashed, spiced, sweetened, and thickened until “chargeaunt” (stout or substantial).
Parallels exist in other European traditions: Latin glossaries sometimes link rapa (turnip) to grated preparations; Italian rappigliare means “to curdle or thicken.” While etymologies vary, the consensus is that Rapeye signified a grated fruit preparation that could flex between sauce, sweetmeat, or pudding depending on context.
Rapeye shows up multiple times in fifteenth-century English cookbooks and seems to be a flexible category—sometimes a sauce, sometimes a fruit paste, sometimes (like this one) a spoonable “pudding.” In Harleian MS. 279 the fourth Rapeye (.Liiij.) combines almond milk with minced dates and raw apples, thickened with rice flour and perfumed with ginger, cinnamon, maces, cloves, sugar, and a touch of saffron or sanders (sandalwood) for color. It’s comforting, gently spiced, and—per my taste testers—popular even with folks who “don’t like dates.”
.Liiij. Rapeye.—Take almaundys, an draw a gode mylke þer-of, and take Datys an mynce hem smal, an put þer-on y-now; take Raw Appelys, an pare hem and stampe hem, an drawe hem vppe with wyne, or with draf of Almaundys, or boþe; þan caste pouder of Gyngere, Canel, Maces, Clowes, & caste þer-on Sugre y-now; þan take a quantyte of flowre of Rys, an þrowe þer-on, & make it chargeaunt, an coloure it wyth Safroun, an with Saunderys, an serue forth; an strawe Canel a-boue.
Make a good almond milk. Mince dates finely and add plenty to the milk. Peel raw apples, pound them, and strain with wine or with the almond “draff” (the pressed solids), or both. Add ginger, cinnamon, mace, cloves, and enough sugar. Sprinkle in rice flour to thicken (make it chargeant), and color with saffron and sandalwood. Serve, strewing cinnamon on top.
Seasonal Note: With apples at their peak in autumn and the warming spices of ginger, cinnamon, mace, and cloves, this Rapeye fits naturally into a fall table. In the medieval calendar, it would have been equally at home during cooler seasons and fasting days when almond milk stood in for dairy. Today, it makes a wonderful harvest-time pudding.
Medieval diners balanced dishes by qualities (hot/cold, dry/moist). Almonds were often classed as warming & drying; dates generally warming & moistening; apples tending cooling & drying. The spicing (ginger, cinnamon, mace, cloves) nudges the dish warmer; almond milk and gentle cooking temper dryness; rice flour adds drying/“binding.” Likely seen as moderately warm and tending moist—comfortable fare for cooler seasons.
See also: Rapeye of Fleysshe and Rapeye (.Liij.).
Please note this correction: gum arabic and gum tragacanth are not the same substance. I originally conflated them—mea culpa, and thank you to the reader who flagged it.
Comfits were often served at the end of a feast as a digestive, to perfume the breath, and to decorate subtlety dishes and table settings. Aromatic seeds such as anise, fennel, or caraway were built up with repeated coats of sugar syrup—sometimes tinted with beet, spinach, or saffron. Almonds, ginger, and cinnamon splinters appear in later sources as well. You can still buy descendants of these sweets today (think Jordan almonds and pastilles), but handmade comfits are more delicate and—yes—tastier.
