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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why This Recipe Matters

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

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

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

Historical Recipe

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

- Sir Hugh Plat, Delights for Ladies (1609)

Modernized Transcription

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

Bitter Oranges vs. Sweet Oranges

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

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

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

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

Humoral and Feast Notes

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Crane?

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

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

How Was a Crane Carved?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Period-Style Reconstruction

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

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

📜 Period Italian, Style-Faithful Reconstruction

Italian

English Translation

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

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

Humoral and Dietary Context

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

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

At Our Table

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

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

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

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