Originally published: June 29, 2025 | Updated: June 3, 2026
Updated 6/3/2026: This post has been refreshed to current Give It Forth standards with expanded historical context, clearer recipe formatting, feast service notes, dietary notes, FAQ, internal links to the Roman feast series, and structured recipe data.
What are Itria and Basyniai? These two Roman-inspired sweets were served as part of the mensa secunda, the final course of the feast. Itria is interpreted here as a honeyed sesame-and-nut sweet, while Basyniai are small fig-and-walnut pastries fried in oil and finished with warm honey.
Itria and Basyniai in the Roman Feast
The final course of a Roman-style meal was not always a modern dessert course in the strict sense. Roman diners enjoyed fresh fruit, dried fruit, nuts, honeyed sweets, cakes, and small confections, but sweet and savory flavors could appear throughout the meal. A final course might refresh the palate rather than act as a heavy sugary ending.
For the Push for Pennsic 2004 – Early Roman Feast, these two sweets were served alongside assorted fresh and dried fruit and sugared nuts. Together, they offered the kind of small, rich, portable treats that work beautifully at the end of a large feast.
Both recipes are practical for event cooking. The sesame sweet can be made ahead, portioned into small bites, and served cooled. The fig-and-walnut pastries are best warm, but the filling and dough can be prepared in advance, making final service easier.
🏛️ Roman feast note: These sweets were part of the mensa secunda, served after the more substantial dishes of the feast. They pair especially well with fruit, nuts, grape juice, apple juice, lemonade, or other light beverages for a modern event table.
Historical Background
Sesame and honey confections were beloved across the ancient Mediterranean. Greek and Roman foodways both made use of small sweets made from seeds, nuts, dried fruits, and honey. These were compact, rich, and easy to portion, making them especially useful for feast service.
The Greek pasteli and Roman iritia or itria bear some resemblance to seed-and-honey sweets, although ancient food terms can shift in meaning depending on source, period, and context. For this feast, Itria was interpreted as a honey-bound sesame-and-nut confection: simple, fragrant, and portioned as small bites for the end of the meal.
Basyniai reflects another familiar ancient pattern: fruit and nuts enclosed in simple dough, fried in oil, and finished with honey. Figs, walnuts, olive oil, and honey were all well-suited to Roman-style sweets. The result is rustic rather than delicate, but rich, memorable, and feast-friendly.
These sweets also help modern diners understand that Roman final courses were not necessarily the same as modern desserts. A Roman-inspired ending could include fruit, nuts, honeyed cakes, fried pastries, and small confections rather than a single large cake or pudding.
⚖️ Humoral note: Later medieval dietary theory often treated nuts as rich and substantial, dried fruits as warming and nourishing, and honey as warming and drying. Although these are Roman-inspired sweets rather than medieval recipes, the practical balance is clear: dense nuts and figs are lifted by crisp pastry, toasted sesame, and warm honey.
Recreating an Early Roman Feast – Push for Pennsic 2004
Served at Push for Pennsic 2004 · SCA Event · Early Roman Style
Originally published: November 19, 2015 | Updated: June 3, 2026
Updated 6/3/2026: This feast hub has been refreshed to current Give It Forth standards with clearer menu organization, links to the recreated recipe posts, additional Roman meal context, practical feast-planning notes, dietary notes, FAQ, and FAQ structured data.
What was the Push for Pennsic Roman Feast? This was an Early Roman-style feast served at Push for Pennsic in 2004. It was designed for more than 100 diners and built around dishes that could be prepared ahead, transported, and served at room temperature under primitive site conditions.
About This Feast
Another blast from the past! This three-course feast was presented in the Roman style, allowing a diverse selection of savory and sweet items across all three courses. Designed to accommodate over 100 diners, the menu focused on dishes that could be made ahead and served at room temperature, with only a few heated on-site using a grill.
The feast site lacked a kitchen, with only a hose for water access, making this my third, possibly fourth, large-scale feast executed under primitive conditions. Because of that, the menu needed to be practical as well as historically inspired. Dishes had to travel well, hold safely, and make sense for service without a modern kitchen.
This is one of the reasons Roman food can be so useful for SCA and event cooking. Many Roman-inspired dishes are boldly flavored, served warm or at room temperature, and built from ingredients that can be prepared in advance: olives, cheese spreads, legumes, greens, sausages, breads, fruits, nuts, and honeyed or spiced sweets.
The Roman Meal Structure
A Roman-style meal is often described in three broad parts: the gustum, or appetizer course; the mensa prima, or main course; and the mensa secunda, or final course. This structure gave the feast a historical framework while still allowing the menu to be practical for a large modern event.
Gustum: The appetizer course. These were small dishes meant to awaken the appetite. Olives, egg dishes, salads, spreads, sausages, and light vegetables could all belong here.
Mensa Prima: The main course. This was the more substantial portion of the meal, often including meats, legumes, cooked vegetables, and richer sauces.
Mensa Secunda: The final course. This might include fresh fruit, dried fruit, nuts, cakes, sweets, and other small delicacies. Roman meals did not always separate sweet and savory flavors as sharply as modern diners do, so sweet elements could appear throughout the meal.
Many dishes in this feast reflect the rich culinary heritage of Rome, inspired by texts such as Apicius and other classical sources. Some historical accuracy was necessarily interpreted through available ingredients, modern safety expectations, and the realities of cooking for a large event, but the goal was to preserve the spirit, flavor, and structure of an ancient Roman meal.
🏛️ Feast planning note: This menu works especially well for events because many dishes can be made ahead and served cold or at room temperature. That makes it useful for outdoor events, camping, Pennsic-style conditions, and sites with limited kitchen access.
Originally published 5/10/2015 - Updated 5/27/2026
Sugar plate looks simple at first glance: sugar, rosewater, a little water, and flowers. In practice, it is a small master class in medieval sugarwork. It asks the cook to understand heat, texture, timing, humidity, and the mysterious moment when syrup becomes candy.
When I first made this recipe, I worked from the version in Pleyn Delit. I originally associated it with Harleian MS. 279, but while revisiting the recipe for this update I traced the attribution more carefully. In the second edition of Pleyn Delit, the recipe is identified as GK13, which points to Goud Kokery, recipe 13, preserved in Harleian MS. 2378 and printed in Curye on Inglysch.
That discovery changed the way I read the recipe. The original Middle English text does not describe a modern hard candy in thermometer language. Instead, it tells the cook to test the sugar between the fingers, remove it from the fire, stir it, work it, and make the “plate.” That suggests a softer, worked confection may be closer to the historical method, though the hard-crack version is still beautiful for feast display.
Violet petals preserved in sugar plate. The clearer amber candy was cooked to hard crack; the paler version was cooked lower and beaten.
What Is Sugar Plate?
Sugar plate is a medieval confection made by cooking clarified sugar, flavoring it, and forming it into a sheet or slab. The word “plate” here does not mean a dinner plate. It means a flat piece, layer, or formed sheet of sugar.
This is different from sugar paste. Sugar paste is usually a kneadable mixture used for molded or sculpted sugarwork, often involving a binder such as gum tragacanth. Sugar plate, by contrast, begins as cooked sugar and is poured or worked into a flat confection.
In a medieval feast setting, sugar plate belonged to the same elegant world as comfits, preserved fruits, marchpane, wafers, and subtlety work. It was sweet, scented, decorative, and expensive enough to make a statement. A small dish of rose-scented sugar with flowers would have been both dessert and table ornament.
The Source Trail: From Pleyn Delit Back to Goud Kokery
This recipe began for me with Pleyn Delit, but the revised edition gives the source as GK13. That abbreviation refers to Goud Kokery, one of the Middle English recipe collections included in Curye on Inglysch. The printed source identifies the recipe as Suger plate, from Harleian MS. 2378.
Finding the original mattered because it changed how I interpreted the cooking process. The modern recipe gives a practical adaptation, but the Middle English instructions are more revealing about texture and technique.
Original source:Suger plate, GK13, from Goud Kokery in Curye on Inglysch, Harleian MS. 2378.
Modern interpretation: The Pleyn Delit version used for my original kitchen testing.
The original recipe gives several clues that are important for a modern cook:
It begins with clarified sugar.
The sugar is tested between the fingers, not with a thermometer.
The cook is told to avoid letting it become too stiff.
The sugar is removed from the fire and stirred.
Rosewater is added after cooking.
The sugar is worked or formed into a “plate.”
This makes me think the historical preparation was probably not a clear, glassy hard-crack candy in the modern lollipop sense. It seems more likely to have been a worked sugar confection, cooked to a stage where it could still be stirred, handled, flavored, and formed.
That does not make the hard-crack version wrong as a modern feast interpretation. It is beautiful, dramatic, and useful for display. But if I were choosing the version that feels closest to the manuscript process, I would choose the softer worked sugar plate.
Medieval Sugar Stages for Modern Cooks
Modern candy recipes usually give temperatures. Medieval recipes usually do not. Instead, cooks judged sugar by appearance, texture, behavior, and touch. That is why older confectionery language includes terms such as thread, pearl, feather, ball, and crack.
The exact temperatures below are modern approximations. They are useful for home cooks, but historical cooks would have relied on experience and physical tests.
Stage
Approx. Temp.
What It Does
Modern Use
Thread
223–235°F
Forms thin threads from spoon or fingers
Syrups, preserves
Pearl / Blow
230–240°F
Thick syrup, bubbles, stronger strands
Candied fruits, soft sugarwork
Soft Ball
235–240°F
Forms a soft ball in cold water
Fondant, fudge-like candies
Firm Ball
245–250°F
Forms a firmer but pliable ball
Caramels, chewy candies
Hard Ball
250–265°F
Holds shape but remains chewy
Nougat, divinity-style candies
Soft Crack
270–290°F
Forms flexible brittle threads
Taffy, butterscotch
Hard Crack
300–310°F
Sets hard and glass-like
Lollipops, brittle, clear candy
Caramel
320°F and above
Sugar browns and develops caramel flavor
Caramelized sugar
For this recipe, the manuscript clues point most strongly toward the thread, pearl, or soft-ball range rather than hard crack. In testing, about 230°F produced a softer, paler sugar plate that could be beaten and worked before setting.
Humoral Notes: Sugar, Rosewater, and Flowers
Medieval sweets often lived at the border between food and medicine. Sugar was valued not only for sweetness, but also for its usefulness in medicinal preparations, preserves, and digestive confections.
Rosewater adds another layer. Roses were associated with cooling and comforting properties, especially for the heart and stomach. Violets were also often understood as cooling and soothing. A rose-scented sugar confection served at the end of a meal therefore made sense as both pleasure and digestive finish.
For a modern cook, this helps explain why such a small sweet could matter. Sugar plate was not meant to be eaten by the handful. It was a fragrant, elegant closing bite: sweet, floral, and showy enough to belong on a banquet table.
Modern Recipe: Sugar Plate with Edible Flowers
I am including two modern approaches below. The softer worked version is the one I now think is closest to the manuscript process. The hard-crack version is a useful feast-table adaptation when you want clear, dramatic candy with flowers suspended inside.
Ingredients
2 cups sugar
Enough water to thoroughly wet the sugar
2 tablespoons rosewater
1 tablespoon lemon juice, optional, to help reduce crystallization
Edible flowers or petals, such as violets, roses, pinks, calendula, borage, or lavender
Confectioner’s sugar, rice flour, or lightly oiled parchment for preventing sticking
Equipment
Heavy-bottomed saucepan
Reliable candy thermometer, preferably digital
Heat-safe spatula
Parchment paper or a marble slab
Rimmed baking sheet or shallow candy molds
Safety note: Hot sugar syrup is dangerous. It sticks to skin and burns deeply. Keep children and pets away from the stove, use care while pouring, and do not taste until fully cooled.
Version 1: Softer Worked Sugar Plate
This is the version I now favor as the more historically plausible interpretation. It produces a pale, opaque, rose-scented sugar confection rather than a clear hard candy.
Method
Prepare your work surface. Line a baking sheet with parchment, or prepare a clean marble slab. Dust very lightly with rice flour or confectioner’s sugar if needed.
Prepare the flowers. Use only edible, unsprayed flowers. Remove stems and green parts. Petals are easier to use than whole blossoms.
Dissolve the sugar. Place the sugar in a heavy saucepan with just enough water to wet it thoroughly. Add lemon juice if using. Heat gently, stirring until the sugar dissolves.
Cook the syrup. Increase the heat and cook to about 230°F. This is in the thread to soft-ball neighborhood, not hard crack.
Remove from heat. Let the syrup cool slightly, then stir in the rosewater carefully. It may steam or bubble.
Beat and work the sugar. Stir with a heat-safe spatula as it cools. The sugar will begin to thicken and turn paler.
Add flowers. When the sugar is no longer violently hot but still workable, fold in the petals.
Form the plate. Pour or spread the sugar onto the prepared surface before it becomes too stiff.
Cool and serve. Let set fully, then cut or break into small pieces.
The result is softer and more delicate than modern hard candy. It is also more sensitive to humidity, so store it carefully between layers of parchment in an airtight container.
Version 2: Clear Hard-Crack Sugar Plate
This version is less likely to be the exact historical method for GK13, but it is beautiful and practical if you want a dramatic display candy. Flowers suspended in clear amber sugar look like tiny stained-glass windows.
Method
Line a rimmed baking sheet with lightly oiled parchment.
Scatter edible petals across the parchment, or have them ready to add just before pouring.
Cook the sugar syrup to 300°F.
Do not stir once the sugar has dissolved, as stirring can encourage crystallization.
Pour quickly over the petals or into molds.
Let cool completely before breaking into pieces.
This version sets rapidly. Work quickly, and do not try to handle the sugar while it is hot.
Kitchen Testing Notes
My first two attempts at hard-crack sugar plate were unsuccessful. I tested using the cold-water method, but both batches resulted in a soft, gummy candy. After that, I bought a digital thermometer, and the third attempt finally produced the clear amber candy I had been trying to make.
The lesson was immediate: sugarwork rewards accuracy. Humidity, pan size, water amount, heat level, and thermometer reliability all affect the finished candy. Medieval cooks would have learned these stages by experience. Modern cooks can absolutely learn the same skills, but a thermometer makes the learning curve less sticky.
I also tested the lower-temperature version because the manuscript wording seemed to suggest a pourable but not overly stiff candy. That batch was cooked to about 230°F and beaten as it cooled. I added petals of violets and pinks after the sugar began to turn pale.
Both versions were beautiful, and both were approved by my team of test teenagers. I had dim hope there would be leftovers based on the amount consumed by the test subjects. There were not many leftovers. This is, in my opinion, a successful sign.
Which Version Should You Make?
If you are making sugar plate for the first time, I recommend starting with the softer worked version. It is closer to the manuscript clues and gives you a better sense of how medieval sugar cookery worked by texture.
If you are making this for a feast display, a dessert board, or a dramatic final-course sweet, the hard-crack version is lovely. It may be less historically exact, but it creates a beautiful edible decoration.
Version
Temperature
Result
Best Use
Worked sugar plate
About 230°F
Pale, softer, opaque
Historical reconstruction, small sweets
Hard-crack flower candy
300°F
Clear, amber, brittle
Feast display, decorative shards
Flowers for Sugar Plate
Edible flowers turn sugar plate from simple candy into feast art. Use only flowers that are safe to eat and have not been sprayed with pesticides or florist preservatives.
Good Choices
Violets
Rose petals
Pinks or dianthus petals
Calendula petals
Borage flowers
Lavender blossoms, used sparingly
Delicate petals may discolor in very hot sugar, so add them late. For the hard-candy version, scattering petals onto parchment and pouring the syrup over them may preserve their shape better than stirring them into the pot.
For SCA Feasts, Classes, and Historical Demonstrations
Sugar plate is a useful recipe for teaching historical cooking because it shows how much older recipes depend on observation. The original does not give a thermometer reading. It gives behavior: test the sugar, watch the texture, stir it, and do not let it become too stiff.
For a class: Make both versions and let people compare texture.
For feast service: Serve small pieces with wafers, comfits, preserved fruit, or marchpane.
For display: Use the hard-crack version for dramatic translucent shards.
For historical discussion: Use the softer version to talk about sugar stages before thermometers.
For transport: Pack pieces between parchment and keep dry.
For humid weather: Store airtight and avoid leaving the candy uncovered for long periods.
Dietary Notes 🥕
Vegetarian: Yes
Vegan: Yes, assuming vegan sugar is used
Gluten-Free: Yes
Dairy-Free: Yes
Egg-Free: Yes
Common Allergens: None inherent, but confirm flower safety and possible cross-contact
Serving Suggestions
Serve as part of a banquet or final course with comfits, wafers, marchpane, and preserved fruits.
Break hard-crack sugar plate into irregular shards and arrange them on a small plate.
Cut or mold the softer worked version into small pieces once it has set.
Use rose petals for a romantic final-course sweet, or violets for a spring feast.
Package small pieces in paper twists or tiny dishes for an event treat.
...
Sources
Hieatt, Constance B. Pleyn Delit: Medieval Cookery for Modern Cooks. 2nd ed. University of Toronto Press, 1996. See “Sugar Plate,” p. 175, attributed to GK13.
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.
🍊 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.
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.
