Instructions on how to wind a clock

So, you know how much I love ginger right? This has ultimately paid off during a recent expedition to access the manuscript archives at North Yorkshire Records Office. They have kindly invited me to be a part of their upcoming Archives @ Dusk open evening in May and I shall be recreating a couple of recipes for visitors to try on the evening. To my great joy there were a number of fabulous recipes containing ginger and I chose to offer these during the night in question.

I love reading old cookery notebooks – if only for the random nature of the notations. Amongst recipes for handmade oyster sauce, sponges and a York Punch you will also find instructions for winding the clock, a polish for cleaning the harness on your carriages and instructions for how to treat women during her menstruation.

The authors of such hand written manuscripts would often make a note as to whom the recipe or piece of advice came from, the date and sometimes the circumstances in which the recommendation was given. This allows great scope for further research in to the names mentioned and accurate documentation of recipes being used at the time.

As I referenced at the beginning of this post – I shall be using the Archives @ Dusk evening to talk on my favourite subjects – that of ginger and gingerbread. I am particularly keen to try the traditional recipe for ginger beer – found written in a book from 1827.

I shall also be baking a recipe for gingerbread biscuits from the same book and I am extremely curious to see the size of the batch of biscuits gained from one pound butter, three pounds flour and one pound of moist sugar. It is not uncommon to come across recipes on such a substantial scale as they were often written by those managing a large household with a number of guests and staff coming and going.

This takes me to the last notation I wish to share with you today. It is taped on to the inside of the front cover of a manuscript from the late 19th century and states the allowances for servants living on site.

As a food writer I often take inspiration from the seasonal produce available at the local market. Even the early months  offer Jerusalem artichoke, rhubarb and Seville oranges, lifting tired culinary spirits after the long haul of winter and raising hopes for the abundance to come. Sadly nature has other ideas as we head into March – traditionally known as the famine month amongst growers – and the hiatus continues until the arrival of asparagus in the middle of April. (I caught my first glimpse of British asparagus today). These days we can access bounty from all over the world – widening our repertoire massively. But amongst all these exotic temptations there are still a few gems of our own waiting to be rediscovered.

One vegetable available most of the year round is the much maligned cauliflower. Seen as a vehicle for a rich cheese sauce rather than the star of a dish, the good old cauli seems to trigger a bored reaction from many cooks. It has been part of the European diet since at least the 12th century and may even receive a mention from Pliny the Elder in his 6th century book, Natural History. Though the cyma he documents may have actually been a reference to it’s greener relative sprouting broccoli.

So what can be done with this very British staple? Early ancestors of our modern cauliflower cheese can be found in a medieval recipe for cauliflower boiled in milk and topped with cream, nutmeg and mace. Many go on to suggest soaking the head in a brine solution before boiling whole. This would then be served lathered with butter and a dusting of nutmeg, believed to be a favourite for King Louis XIV. It is thought that the brine had less to do with flavour than it did the removal of creepy crawlies hiding amongst the florets. In her book, Food in England, Dorothy Hartley also suggests that the leaves of make an excellent side dish of their own.

The cauliflower made it’s way into European diets via the Assyrian Empire and suits the strong, punchy flavours of the region perfectly. Roasted with cumin seeds and chillies, scattered with toasted almonds it makes a wonderful warm salad. Stir in some chickpeas and dress with olive oil, vinegar and chopped herbs and you have an excellent vegetarian main meal. So go ahead, pick up a humble cauli this week and make a meal fit for a (French) king.

This week I shall introduce you to the incredible history of Crocus sativus, or saffron. Native to parts of Asia – the golden stamen of this crocus were originally cultivated for use by the Ancient Greeks. They utilised it in everything, from masking smells and medical treatments to dyeing clothes for the wealthy. Regularly used in fertility rituals it is also mentioned in many of the death/rebirth stories of Greek mythology.

During the many centuries of cooperation between Greece and Rome, this bewitching spice conquered Roman culture and is believed to have been scattered through the streets as Nero entered Rome in 54AD. They also prized it as a culinary ingredient and brought it with them during their time in Britain until their retreat in the 5th century.

We didn’t see saffron in Britain again until the 14th century when it became a popular crop around Western Europe, with the majority of English saffron coming from Saffron Walden, East Anglia. During the Black Death epidemic in the mid 1300’s it was thought that saffron offered a miracle cure and high demand required huge imports of Non – European supplies too. So great was the craze for saffron and it’s health giving qualities that thieves sailing Mediterranean seas are believed to have ignored ships transporting gold for those taking saffron to Venice and Genoa. The saffron mania culminated in a fourteen week war between Basel and Austria when a 800lb shipment was taken hostage by a group of nobles. The hoard was eventually returned. At the same time in England, punishment for selling adulterated saffron was incarceration – before execution by immolation.

Cultivation of the crop continued in South East England until the late 1700’s when an influx of modern foodstuffs such as vanilla and chocolate drew the attention of middle and upper class consumers. In recent years there has been a resurge in English growing and native saffron can be purchased from Norfolk Saffron, along with others.

I finish this blog with a recipe inspired by Apicius, infamous Roman chef and inventor of many incredible dishes. He describes a meal of chickpeas, olive oil, cumin and coriander. This can be found adapted for the modern cook by the fantastically named blog Roman in the Gloamin’. But as we are still in the throws of winter I developed this gentle soup to nurture the most frazzled of souls and stomachs.

Ingredients

1. big pinch of saffron threads
2. 2 large leeks, finely chopped and cleaned
3. 1tsp ground cumin
4. 1tsp ground coriander
5. half tsp ground black pepper
6. vegetable stock cube
7. 1 litre of water
8. 180g red lentils
9. 400g tin of chickpeas

Method

• Take as large a pinch of saffron as you can bear and drop into a small dish. Pour on 2-3 tablespoonfuls of warm water and set aside.
• In a large pan – fry the sliced leeks in two tablespoons of olive oil until soft and translucent. Tip in the ground spices and stir through for a minute or so.
• Add the stock cube, water and red lentils. Stir again. Bring the contents to boil and leave to simmer – covered – for around ten minutes.

• Return to the saffron. The water should now have a deep red/golden colour. Tip the liquid, stamens and all, into the pan. Toss in the chickpeas and mix well. Replace the lid and simmer for another fifteen minutes or until the contents are cooked through. Add extra water if required. Season with salt and extra pepper as required.
• Once cooked remove three ladles of the soup into a separate container and blend. Pour back into the pan and combine to create a silky soup with a little texture. Drizzle with olive oil to serve.