SAMPLE:
Historical Culinary Reconstruction
Discussion Document
nb. These are real, unedited, student comments. This document is shared to give you a sense of the kinds of responses this activity can elicit. Names have been redacted.
STUDENT A– One thing that stuck out to me throughout our recipe reconstructions was the frustration of vague instructions - what does “a large quantity of water” mean? What does it mean to prepare something “as beforehand”? Many of us discussed how these unclear instructions point to a learning based on personal interaction with more-experienced neighbors, friends, or superiors, and on past experience, rather than merely on textual instruction. This learning experience isn’t unique to the early modern period. I personally was reminded of my family’s recipes that have been photocopied and passed down by my grandmother, which she collected from her own mother, her old church friends, her old neighbors, and her own experience cooking for our family. I’ve long been frustrated by her lack of specificity - in her bread recipe, for example, a range of yeast quantities is given, and I always have to call my mom to ask what I should do. Community-based learning never disappeared, but there’s no place for it in cookbooks and published works. When did culinary instruction start to require formality and specificity? And, more importantly, why? My first instinct is that it may relate to industrialization and the valorization of regularity and uniformity. But natural ingredients and processes can’t be reduced to uniform experience, as we all know from our experiments. This reconstruction was a reminder that embodied knowledge is as important as, and at times more useful than, scientific knowledge.
STUDENT B – This learning experience made me so grateful to live in an age of clean tap water, electricity, abundant kitchen appliances and having the internet to consult at our finger tips. I imagine people in the 17th century had to make a lot of effort for things we take for granted now. One of the classmates was talking about how smashing up the almonds being so laborious and the smashing noise was so annoying. Now we can find almond grinded up ready-made but in the 17th century this was a backbreaking process. Another classmate said they had to keep the stove on for 6 hours, so if this was to be converted to 17th century time, it must have taken many days to make it. I will be mindful of these conveniences while recreating medieval recipes.
STUDENT C — When thinking about recreating a 16th century recipe, the first assumption we make is that there lies a drastic difference between the past and the present. In return, we ought to get something quite different from the 16th century product. However, such assumption can’t stand because there are no clear indications of what the actual product should look like or taste like. We are fanaticizing a vision of the final product based on our temporal knowledge. Then, how do we know if we failed or succeeded in reconstructing a historical culinary recipe? (we are uncertain if the desired consistency the recipe described is what we expect within today’s context) Since most things we encounter today are standardized, we are expecting to make similar products out of the same recipe (contemporary recipe). Anything deviating from the paradigm is considered a mistake or failure. On the contrary, back in the 16th and 17th centuries, things were not standardized, so there could be more room for free explorations and “errors.” Furthermore, there are no photos of the “correct product” to compare with or videos of the making process to follow. I want to bring up another question: if we have the exact same ingredients, utensils, kitchen setup, and climate, can we reconstruct the same product? Probably not. These historical recipes were accompanied by the transmission of embodied knowledge of the time, and we don’t inherit that knowledge of bodily transmission today. The main takeaway for me is not just how we should be aware of the difference between the past and present, but also how we should be mindful of the limitations of texts and the gap between textual languages and bodily languages.
STUDENT D – The first thing that struck me about our recipe (a syrup for the stomach) is how simple it sounds to modern readers: a drink made of oranges, lemons, pomegranates, and rose water would hardly be regarded as anything medicinal today. No doctor would prescribe it as a treatment; it would at best be part of a suggested diet, like herbal infusions against colds or rice for digestion issues. For this reason, many, even among practitioners of historical culinary reconstructions, describe this kind of recipes as “grandma’s remedies”. Its authorship suggests quite the contrary: it was written by an important noblewoman, Lady Arundel, and before she even turned 22. Our modern conceptions of what “popular” and “high” cuisine or medicine mean are misleading when transported to the 17th century: the potential audience of a manuscript book of recipes were exclusively women of the high-class in a society where female literacy was still a privilege of the few. This drink had no chance of being ordinary and isn’t part of some sort of popular, folkloristic knowledge. It also shows to what extent we have come to disregard the medicinal properties of common food: when looking for a cure, most of us turn towards the pharmaceutical industry. Around 1600, on the contrary, there was no clear divide between pharmacy and cuisine: food could also be used to cure diseases. But not every kind of food: another point of interest with the reconstruction was to realize that very common ingredients today were in fact, if not properly exotic, at least quite rare in early modern England. Mediterranean citrus fruits were not accessible to the majority and weren’t part of the common diet: their relative strangeness rendered possible the assignment of medical qualities to them. People, today as in the past, tend to distrust ordinary products when it comes to dealing with disturbances of their ordinary state of health. But this is not enough to say that the products’ status has changed: they are organically different. Even after historical sourcing, it is almost impossible to have 17th-century fruits and sugar in 21st-century United States or Europe. One should undergo the process not only of reconstructing cooking, but also of reconstructing agriculture to really recreate what a syrup would taste and look like 400 years ago. It is telling of how much technology and the food industry have transformed the world we live in.
STUDENT E — Recreating this historical recipe made me hyper aware of all of the specialized cooking and baking tools we use today and forced me to think about when they were created. Obviously everything that exists was created at some point, but I think we take things like whisks, beaters, and graters for granted because they have been around for so long. Being forced to cook without these specialized tools, especially when making recipes that may still exist today which we may be used to making with these specialized tools, gave me a new appreciation for the tools and made me think about who came up with the idea for them, how, and when. I also thought about the difference in the ingredients used and whether this had an effect on the method of preparing them. Perhaps as the ingredients changed and evolved, so did the methods of preparing them, and new tools were necessary to accommodate these evolving methods. In any case, the lack of such specialized tools makes me think about the concept of “master” chefs and the weight the word held in the 15th century as opposed to today. Without an internet to consult, photos to work from, or, indeed, specialized tools that would make labor-intensive culinary jobs easier, faster, or less complicated, achieving such high honors would have been a much more demanding accomplishment.
- STUDENT F – Recreating this recipe took my mind to a whole new place. When thinking about past times, we don’t always put into perspective that real people lived these lives. We get so caught up in the mythical and playful stories of these periods that it does not cross our minds that real times call for real measures, and we see that reflected perfectly in these recipes. Reading these recipes, I noticed a lightheartedness to everything—nothing too strict or demanding. Due to the tone and how the language was set up, I also felt that you need prior knowledge of many of these dishes to recreate, which has me thinking. Back in the 15 century, not all would be taking on the role of cooking, so there was never a need to fully explain what exactly needed to be used or done because those involved in cooking would already have background, knowledge, and context on a lot of these things. It was also really humbling to see how work-intensive these things are, from the type of ingredients to preparation to even making the tools. I am forever grateful to be born in a generation where things are so much easier and accessible.
STUDENT G – During the culinary reconstruction of the plum candy/cake recipe, I kept thinking about how pure contemporary ingredients/processes are compared to those in 17th-century Europe - particularly with sugar. The goal of my reconstruction was to recreate the final finished product. While the rebuilding was ultimately a failure, it gave insight into what the original recipe crafters would have had in mind. My biggest question was about thickening the product so that it may gel. Modern recipes would have added gelatin or corn syrup, but without those, I would have imagined the impurities in early sugar production would have led to a thickened product. Modern refined sugar was missing some agent that allowed the product to concentrate correctly. The instructions were not overly complicated, but we could have skipped several steps. We didn’t need to reboil the syrup, which I believed was a step to remove impurities, nor did we have to “beat” the sugar, given modern kitchen appliances that could do it faster and to a greater degree. I imagined the outcome to be a plum candy, either jelly in nature or maybe even hard candy. Without modern tools like thermometers and electric heating apparatuses with temperature control, the ancient recipe makers must have been skilled not to allow the sugar to scorch or burn. I would like to try this recipe again, but working backward from a modern version. I would likely have to use more coats or unrefined ingredients like pure cane sugar and strain the particulates through a cheesecloth or similar. I would also have to let the product boil on a lower heat for longer to reduce the water content and allow it to concentrate. I would also try pouring the thickened product onto a baking sheet to cool and firm up properly. The actual historical question I would have is purely about the culinary evolution of food through ancient Europe. Given the scarcity of resources, how did these cooks and gourmets evolve their cooking methods to create a refined dish?
STUDENT H – As I reflect on our candied plums project, I have come to appreciate the significance of historical context in shaping the outcome of our experiment. Although we were unable to achieve the desired results, the experience has shed light on several important considerations that were not initially taken into account. One of the main challenges we faced was the authenticity of the ingredients used. In our quest to recreate the traditional recipe, we neglected to match the type of plums that would have been used in the 16th or 17th century. Additionally, the scarcity of sugar at the time, particularly in its refined form, may have impacted the end product. Furthermore, our decision to include water in the mixture was not well-informed and may have led to inconsistencies in our results.
Overall, our project highlighted the complexities involved in recreating historical recipes. The seemingly straightforward task of making candied plums was much more nuanced than we anticipated. Nevertheless, the lessons learned from this experience have given us a deeper appreciation for the craftsmanship and attention to detail required to preserve traditional recipes. The benefits of using storytelling as a form of spiritual teaching can also be applied to the preservation of traditional culinary practices. The intricacies and complexities of these recipes serve as a testament to the value placed on them and the importance of preserving the historical context of the recipes.
STUDENT I – The variety of recipes presented in class illuminated how intention shapes reflection. Some groups chose recipes that sought to elicit aesthetic effects, others chose medicinal recipes. These different aspirations necessitated a different end to experimental practice. For instance, each ingredient within the medicinal recipes served a specific purpose that cured or alleviated a negative symptom associated with a particular sickness, such as fruit juice or sugar combined into a tincture. The product was evaluated based on whether or not it would achieve its purpose as a medicine, and different modifications were sometimes suggested for future trials. In contrast, those who made decorative foods understood ingredients as materials for artisanal production, forming marble from flowers or sugared snow to adorn rosemary. My group created candied rosemary, which required us to manipulate the sugar to create a desired decorative effect––much of our interpretation and experimentation sought to resolve uncertainty around the consistency of the sugared product. In the end, our intention was to ensure that the end product would look and seem appropriate when put on rosemary. If I were to make this once more, I would feel more confident and secure in the boiling of the sugar, for now I know how it behaves physically when it grows cold.
STUDENT J– In recreating the historic recipe chosen by my group, I was struck by how easy it was not only to understand the instruction but to recreate it. Much of this was due to the readily available nature of our ingredients: lemons, pomegranates, oranges and sugar, with the most challenging one to source being the rose water. In addition to the ease of acquiring the ingredients, the processes of extraction and measuring were fairly straightforward, albeit vague at times in their wording (ie. spoonful). In class, when we went through other groups' presentations of their recreations, I noticed that those who also chose to do medicinal recipe reconstructions found their processes similarly uncomplicated. In contrast, I noticed that the groups who chose culinary recipes and recipes for garnishes faced many more challenges not only in terms of the process of reconstruction but also in the appearance of their end results, like in the case of the candied rosemary. It was interesting to look at this variety of recipes side by side, revealing the spectrum of what was considered a recipe in 14th century Europe and emphasizing the blurred nature of the lines between medicine and cooking at the time. I think it is also interesting to consider that the recipes like the stomach medicine recreated by my group may have been more undemanding because they fell into the category of what we might call “home remedies” and would therefore be more accessible to the common man rather than the culinary recipes which may have been geared towards a “finer” and more specifically skilled audience.
STUDENT K– De Mayerne’s recipes have an overriding interest for the visual appearance of products. This is why we got interested in his recipes in the first place. I wondered how far his interest in synesthesia has its roots in early modern discussions about perception and qualities of things. Also, his interest for the visual appearance of culinary products draws artisanal work and cookery closer. In another recipe, De Mayerne uses the word “varnish” to describe a topping that is distributed over pastries. The marble imitation, that is the main intention of our recipe, has a long tradition in the history of art. In painted forms (e.g. in cinquecento painting) and later in actual material imitation (scagliola). I wondered how far this accounts for a proximity between the two fields of practices. It remains a question to me, how these fields communicated and what the modus of reception is (e.g. humorous?).
In our first meeting, we researched the products we needed. It took us some research to find a place where we could buy the edible flowers (Eataly). The gum dragon, on the other hand, was easier to acquire. As a powdered and highly processed product, we were skeptical whether it fits the seventeenth-century expectation of a binder. Although most ingredients for cooking were expensive to acquire in early modern Europe, the recipe seemed rather imprecise. Why not give a more detailed description of the procedure? Did the potential reader have a good basic knowledge of cooking and preparing (similar dishes) that did not necessitate any detailed explanation? The recipe did not indicate the amount of any of the ingredients (petals, sugar, gum dragon). We wondered how these ingredients should create a paste, since none of them was a liquid. Were the petals alone supposed to add the necessary moisture? Since De Mayerne used the term “paste”, we asked ourselves whether the recipe indicated a pre-made product that we would add the other ingredients to. Since our first paste significantly lacked moisture, we tried to add a little bit of water and it worked well. In our last experiment, however, we used more petals instead of adding any water, and the paste got even better than the first one. I was surprised how well the experiment turned out. The instructions seem scarce, nevertheless the product is easy to make—a dissonance that a lot of us seem to ponder.
STUDENT L – To start with, the writing style and language used in the 16th century are different from modern English, and it requires a familiarity with the historical context of the time period. I found it weird that some letters look different, like the “s.” At the same recipe I executed, it was written in two different ways. Second, in the 16th century, certain raw materials may take different forms, textures, and colors, leading to differences in the final products. This can affect the outcome of recipes, as the materials used will impact the flavor and appearance of the finished product. It may be difficult to find or replicate the exact materials used in the 16th century, and substitutions may need to be made based on what is available now. Third, there is a difference in quantities and measurements used in that time period compared to modern units, which can make it challenging to understand recipes or instructions. In some cases, a conversion is needed with the help of historical sources to understand the equivalent in contemporary terms. Additionally, the precision and consistency of measurements may not have been as exact in the past, so even if the recipes were followed exactly. So, sometimes educated guesses or estimates are needed based on the available information available.
STUDENT M – While recreating the recipe for the candied rosemary with my group, it only reinforced the importance of experimentation in the realm of cooking, especially when there is little information given about time, quantity, etc. Though, even when some of these details are given, one still has to “experiment” and rely on qualitative elements. For instance, for the candied rosemary reconstruction, they did not provide a ratio for the amount of rose water and sugar that was needed for syrup but instead mentioned that we should use “a little” rose water and described the syrup as “loose.” So, it was up to our discretion to determine which conditions would satisfy those descriptions. For instance, though, what we could determine is whether the syrup would stick and stay on the candied rosemary (instructions that were not provided). First, our syrup was too thin and did not stick, but then we changed our ratio of 1 to 2 for rose water to sugar and the syrup hardened onto the rosemary. So, it was through observation and experimentation that we were able to successfully come to a desired product. I will eventually have to apply this openness to change and creativity when making sourdough bread and bread molds.
One question I had was how these people could communicate these tricks, especially when the manuscripts were sometimes vague. I understand that they were orally passed down, but I am wondering if there were different get-togethers where people would bring their food, medications, etc., and have people try them. Essentially, I am curious about a communal element and would like to look into that further.
STUDENT N – Having reflected on my group’s own experience performing the almond custard recipe in Robert May’s The Accomplisht Cook and the presentations of other groups, I’m interested in the sheer number of ways that the language of an early modern recipe can pose interpretive problems for the modern reader. In our recipe alone, we faced both lexical and syntactical issues in what at first seemed to us to be a readily understandable set of instructions. The most ostensible challenge is the denotative problem of identifying the correct early modern definition for a word, especially if such a definition has fallen into disuse; the word “beat” in our recipe has two culinary meanings, either “to mix (liquids) by beating with a stick or other instrument” (most commonly for eggs” or “to make into a powder or paste by repeated blows” (OED). The first definition seems more colloquially used in cooking contexts today, but the second definition is most applicable for our recipe. Another potential pitfall lies in words that have only slightly altered their meanings over time; it’s easy to assume that units of measure have stable meanings, but the societal push to standardize such units was often a modern occurrence. For example, in our recipe, the word “pound” has denoted different weights in different historical moments and only achieved a somewhat standardized, state-issued meaning of sixteen ounces in the fourteenth century (OED). However, it is not only the definitions of words that can pose interpretive challenges but also the foundational grammar of a recipe. After “beating” the almonds into a paste, we faced considerable confusion from the following instruction: “strain them with two quarts of cream, twenty whites of eggs, and a pound of double refined sugar.” While the need to strain the almond paste was clear, the exact method of doing so was more obscure. We at first thought that the recipe was instructing us to pour a cream/egg white/sugar mixture through the almond paste and strainer, but this seemed unlikely because egg whites are viscous, and the recipe didn’t tell us to dissolve the sugar. Thus, the interpretive problems of a recipe go beyond a lack of knowledge of the early modern definitions of words. Rather, we have preconceived notions of what a recipe ought to look like or what cooking or, more broadly, domestic labor ought to be, and this influences our expectations even of vocabulary and grammar. Thus, the greater challenge for us as reader-practitioners of early modern recipes is cultivating a self-awareness of these assumptions.
STUDENT O – When selecting a recipe, I had to carefully gauge which recipes were available and which were out of range in both ingredients and accessible instructions. We started with the quince jelly, and even hired a professional shopper to find it for us, but after a day of shopping she kept sending us pictures of pears… and no quinces. Thus, we chose the plum candy recipe. Immediately, we noticed that there was almost no guidance on the amount of ingredients used, how the recipe should look when cooked, and which consistency or color should be achieved for a successful recipe. I realized to my dismay that the plums were likely too firm and altogether the wrong color for our purposes, the sugar was not crude enough of all things, and I didn’t even know if the consistency or quality of the water was. After we used the power-mixer, we decided to try the words literally according to the recipe, and we came out with a beautiful ruby-like liquid. However, no matter what, the confection would not crystallize! It was infuriating! We tried freezing it, we tried heating it, we tried heating it in a double boiler, to no avail. I think ultimately, we were too afraid of the sugar burning on the bottom of the pan. Perhaps if we used a double boiler the entire way through, or simply placed a smaller pan inside of the bigger pan that was boiling, it would have worked.
STUDENT P – I want to write about the fun I had in the process of making quince jelly. When we were cooking the quinces the entire kitchen smelled floral. The jelly was genuinely beautiful (clear, blood red, “resembling an oriental ruby”) and had the subtle flavor of honey. I suspect that early modern makers and knowers also took pleasure from the process, which would in part explain why people so avidly collected, exchanged, and implemented them. During class I spoke about the staggering number of labor hours it took to make a simple jelly, but upon reflection I want to add that labor can be satisfying and pleasurable to the senses, as well. Since the quince jelly seems to be a luxury item (“proper to present before a king”) but made from a humble ingredient, it could provide people of lesser means an avenue to experience pleasures believed to have belonged exclusively to higher classes, especially if they had some extra time and money on hand to purchase the madeira sugar. Such labor would have helped householders live out their fantasies about wealth in a small way, allowing them the opportunity to not only taste something delicious but also to see the like of “an oriental ruby.” The enjoyment could be transgressive–if the jelly is “proper to present before a king,” would consumption by any other count as a small act of usurpation? For the rest of the class, I want to keep in mind that under certain circumstances labor can be both fun and empowering.
STUDENT Q – I really enjoyed the reconstruction project. This was a vessel to uncover the significance of ingredients in this time and the difference in methods of creation. We learned about the significance of certain types of sugar, such as madeira sugar, which was much more pure in form, containing less molasses. The result of the recipe, with “oriental ruby” red color of the congealed jelly, was surprising. In our first iteration, when we used brown sugar the color was a lot more dull. Through trial, we were able to reach the result that we would surmise the recipe was hoping for. Attention to detail and tuning into our senses made all the difference as we tried to connect back into the period in which this would be common. Although this recipe possessed sort of vague language, we were able to make a result we were proud of. This recipe was typically expensive, as quinces are not local to France, yet the practitioner does not discuss the medicinal properties of quinces. The humoral elements of the stickiness and wetness of the quince as it aids digestion. The texture of jelly compliments this nicely.
STUDENT R – When we were recreating sixteenth-century almond custard, two things stood out majorly. Though the process seems more straightforward from the text, it was not an easy process at all. A few words carried a lot of physical effort in materializing them. The other important aspect was that a recipe could not be recreated by extrapolating only one from a cook without prior knowledge about other recipes in the same text and the larger socio-cultural context the recipe served and consumed.
For instance, in recipe instruction my group tried to recreate, “beat” meant hours of smashing almonds to make it “very fine” past. One should spend a whole day converting almonds to a fine paste for the quantity the recipe instructed. I kept thinking how this process might have taken without the active effort of the author/practitioner, who was involved only to check the “fineness” of the past someone else was creating. Similarly, the word “garnish,” according to OED, meant “to fit out with anything that adorns or beautifies; to decorate, ornament, or embellish” and was used for architectural decorations in the sixteenth century. This meaning made me reflect upon the relationship between architectural practices and culinary customs in aristocratic settings.
At two places in the recipe, the author says “beforehand,” pointing out recipes presented in different parts of the book. This word illustrates that a random recipe plucked out from a cookbook would not help us recreate a historic cuisine accurately without knowledge of other recipes and different methods of making. Harmony between dishes also needs to be taken care of in the recreation process to understand the socio-cultural context of a specific dish. For instance, humoral balances between ingredients and unwritten knowledge of the contradictory nature between types of food are not available from a single recipe extracted from an assemblage of culinary instructions.
STUDENT S: In class, prior to beginning work on our reconstruction, my group had already discussed the lack of clear measures in the recipes we had chosen from BnF Ms. Fr. 640, so I was not initially surprised to find similarly unclear measures in the recipe we chose. However, over the course of our series of attempts to make “paste of flowers and Colour of Marble,” we found that even very slight changes to the quantity of flowers, sugar, and tragacanth gum made substantial differences to the paste produced. This was particularly true for the gum—an increase or decrease of a quarter of a teaspoon made the difference between a material too brittle to shape, a workable paste, and a mass too sticky to roll smooth. To successfully follow this recipe, surprisingly precise knowledge of the appropriate ratios of ingredients is necessary. How did de Mayerne expect his readers to come to that knowledge? Perhaps experimentation, as we did? Perhaps through prior experience making paste with these ingredients—I was able to find other roughly contemporary recipes that involved making a paste with tragacanth gum, including another that also used flowers? Perhaps he expected readers to figure out the appropriate quantities by feel, adding more of one or another ingredient until the desired texture was achieved? Or maybe the degree of precision required would not have been so high had we produced this paste on a larger scale.
Part of the difficulty we had in determining the appropriate ratios was that we were not entirely sure what the final product we were trying to achieve would look or feel like. Even by the conclusion of our reconstruction, we disagreed amongst ourselves about which of the pastes had been most successful. Would seventeenth-century readers of de Mayerne’s recipes have had a better sense of their goals in following this recipe? Would all of them have had more or less the same product in mind? Some of our uncertainty emerged from the fact that we were not sure what the purpose of this paste was. On what occasion would this recipe have been eaten and/or displayed? What properties of marble was de Mayerne trying to explore or imitate with this recipe?
STUDENT T: Little unruly acts during the act of cooking almond custard, such as temptations to pick an almond from the heap and eat (or hide to eat later), to stretch time on blanching or beating (for the boredom of it all), to cheat the recipe, to take short cuts, to be careless about cleanliness and hygiene, to not stand in the expected posture, to indulge in a gossip with co-cookers, and to get a bit lazy…immediately helped picture the natural yet disciplined mundaneness of kitchen labour in the 17th century. I call them “unruly” for I am assuming that discipline was held paramount in aristocratic kitchens, and to very often indulge in them seemed to come naturally and not by any cultivated intention. Given the climate in the kitchen, the overbearing heat, the thudding and numbing sounds of utensils and metal clanks, the tediousness of technologies, the recurring short-lived pain in your hands, the easy injuries and burns, all of them seemed like the details that often get unrecorded in the historical archives. Conceptually, it speaks to the time and timidity in the 17th century kitchens where labour came controlled and organized, and fear of punishment informed the psychological and social behavior of the cooks.
STUDENT U: It was amazing to see how much you can learn and extract from a single historical recipe—offering a surprisingly complex insight into 16th - 17th century society in Europe. My group recreated a recipe from Mrs. Corlyn’s cookbook entitled, a syrup to soothe the stomach and to alleviate choler (stomach bile). Admittedly, our recipe, only a paragraph in length, had me skeptical about the outcome of our syrup but it came out perfectly—the consistency of a store bought honey! It was like uncovering a mystery from the past, dissecting the recipe word-for-word; finding meaning and relevance of the use of every ingredient and instruction. Moreover, I was struck by just how much you learn through hand techniques and through doing. While the vagueness of certain measurements (ex. “a handful”, “a pretty quantity”) proved to be intimidating at first, we came to learn that we must trust our intuition to make value judgments; that there’s new knowledge to gain by being in tune with the hands that make.