Getting Medieval on the World's Tastes

The format of medieval cuisine has waned over the centuries but if you squint hard enough, you can still see its antecedents reflected in modern food.

Medieval cuisine — at least in the European sense — was characterized by its use of exotic spices and ingredients. Meat was expensive with game being even more so. There's heavy use of black pepper, saffron, cardamom and ginger and a reliance on a sweet-sour taste. Nuts make their way into most dishes either in the native form or as a thickener – almond milk is practically a cliché.

Most cooking was hard not just from the point of the expense of ingredients and firewood but labor as well. There were no modern conveniences. Everything was done by hand. When we talk about "medieval cuisine", we end up inevitably talking about the nobility because that's what's documented and they're the only ones who could afford to do so.

The modern conception finds some of these dishes to be strange. Meat cooked in sugar syrup or honey is relatively alien to the modern palate – even though it tastes terrific. Our tongues are still the same but our trained response seems to be a little off-center. (You can still see it in dishes like pork chops with apple sauce except the sauce is now served separately.)

Even the format of the meal is a little strange. The stomach needed to be "opened" with an apéritif (literally from Latin: aperire - "to open"), then followed by vegetables, then "heavy meats", then "closed" with aged cheese and a digestif.

If you recognize the above as the slightly modified format of a classic French meal then you will understand the medieval roots of modern eating. (The placement of the salad has been moved around a few times by the French and Italians – and the Americans – but that's fodder for another post.)

Medieval cuisine in its traditional sense but with New World enhancements is most clearly seen today in Persian and Indian cooking. Indian is not that surprising because most spices originally came from India and classical Indian cooking borrows heavily from the Persian format so they are joined at the hip. In fact, most cooking styles borrow heavily from the Persian format given that they were the original Empire spread over vast swathes of modern-day Asia, Africa and Europe. You can see the same formats spread with the medieval Arabic Empire over Northern Africa into Spain and all the way to Sicily.

The point is that these cooking styles have still maintained their "medieval nature" — there's heavy use of spices, saffron, black pepper, ginger, nuts, and a marked preference for sweet-sour tastes.

A slight detour must be made at this point about why spices lost their use in Europe as opposed to modern-day Iran and India where they are still as popular as they were a millenia ago.

Most spices were imported from India to imperial Europe. The spices were a province of the nobility and both Constantinople and Venice were founded on the basis of taxation of the spice trade. In modern economic terms, the middlemen made the spices expensive. This was the whole basis of trying to find a new sea route to India – disintermediation – a way to bypass the taxation. Once these routes were found, and the New World accidentally discovered, the price of spices went down precipitously because of the lack of taxation and the fact that alternatives were found to grow spices in the newly discovered Hispaniola (modern-day Haiti and Dominican Republic), various islands in Indonesia, etc.

After that we come to a cliché of human nature. Anything that the hoi-polloi discovers is anathema to the upper-classes just like the old money on Fifth Ave. would disdain the Brooklyn hipsters. And so, spices fell out of favor with the upper-classes in Europe in favor of a "purer cleaner taste" — reverse snobbery at its very finest.

The critical point is that these ideas never did fall out of favor in the places where the spices were grown where the distinction between "expensive" v/s "cheap" simply didn't exist. Spices were always cheap across the growing areas and the swathe populated by traders traversing routes that were not subject to taxation. Places like Sicily are more like the lands that "time forgot" — they had no strategic value and they kept the formats even though their neighbors did not.

This is what explains meats cooked in cashewnut milk with heavy spices in classical Awadhi cuisine even though the cashews are New World – they would've been almonds originally — or the love of almond granita in Sicily. Sicilian dishes like sardines cooked in a sweet-sour sauce or the very Persian "Jeweled Rice" (javaher polow) are all modern-day embodiments of medieval cooking.

The past bleeds into the present — and in a very aggressive format. It's just hard to see until you squint just right.

Roman Inheritance

If you look back far enough, human taste hasn't changed much and you can spot the modern in the ancient and vice versa.

Apicius refers to a collection of Roman recipes compiled somewhere in the late fourth to early fifth century. It's attributed ot Marcus Gavius Apicius, a Roman gourmand who lived in the first century (and hence the collection is extraordinarily unlikely to have written by him.)

Recipe 89 goes as follows:

Coliculis conditis ut supra superfundes alicam elixam cum nucleis et uva passa; piper asparges.

Over the young cauliflower, seasoned as above, pour boiled spelt with pine nuts and raisins; sprinkle with pepper.

The "as above" refers to an earlier recipe (87) where the sauce consists of garum, olive oil, wine and cumin topped with fried leeks.

Even though the CC has translated coliculis as "cauliflower", it could equally well have been cabbage or broccoli, or even all of them (all members of the brassica family really.) There is considerable leeway here.

You can see the similarities in a classical Sicilian recipe that uses pasta instead of boiled spelt (perhaps couscous would be closer?) with cauliflower, onions (substituting for leeks), anchovies, raisins and pinenuts. The only difference is the seasoning which calls for saffron not cumin, and the tomato paste which is entirely New World for reasons explained here.

The anchovies are the exact replacement for garum which is nothing more than a fish sauce made with anchovies. The Thai nahm pla or the Filipino patis are the closest modern equivalents.

You too can eat like a Roman gourmand. Indulge!


Pasta with Cauliflower, Anchovies, Raisins, Pine Nuts & Saffron

Ingredients

2 cups rigatoni (or penne.)

1 head cauliflower (separated into medium-sized florets)
1 large red onion (chopped)
1/2 cup pine nuts
1/2 cup raisins
6 anchovies (preferably salt-cured)
2 tbsp tomato paste
1 tsp saffron

olive oil

sea salt
black pepper

breadcrumbs

Recipe

Toast the breadcrumbs and set aside. Toast the pine nuts until golden. Be careful not to burn them. Set aside.

Heat the olive oil at medium heat. When shimmering, add the cauliflower and fry languidly for 6-8 minutes. Add the onions and fry for a further 5 minutes. Add the tomato paste, and the anchovies and fry. The anchovies will "dissolve" as they fry. Add a cup of water, the raisins, sea salt, and black pepper, and let cook at low heat.

Meanwhile make the pasta until al dente. Drain.

The cauliflower mixture should be just slightly on the wet side. If dry, add some more water.

Toss in the saffron, and the pasta, and mix thoroughly.

Serve with the roasted breadcrumbs on top, and more black pepper if you like.

Pesto Trapanese

While the traditional pesto is from Liguria, this one is from Trapani in Sicily.

It's made with the typical products of the region — almonds, tomatoes, chilli peppers. You can see both the medieval and North African influences in this dish.

It's simple yet sultry in that summery way.

Ingredients

1/2 cup almonds (blanched, skins removed)
1 clove garlic
4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp grated Pecorino
1/2 cup (tightly packed) mint leaves
2 dried red chilli peppers
4 tomatoes (peeled, cored, diced)
1 tsp sea salt

Recipe

Put all the ingredients in a food processor, and process till blended. Leave it slightly grainy so that it has some consistency.

Toss with long-strand pasta that has been drained, and is still hot.

Serve immediately.

Food as Character

Food is character.

There's no getting away from it. It defines us. It strips naked completely what we would like to have hidden.

One can tell more about a person from what they will or won't eat, conditional on their background, than all the degrees, documents, and recommendations that they trot out.

If you want to learn about a person, watch them at dinner.

Observe how they hold their fork, and ask them what they feel about eating animal innards, and you will quickly strip them emotionally naked. Observe their inward or outward delight (or lack thereof) to a perfectly executed dish, and you will learn more about them than by asking a thousand questions.

Food is character.

Great writers have noticed this forever. When Edith Wharton describes food, she is not describing the food as much as the society that would make such food, and the elements of the society that would eat it. Food becomes the barely neutral turf on which the anxieties of society play.

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa in his one and only, wondrous novel Il Gattopardo observes his characters, and in turn, has them observe each other through the medium of food.

If you've never heard of Lampedusa, or his only novel, the CC urges you to seek it. Most people's knowledge of Lampedusa comes from the eponymous, and equally wondrous Visconti movie.

The Prince was too experienced to offer Sicilian guests, in a town of the interior, a dinner beginning with soup, and he infringed the rules of haute cuisine all the more readily as he disliked it himself. But rumours of the barbaric foreign usage of serving an insipid liquid as first course had reached the notables of Donnafugata too insistently for them not to quiver with a slight residue of alarm at the start of a solemn dinner like this. So when three lackeys in gold, green and powder entered, each holding a great silver dish containing a towering macaroni pie, only four of the twenty at the table avoided showing pleased surprise: the Prince and Princess from foreknowledge, Angelica from affectation and Concetta from lack of appetite. All the others (including Tancredi, I regret to say) showed their relief in varying ways, from the fluty and ecstatic grunts of the notary to the sharp squeak of Francesco Paolo. But a threatening circular stare from the host soon stifled these improper demonstrations.

Good manners apart, though, the aspect of these monumental dishes of macaroni was worthy of the quivers of admiration they evoked. The burnished gold of the crusts, the fragrance of sugar and cinnamon they exuded, were but preludes to the delights released from the interior when the knife broke the crust; first came a spice-laden haze, then chicken livers, hard-boiled eggs, sliced ham, chicken and truffles in masses of piping hot, glistening macaroni, to which the meat juice gave an exquisite hue of suede.

The beginning of the meal, as happens in the provinces, was quiet. The arch-priest made the sign of the Cross and plunged in head first without a word. The organist absorbed the succulent dish with closed eyes; he was grateful to the Creator that his ability to shoot hare and woodcock could bring him ecstatic pleasures like this, and the thought came to him that he and Teresina could exist for a month on the cost of one of these dishes; Angelica, the lovely Angelica, forgot little Tuscan black puddings and part of her good manners and devoured her food with the appetite of her seventeen years and the vigour given by grasping her fork halfway up the handle. Tancredi, in an attempt to link gallantry with greed, tried to imagine himself tasting, in the aromatic forkfuls, the kisses of his neighbour Angelica, but he realised at once that the experiment was disgusting and suspended it, with a mental reserve about reviving his fantasy with the pudding; the Prince, although rapt in the contemplation of Angelica sitting opposite him, was the only one at the table to notice that the demi-glace was overfilled, and made a mental note to tell the cook so next day; the others ate without thinking of anything, and without realising that the food seemed so delicious because sensuality was circulating in the house.

Bellini-ssimo

Named to honor the famous opera by Bellini, Pasta alla Norma is a cult Sicilian dish.

Chances are that the dish was already a Sicilian staple but it took the eyes of the theater director, Nino Martoglio, to declare the dish "una vera Norma". In his eyes, the dish and the opera matched each other's perfection.

What eggplants and tomatoes and ricotta salata have to do with an aging druidess whose lover runs out on her with a younger woman, and who declares this all her fault, and decides to immolate herself with him is best left to the imagination.

And the pleasures of the dish are definitely far from the "Casta Diva" of the opera.

Food is anything but chaste; food is pure unashamed unabashed sensuality. The idea of food being "chaste" is as ludicrous as ludicrous can be.

Not to mention that the pairing of food and tragedy is a bit of a travesty too. Try telling your dinner guests next time that the food portion of the dinner will end in a tragedy next time. Drop the CC a line if that works out for you.

Pairing of dinner and tragedy? Probably takes a particularly Teutonic mind to do so. Definitely un-Sicilian.

However, if we can accept the metaphor that there is something quite lovely about both this dish and the opera, then in the spirit of that mindset, the CC can begin to show you how to make the dish.

Just like a dramatic coloratura soprano is non-negotiable in the opera's title role, you must use ricotta salata. It's a salted cheese made from sheep's milk but pressed (sort of like a very dry feta but less crumbly.)

If you don't use it, the CC will find out about it, and come by and immolate you.

Ingredients

2 large eggplants (sliced vertically; see here)

1 large onion
4 cloves garlic (finely diced)
8-10 tomatoes (or use canned "San Marzano" peeled tomatoes)
3 dried red peppers

basil (snipped)
sea salt
black pepper

ricotta salata (grated or just chopped)

Recipe

The recipe proceeds in three separate parts all of which you will "assemble" at the end. They are respectively: eggplants (two different sizes, fried), tomato sauce, and the pasta.

If you use fresh tomatoes, they must be peeled.

Y'all already know how to make a tomato sauce but the pictures are repeated for emphasis.

Heavily salt the eggplants, and let them sit for at least an hour. They will let out copious moisture which you must discard.

Then you must wash each slice individually to remove all the salt.

Half the eggplants must be cut into "small" pieces, and the rest into "large" pieces. See below for a picture.

Fry the garlic.

And the onions, and the dried red chilli peppers. Fish the chilli peppers out at the end of the frying.

Add the tomatoes.

Let the tomatoes reduce at a very low heat. Yeah, this takes time. Go drink a martini or something.

Add the snipped basil leaves towards the end.

Fry the smaller pieces of the eggplants.

Push them to a side, and fry the larger pieces too.

The dish is a straightforward assembly of the al dente pasta, the two kinds of eggplants, the tomato sauce, and the ricotta salata on top, garnished with basil leaves.

Part of the pleasure of this dish is that you leave the different components separate; a sort of "mix 'n match" of different textures and tastes. Exactly the same thing that Norma's ex-lover, Pollione, was attempting with his chippy on the side except things didn't quite go his way, and he got scorched.

Pasta alla Norma

Sicilian Pasta with Broccoli (Redux)

The CC has posted this recipe before but the recipe's magnificence calls for pictures.

Tantalize your senses, readers, and swear an oath to make it.

Veritably, the anchovy-infused tomato-soaked raisins bursting in your mouth along with the textural crunch of the pine nuts and the intoxicating saffron smell will make true believers out of you!

Ingredients

1 large onion (finely diced)
4-5 anchovies
1/4 cup raisins
1/4 cup pine nuts
1 large broccoli (cut into small florets)
2 tbsp tomato paste (homemade)
1 large pinch saffron
salt and pepper
olive oil

shaved pecorino (or parmigiano-reggiano)

1 cup rigatoni.

Recipe

First up the mise-en-place.

Fry the onion at a medium-low heat until soffrito.

Add the anchovies and fry for about another minute.

Add the tomato paste, fry for a bit.

Add some water along with the raisins and pine nuts, salt and pepper to taste.

Add the broccoli and cook until slightly under done. The saffron should go in towards the very end otherwise its delicate fragrance will disappear.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta slightly under al dente, and add it to the sauce. Heat, and serve.

The pasta should be thoroughly covered with the delicate saffron sauce, and will be tinged golden because of it.

Shave a modest amount of cheese over each serving. The dish has a really delicate taste where all flavors are key partners so be careful not to overwhelm.

Golden ambrosia!

Sicilian Pasta with Broccoli

This is a sensational recipe marrying classic Italian technique with North African influences. A complete hit especially after a hard day's work.

In case you're wondering, the anchovies are critical.

A couple of points of note:

You should unambiguously see the medieval influence by the presence of the raisins. You can also see the influence of the New World via the tomato. Of course, the North African influence should be obvious.

Ingredients

1 large onion (finely diced)
4 anchovies
1/4 cup raisins
1/8 cup pine nuts
1 large broccoli (cut into small florets)
2 tbsp tomato paste (homemade)
1 large pinch saffron
salt and pepper
olive oil

shaved pecorino (or parmigiano-reggiano)

1 cup penne.

Recipe

Fry the onion at a medium-low heat until soffrito. Add the anchovies and fry for about another minute. Add the tomato paste, fry for a bit, and add some water along with the raisins and pine nuts, salt and pepper to taste.

Add the broccoli and cook until slightly under done. The saffron should go in towards the very end otherwise its delicate fragrance will disappear.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta slightly under al dente, and add it to the sauce. Heat, and serve.

The pasta should be thoroughly covered with the delicate saffron sauce, and will be tinged golden because of it.

Shave a modest amount of cheese over each serving. The dish has a really delicate taste where all flavors are key partners so be careful not to overwhelm.

Harmony is key!