Of Boiling and Seething: A reevaluation of the common cooking terms in connection with brewing

02 Thursday Mar 2017

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Brewing, Cooking

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By Unnr in elska á Fjárfella (Susan Verberg, 2017) of the Dominion of Myrkfaelinn in the Kingdom of Æthelmearc.

Recreating medieval brews in our modern times is a fun and tasty way to connect to our historic past. Unfortunately, having a deeper understanding about the chemistry involved in fermentation does not necessarily translate into an easier interpretation of medieval recipes. Our modern brewing methods and sanitary measures evolved, and the language and terminology used in brewing changed over the years as well. The arcane language of early medieval recipes often makes modern interpretations approximations at best, and modern brewers with their own interpretation of the same recipe make variations which sometimes differ slightly and sometimes differ quite a lot. For instance, in my own work to recreate two mead recipes, numbers 9 and 10 in V: Goud Kokery which is part of the 14^th century manuscript Curye on Inglysch, I initially used the editors’ suggestions on how to interpret recipe 10 To make fyn meade & poynaunt. After half a dozen or so mediocre variations, and a deepening puzzlement on the sequence of steps in the recipe, I realized the editors’ interpretation has practical issues. Expecting something was off with the technique, instead of tweaking the recipe to make it fit our modern conceptions, I delved deeper into the practices used during our time of study to track down where it went off track.

The first step was to look into the source of the fermentable sugars in mead – the honey – which at the same time located the source for fermenting yeast. Medieval honey would have been available in different states and different grades. The highest grade honey was life honey, which is the honey that drips out first without any assistance and is highly regarded both in brewing and in medicine. Life honey is honey which is completely untreated, and held in such high esteem that in medieval Dutch cooking and brewing recipes it had its own term: ‘zeem’. The translation for ‘zeem’ is given as ‘ongepijnde honing’, unhurt or unprocessed honey and also as ‘maagden honing’, or virgin honey. Unfortunately, true to medieval practice, the word is used interchangeably for life honey and high quality processed honey, and it is up to the reader to interpret which ingredient is meant. (openlaszlo) What makes life honey so special, and literally alive, is that even though honey is antibacterial, it is a welcome host for osmophillic yeast strains like Saccharomyces rouxii, Sacharomyces var. osmophilus and Sacharomyces bisporus var. mellis. (Rasmussen, 21)

Osmophillic yeast is able to thrive in highly concentrated sugar solutions, and is best for the fermentation of honey solutions with sugar concentrations above 15%, but generally does not produce alcohol as well as the common beer and wine yeasts. If sugar concentrations are below 15%, the wine and beer yeast varieties of Sacharomyces cerevisiae are the best choice for optimally fermenting honey. (Rasmussen, 21) When processing life honey temperatures exceeding 154 º Fahrenheit / 68 º Celsius (Hagen, 148) will kill ambient yeast and heating honey to facilitate flow often does not produce life honey. Also, like the term ‘zeem’, the term ‘life honey’ is sometimes used for true honey that is alive and will start fermentation, and sometimes for honey of the best quality. If the life honey asked for in a recipe is to be truly boiled, then it does not need to be alive honey and you should not sacrifice your labor-intensive honey-yeast starter to literally emulate the medieval recipe. One thing to keep in mind when fermenting with osmophillic yeast: as the starting sugar concentration or density is high, it will have a slow start, especially compared to pitching modern concentrated yeast.

Processed honey is graded depending on how it is removed from the comb: with unprocessed life honey being first grade, second grade is what would easily be leaked out and strained when breaking up or crushing the comb cell structure (equivalent to our centrifugally-extracted honey), third grade is extracted by washing the leaked combs in heated water whereby the leftover and crystallized honey dissolves but the wax is not melted, and then a waste grade is created by squeezing the washed combs with a twisted bag press to get the last little bits of liquid out (often used for servant grade). This is not recommended by the Reverend Charles Butler, who warns in his 1609 beekeeping treatise Feminine Monarchie: “& some (which is worse) doe violently presse it out. But by these means they shal have no fine & pure raw hony, howsoever afterward they handle it.”

Leaking can be facilitated with heat, and as long as the radiant temperature is kept below 154 º F the ambient yeast will survive. Leaked honey is used in recipes calling for volumes or weights. Honey from different bio-regions or different seasons (a wet spring, a dry fall, etc) can have different sugar concentrations, and when using volumes or weights, can lead to slight differences in sugar concentration, as the Digby recipe Mr. Pierce’s Excellent White Metheglin confirms “When it is blood-warm, put the honey to it, about one part, to four of water; but because this doth not determine the proportions exactly (for some honey will make it stronger then other) you must do that by bearing up an Egge”.

Washing can be facilitated by agitation by hand, which also keeps the water temperature in check to make sure it is not hot enough to melt wax (upwards of 144 ºF or 62 ºC). Coincidentally, if honeycomb is warmed enough to dissolve the sugars but not enough to melt the wax, the ambient yeast is able to survive to start fermentation. As the sugar concentration of washed honey is unknown – not enough honey will make weak mead which spoils much quicker, while too much honey can inhibit yeast growth giving competitors a chance – it is advisable to use a hydrometer to check gravity (the amount of sugar in solution); either with a modern glass hydrometer, or with the egg float test, which basically does the same thing but with a renaissance flair.

A honey solution made by boiling scraped honeycomb. The swirls are from particulated bees wax. The position of the egg showing about 20 mm or the size of a medieval groat coin above the surface indicates enough dissolved sugars for a circa 12% alcohol mead.

The next step is to look into the cooking process: how exactly did the honey become must. Many medieval recipes advise to boil the must. Since the source of medieval water is most often rather suspect, up to the point of deadly, this is not per se a bad thing. For the flavor of the honey, it would be better to boil the water first, and add the honey when it is blood-warm to then start fermentation. Alcohol’s preservative properties combined with the antibacterial effect of honey makes for a safe product to drink, much safer than surface water, even without boiling. According to Feminine Monarchie, heating above temperatures which would hurt the skin “The best way is to put it into an oven after the batch is forth, but not before you can abide to hold your hand upon the bottome, for feare of overheating the hony” is known to damage the honey. Maybe, even though in cooking recipes the word ‘boil’ is most often meant as a roiling boil, in brewing it might mean the process of cooking? Unless refermentation during warm weather is meant, to confuse the matter even more! As Hugh Platt in his 1594 Jewell House of Art and Nature complains “If any sweete Wines happen to reboile in the hot part of the Summer, as manie Vinteners to their great losse have oftentimes felt”.

The word ‘seethe’ or ‘seething’ is even vaguer. Does it mean simmering, or being at a boil but not bubbling? Or does it mean the process of heating, which could be anything from above room temperature to near boiling? For instance, the recipe To Make Mede in the 14^th CE Curye on Inglysch cookbook uses both ‘boil’ and ‘seethe’ “& thanne take that forseid combis & sethe hem in clene water, & boile hem wel” but after all that the combs should still be intact enough to be pressed out “After presse out thereof as myche as though may”. This indicates the water temperature did not actually exceed 144° F or 62 ºC and melt the wax. Thus instead of translating the following quote to “take the previously mentioned combs & simmer them in clean water, & boil them well”, should it perhaps be “take the previously mentioned combs & heat them in clean water, & cook them well”? Since the latter interpretation matches the Feminine Monarchie’s technique “set it in some vessel over a soft fire, and stil keep your hand in the vessel stirring about the honie and the wax, and opening the wax piece-meale until the hony and not the wax shal be molten,” and it makes sense, I think this would be the correct interpretation. And as ambient yeast survives heating to 154 ºF /68 ºC this would mean the must is still viable for spontaneous fermentation, without the need for adding barm or lees from a previous batch.

Back to the two recipes, interpretations of the translation is re-evaluated. The reason I work with both recipes is that recipe 10 looks back to recipe 9, even more so in the re-evaluation than I initially had thought.

The two original recipes and the proposed alternate interpretations:

9 To make mede.

Take hony combis & put hem into a greet vessel & ley thereynne grete stickis, & ley the weight theron til it be runne out as myche as it wole; & this is called liif hony. & thanne take that forseid combis & sethe hem in clene water, & boile hem wel. After presse out thereof as myche as though may & caste it into another vessel into hoot water, & sethe it wel & scome it wel, & do therto a quarte of liif hony. & thanne lete it stone a fewe dayes wel stoppid, & tis is good drinke. (Hieatt & Butler, 150)

Literal Translation:

9 To make mead.

Take honey combs, and put them into a big vessel & lay in there big sticks, & lay the weight on it until it runs out as much as it would; & this is called life honey. & then take those mentioned combs & simmer them in clean water, & boil it well. After press out of it as much as you can & cast it into another vessel into hot water, & heat it well, & scum it well, & do thereto a quart of life honey. & then let it stand a few days well closed up, & this is a good drink.

If the honey combs are literally simmered and boiled, the wax will melt into the sugar solution. Interestingly, while the combs are quite bulky in their solid state, once they are melted within the sugar solution there is not a whole lot left. In one of my experiments, the combs were boiled in clean water and poured through a cheesecloth filter while hot, and in another experiment the combs were boiled, the must was cooled down first, and then poured through a cheesecloth filter. Filtering the waxy must while hot particulized the hot wax, which then solidified in tiny particles which mostly stayed suspended in the must. During fermentation a thin film of wax particles formed on the surface, which created quite a nice surface protection. After bottling, the wax particles would form a haze around the neck of the bottle (shake well before pouring) and while sipping there was a distinct sensation of lip balm around the lips. Many of these issues were negated by filtering the wax must after cooling it down, though the sensation of lipbalm never completely went away. For the amount of wax comb that went into the must and the insignificant amount that was recovered during filtering, the indication is that most stayed in solution with the sugars. Boiling the wax to dilute the honey does not coincide with the available information (as in, there should be comb structure left to be pressed) plus, the wax adds a significant (although not unpleasant) taste to the must.

Boiling the wax comb and honey to make the must. From the 4 scraped frames of honey comb only about an inch worth of black gook was recovered. Most of the bright yellow wax disappeared during the boil.

Current Interpretation:

9 To make mead.

Take honey combs, and put them into a big vessel & lay in there big sticks, & lay the weight on it [of the combs] until it runs out as much as it would; & this is called life honey. & then take those mentioned combs & heat them in clean water [not hotter than your hands can take], & cook it well. After press out of it [the combs] as much as you can & cast it [the liquid] into another vessel into hot water, & heat it well, & scum it well, & do thereto a quart of life honey. & then let it stand a few days well closed up, & this is a good drink.

The second recipe:

10 To make fyn meade & poynaunt.

Take xx galouns of the forseid pomys soden in iii galouns of fyn wort, & i galoun of liif hony & sethe hem wel & scome hem wel til thei be cleer enowgh; & put therto iii penyworth of poudir of peper & i penyworth of poudir of clowis & lete it boile wel togydere. & whanne it is coold put it into the vessel into the tunnynge up of the forseid mede; put it therto, & close it wel as it is aboue said. (Hieatt & Butler, 150)

Literal Translation:

10 To make fine mead & poignant.

Take 20 gallons of the previously mentioned pomys cooked in 3 gallons of fine wort, & take 1 gallon of life honey & simmer it well & scum it well until it is clear enough; & add to it 3 pennyworth powder of pepper & 1 pennyworth powder of cloves & let it boil well together. & when it is cold put it into the vessel of the barreled up previously mentioned mead; add it to it, & close it well as it is said before.

The suggestions by Hieatt & Butler are as follows:

The word ‘pomys’ translates as apples (p. 207). [This exact word only shows up once as part of V: Goud Kokery; variants from other recipes are ‘poumes’ and ‘pommys’ which both refer to a softened apple dish.]

The ‘forseyd pomys sodden’ evidently refers to a recipe the scribe has omitted (p. 150)

Fyne meade and poynaunt V 10, spiced mead. Despite the initial directions, no recipe calling for cooked apples actually occurs in the vicinity of this one. The quantity of spices called for would work out to something like 2 oz. of pepper and ¼ oz of cloves: this would not make a very spicy drink, considering the 34 [edit 24] gallons of other ingredients. (p. 188)

The immediate issue with recipe 10 is the translation of the word ‘pomys’. From its similarity to the word ‘pommys’ it seems self evident it would refer to apples (linguistically via the French word ‘pomme’ for apple). The word ‘pomys’ in modern times could translate to ‘pomace’ or apple pressings, the apple solids left over from the making of cider, or apple juice. To my best knowledge, the word ‘pomace’ is never used for the juice, always for the leftover solids from pressing, so I am inclined to forgo the option of it meaning juice, or the must from recipe 9.

Another issue is the meaning of the word ‘tunnynge’, which I’d like to address first. The word ‘tunnynge’ can be interpreted as either a measurement (a ‘tun’ or a barrel of 252 or 265 gallons, a defined unit of volume in the 14th century) or an action (tunning). My first trial used the tun as a measurement and found that it adds too much volume to the amount of honey & malt for a proper ferment. The recipe instructs “put it into the vessel into the tunnynge up of the forseid mede” which at first reads like it barrels up twice: “put it into the vessel into the tun of the previously mentioned mead”. My current interpretation is “put it into the vessel into the tunned up previously mentioned mead”, or, use a transporting vessel (see image below) to move the wort/must and add it back “put it therto” into the barrel of the mead made with recipe 9. This would indicate recipe 10 is not a stand alone recipe, but instead uses the mead made in recipe 9 to make something else, called fyne meade and poynaunt. This would basically make a braggot, except instead of adding honey & spices to ale to re-ferment (as a typical period braggot), it adds wort (malt) and spices to mead (akin to a modern braggot, or malted mead).

“The Brewer” by Jan Luyken (1649-1712). The vessel mentioned in the recipe could be used to transport from the boiling vat to the fermenting tun or barrel.

Back to the pomys. Hieatt & Buttler assume “the ‘forseyd pomys sodden’ evidently refers to a recipe the scribe has omitted” as “despite the initial directions, no recipe calling for cooked apples actually occurs in the vicinity of this one”. When the directions in recipe 10 are interpreted as if ‘pomys’ meant apple, to make a spiced apple wine sweetened with honey and wort/malt, the ratio of solid apples and fermentable sugars to liquid does not seem to add up. To properly ferment a certain amount of apple solids, it would need to be at least submerged, which combined with the direction to cook it “soden in iii galouns of fyn wort” makes for apple sauce consistency. If enough water is added to create an acceptable cooked apple wort the amount of fermentable sugars is too low for a proper ferment, and if the water ratio is balanced for a proper short mead ferment, the must is so dense it is difficult to get a good ferment (and have liquid left over at the end, the apple solids suck it up like a sponge). This recipe had a tendency for the apple sauce to create a pancake at the surface which then would get pushed up by fermentation gasses, straight out through the airlock, which necessitated stirring the must back down every other hour or so until primary fermentation slowed down. In other words, the recipe does not make sense, it does not work well, and the resulting brew would spoil prematurely on a regular base, indicating an unbalanced recipe. Combined with the interpretation that recipe 10 could be a back ferment of recipe 9, similar to a modern braggot, it puts the translation of ‘pomys’ to apple in serious question.

Before fermentation (L) and after fermentation (R). One quart of apple solids added to one gallon of water, with appropriate honey and malt. Cooking made the apple fall apart and most of the available liquid became absorbed.

What could be meant instead? If “the forseid pomys sodden” is to be taken literally as something cooked from the previous recipe, then let’s look back to see what fits. The bulk honey from recipe 9 does not come from leaked honey but from washed out wax comb: “& thanne take that forseid combis & sethe hem in clene water, & boile hem wel”. When the alternate interpretation for ‘seething’ and ‘boiling’ is used, the directions to “heat them in clean water, & cook them well” would generate left over wax combs, which are then “presse out thereof as myche as though may”. If the alternate interpretation is not used, and the must is literally simmered and cooked, then the wax would have melted and there’d be nothing left to be pressed, strongly indicating lower temperatures than the melting point of wax. The wax comb from recipe 9 is both cooked and pressed it would fit the description of “the forseid pomys sodden” of recipe 10 perfectly (Magnus).

Current Interpretation:

10 To make fine mead & poignant.

Take 20 gallons of the previously mentioned pomys [the squeezed combs of recipe 9] cooked in 3 gallons of fine wort, & take 1 gallon of life honey & heat it well [below 154 ºF, and the ambient yeast will survive] & scum it well until it is clear enough; & add to it 3 pennyworth powder of pepper & 1 pennyworth powder of cloves & let it cook well together. & when it is cold put it into the vessel of the barreled up previously mentioned mead [add it back into the barrel the 20 gallons came out off]; add it to it, & close it well as it is said before.

Twenty gallons of pressed comb cooked in 3 gallons of malt seems like a too small ratio of solid to liquid. Unexpectedly, I found from experience that boiling comb in a sugar solution does not generate a significant amount of melted wax and as the combs are probably also somewhat wet, even after manual pressing, they could conceivably have some crystallized honey remnants left to add to the must. When the combs are boiled in the wort/must, the scum floats to the top, just like with clarifying honey, and has to be removed “scome hem wel til thei be cleer inowgh” at the same time. And while Hieatt & Butler thought the small quantity of pepper and cloves “would not make a very spicy drink”, adding boiled wax combs to the mix significantly changes the taste of the mead (mead made with honey in which wax has been boiled has a very distinctive spicy, earthy taste).

Conclusion.

The translation of the two Curye on Inglysch mead recipes by Hieatt & Butler, even though not completely understood, theoretically makes sense. It took some dedicated experimental archaeology, so to speak, to come to the conclusion that the modern interpretation did not add up and a different way of thinking was needed. Instead of looking at individual recipes as singular snippets, sometimes it’s necessary to see a recipe within a broader historical context. For example, the cooking technique called “blanching” historically meant soaking in cold water until the almond skins came off, while in modern times it means pouring boiling water over them until the almond skins come off. While the end result seems the same, almonds soaked with the modern method tends to make dry crumbly marzipan, while cold soaked almonds makes great sticky marzipan, just like grandma used to make. I learned not to assume just because a word or technique had a modern equivalent, it therefore historically meant the same. While seething and boiling might actually mean simmering and boiling in one recipe, when dealing with brewing recipes, I now tend to double-check (Is there wax involved? What happens to the life honey?). When emulating a historic recipe, I look for similar recipes and check if there are nuances to the techniques and ingredients used; it might explain something I did not even realize might be questionable. And just because something was written down eight hundred years ago does not make it infallible: people make mistakes, especially with the older texts, the artisans were not the scribes; translators made errors, as recipes would be translated and republished (no medieval copyright), and some people are just better brewers than others.

When interpreted within a broader context, the two Curye on Inglysch mead recipes work surprisingly well and work well together. Recipe 9 makes good basic mead and includes detailed albeit cryptic information on the processing of the comb, which is omitted by many later period mead recipes. For now – until new information presents itself – recipe 10 seems to be meant as an addition to a barrel of mead made with recipe 9, to back sweeten and spice up mead with boiled beeswax comb, for just that special occasion. And who’d have thought that…

lace

Want to read more? Check out my (newly updated) brewing paper Of Hony, a collection of Mediaeval Brewing Recipes, listing 46 period mead recipes, on Academia.edu at:

https://www.academia.edu/31052051/Of_Hony_-_A_collection_of_Mediaeval_brewing_recipes

References:

Butler, Charles. The Feminine Monarchie. 1609. Oxford: 1623.

https://books.google.com/books?id=f5tbAAAAMAAJ&dq=the+feminine+monarchie+butler&source=gbs_navlinks_s Transcription by Susan Verberg.

Digby, Kenelme. The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digby Knight Opened, 1669

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Closet of Sir Kenelm Digby Knight Opened. Anne MacDonell (ed.), 2005 https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16441

Hagen, Ann. A Second Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Food and Drink: Production and Distribution. Norfolk, UK: Anglo-Saxon Books, 1995.

Hieatt, Constance B. & Butler, Sharon (ed). Curye on Inglysch, English culinary manuscripts of the 14^th century (including the Forme of Cury). Early English Text Society. London: Oxford University Press, 1985.

Private communication with Peter Olson (East Kingdom brewing Laurel lærifaðir Magnus hvalmagi).

Rasmussen, S.C. The Quest for Aqua Vitae. SpringerBriefs in History of Chemistry, 2014.

Verberg, Susan. Of Honey, a Collection of Mediaeval Brewing Recipes. 2017.
https://www.academia.edu/31052051/Of_Hony_-_A_collection_of_Mediaeval_brewing_recipes

Links:

http://gtb.inl.nl/openlaszlo/my-apps/GTB/Productie/HuidigeVersie/src/inlgtb.html?owner=MNW

Images:

Protz, Roger. The Ale Trail. Eric Dobby Publishing, 1995, p. 30

All photography © by Susan Verberg.

An Early 16th Century German Outfit

17 Friday Feb 2017

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Costuming

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blogs, German, German garb

By Lady Astridr Vigaskegg.

Several months ago, I finally put scissors to fabric and began putting together an early 16th century German dress. I’d been researching for some time, but it took a lot of mental preparation to work myself up to the idea of constructing a late-period garment on my own. For this dress, I drew inspiration primarily from two Hans Holbein sketches of a Basel woman from 1523.

I began with my own measurements and looking at patterns from both Katafalk and Reconstructing History, but found that neither really worked for my body. So I ended up fitting myself and making my own, which was a long and infuriating process — next time I’m having a friend help me fit a new pattern.

When I finished my bodice pattern (which was slightly modified after these photos), I cut an interlining of heavy linen and the wool shell, then attached them mostly following Katafalk’s tutorial. I cut the guards out of black wool and attached them after the bodice was all put together, then moved onto the skirt.

Using Mistress Genoveva’s Rolled Pleat Calculator, I came up with the length needed for my skirt, which I think was about 6 yards. I had a whole bolt of red wool from JoAnn Fabrics, and I only used a half-width of the fabric for the top portion of the skirt. I spent several hours with a ruler and chalk, and by the end of it I had my skirt pleated.

I ended up piecing the bottom stripes together in three panels of stripes, then sewed them together and attached them. Next time, I’ll likely attach the stripes before I pleat the skirt, but it didn’t create any major inconveniences doing it the other way.

It was after I completed the skirt that I started running out of time leading up to Fall Coronation of Marcus and Margerite, so I decided to put my plans for the sleeves on the back burner — it would be easy enough to take the middle-class route and simply sew the exaggerated stitching at the joints over the chemise. The proper chemise also wasn’t going to happen in time, so I pulled a cheater shirt out for the event.

The last piece of the outfit that I could accomplish in time was the hemd and steuchlein, which I made following Katafalk’s tutorials. The hemd was even more difficult to fit by myself than the bodice pattern was, and I was extremely glad to cover it and all the mistakes I made on it with the steuchlein.

There weren’t a great deal of photos of the good-enough dress I took to the event, but I was pretty pleased with it. I’m currently working on the more-correct sleeves, a pleated chemise, and fixing some general mistakes on the dress. Ideally, there will also be a structured linen kirtle to go under this dress and over the chemise.

See Astridr’s blog here for more of her sewing and culinary adventures.

Of Honey Wine and Melomels

27 Friday Jan 2017

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Brewing

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blogs, Brewing, melomels, wine

By Unnr in elska á Fjárfella, of the Dominion of Myrkfaelinn.

Honey, a blend of simple sugars, amino acids, fibers and trace minerals, combined with water and yeast, transforms into wonderful honey wine. This honey wine, often called mead, was seen as a Nectar fit for the gods “And I have heard some of that nation [Welsh] defend, that it is the very Nectar which Iupiter and Iuno drank.” (Thomas Cogan, 1584). Aged mead is highly regarded and awarded many advantages, as eloquently put down by Charles Butler (1609): “a wine most agreeable to the stomake: it recoverth 1 the appetite being lost, it 2 oppeneth the passage of the spirit or breath, is 3 softeneth the bellie, it 4 is good for them that have the cough. 5 If a man take meth, now and then: he shal receive much benefit by it, against quartan agues, against cacexies, and against the diseases of the braine, as analepsie, & epilepsie, or the falling evill: for which wine is pernicious: it 6 cureth the yellow jaundise: it 7 is also good against henbane with milke, and against the winter-cherie, it 8 nourisheth the body, 9. So that many have attained to long old age, only by the nourishment of meth. 10 For being asked of Augustus the Emperor, by what meanes especially hee Pollio Romulus had so long preserved that vigour both of mind and body, his answere was, Intus mulso, foris oleo [honey within, oil without].”

A medieval beekeeper banging a gong to calm a swarm hanging off a branch near his liripipe facemasked head

References to mead in combination with medicinal herbs are found throughout history, from the early period Anglo-Saxon Leechdoms, or medical texts, to the 16th century Books of Secrets. Mead infused with herbs and spices, whether for medicinal use or to be enjoyed (or a bit of both), is so common it is referred to by its own term: metheglin. As explained by Charles Butler (1609), the name is obvious, as “Metheglen is meth compoūded with herbs: so called quasi Meth e glen, meth of the vallie, because it is made in the vallies, where is abundance and variety of holsome herbes.” The earliest recipe for metheglin known today is found in the 13th century Tractatus letters “And gif þu wilt make mede eglyn.”

Where there is Metheglin, thus there is Melomel?

There was no shortage of fermenting with fruit sugars in the past either: while honey wine is thought to have been the first fermented beverage, made by primitive people thousands of years before wine and beer, (Rasmussen) grape wine runs a close second and is well known from ancient history. Grapes have the highest sugar content of any fruit and are therefore the most suitable for making wine. (Hagen, 213) Fruit wines were known to be made by settlers of the foothills of the Alps as early as 2000 BCE from wild grapes, raspberries, blackberries, elderberries, bittersweet nightshade, and cornelian cherries. (Hagen, 224) Cider and perry, fermented apple, and pear juice are also well known and mentioned in numerous historic texts, including the Bible – and Peacock (1449) “without sider and wyn and meeth men and wommen myght lyve full long.” The Anglo-Saxon word beor, previously translating to beer (by way of bere for barley), is recently reconsidered to mean cider instead, which is made from apples. (Hagen, 200)

Unfortunately, the combination of fruit juice and honey is uncommon in our time of study…

But is it unknown? Fermenting with honey and fruit is not common in our period of study, and until recently, the only recipes generally available were from the out of period but copious 1669 brewing manual, “The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digby Knight Opened”. Unfortunately, many mead recipes mentioned in Digby use ingredients and techniques not yet found or commonly used in our period of study. For instance, the addition of citrus, like lemons, and the use of raisins, which is common in Digby, is not found in any of the pre-1600 recipes. And the technique of aging in the bottle, often for a sparkling beverage, is something that does not match with the medieval method of serving mead young or aging in wooden casks and barrels either. (Krupp) Fortunately, a couple of period recipes using different kinds of fruit juice in combination with honey and fermentation recently surfaced, for which, as a fruit-growing homesteader and avid melomel brewer, I am very grateful!

The 1st century manuscript Historia Naturalis mentions a grape must and honey ferment “Another wine of the sweet class is called honey-wine; it differs from mead because it is made from must” (Pliny), which is fermented together instead of using the honey to sweeten wine, which otherwise would make hippocras. The 10th century manuscript Geoponika also lists Oenomeli from must, fermenting (grape) must with honey. In A Profitable Instruction by Thomas Hyll (1579), oenomel is explained “as the drinke made with wine vnlayde, or without water, and hony, they aptly name Oenomel”, or undiluted fresh wine mixed with honey. The same looks to be the case for Geoponika’s Concerning Oenomeli, and offers two versions, of which one is “set it in the sun at the rising of the dog-star during forty days. Some call this nectar,” indicating fermentation. It is not obvious that oenomel is a fermented drink, but context would indicate it is, from using must or unfermented grape juice, fresh wine which can easily referment, and letting it sit in a warm place for a prolonged amount of time (40 days can mean literal 40 days, or can mean biblical 40 days, as in many, many days).

My personal favorite is also from the Geoponika: the Preparation of hydromel, which lists two versions of fermenting with apples and honey, one with crushed apples and one with pressed apple juice. The 1597 manuscript Van de Byen by Theodorus Clutius has two similar recipes, one To make wine-like honey-water with juice of quince and another To make red wine-like honey-water which back-ferments mead with added fruit juice “mix this together and set it to rise as above”, similar to our modern practice of adding fruit juice in secondary fermentation. The recipe is for a medicinal mead, using the juice of amarellen (sour, dark red cherries with long stems), and gives alternatives like the juice of currants, red and black cherries, grapes, apples, and pears. While the practice of fermenting honey with fruit juice is not common enough to have coined our modern term melomel quite yet, let alone the sub-terms of cyser for apple mead and pyment for grape mead, thankfully for us modern melomel enthusiasts, a handful of interesting early examples do exist.

The recipes which involve fruit and honey:

Historia Naturalis, Pliny the Elder, 77 CE.
XI … Another wine of the sweet class is called honey-wine;

Geoponika, translated from Ancient texts by various authors, 10th CE
XXV. — Concerning Oenomeli.
XXVI. — Oenomeli from Must.
XXVII — Preparation of Hydromel.

Van de Byen by Theodorus Clutius, 1597.
To make wine-like honey-water.
To make red wine-like honey-water.

For the complete recipes, and much more on medieval meads, check out my research paper Of Hony, a Collection of Mediaeval Brewing Recipes (which lists 39 period honey brews) ,

Two large cauldrons which originally contained the mixed fermented beverage of wine, beer, and mead, mounted on iron tripod stands.

As a side note, archaeological evidence of the analysis of several bronze drinking vessels from the tomb of King Midas (ca. 700 BCE) in central Turkey indicates an interesting combination of fruit, grain, and honey. Biomarkers for wine (tartaric acid), beer (beerstone), and mead/honey (beeswax) were found, postulating the theory that the vessels contained a mixture of grape wine, beer, and mead, making a sort of braggot or malt mead with grape wine. Unfortunately, as there is no direct evidence for honey fermentation, the honey could easily have been for sweetening only. It is feasible that since these were grave finds, the contents of the vessels might not have been intended for human drinking at all, and could have been a mix of separate brews, the best they had, specially made to please the gods. Except that the earliest known recipe for beer made in honor of Ninkasi (found on a Sumerian clay tablet dated to 1800 BCE) also mentions to add honey in combination with wine to a beer malt, indicating that the beer/wine/honey was fermented together and meant as a combined drink. Interestingly, while both sources indicate the addition of fermented grape wine, and the archaeologists assumed the honey was added in the form of mead, the grave find information itself is ambivalent, and the Ninkasi recipe speaks of straight honey, indicating the use of honey to back-sweeten instead of adding fermented honey or mead… but then again, as long as honey is added prior to fermentation, mead is bound to happen!

References:

Butler, Charles. The Feminine Monarchie. 1609. Transcription by Susan Verberg.

Clutium, Theodorum. Van de Byen. Leyden: Jan Claesz van Dorp, Inde Vergulde Son, 1597.
Transcription & translation by Susan Verberg.

Cogan, Thomas. The Haven of Health, 1584. London: Anne Griffin, 1636. Transcription by Susan Verberg.

Hagen, Ann. A Second Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Food and Drink: Production and Distribution. Norfolk, UK: Anglo-Saxon Books, 1995.

Krupp, Christina M. & Gillen, Bill. Making Medieval Mead, or Mead Before Digby The Compleat Anachronist #120. Milpitas: SCA Inc, 2003.

de Maricourt, Petrus Peregrinus. Tractatus de Magnetate et Operationibus eiu, Folio 20r. Reynolds Historical Library, University of Alabama.

Owen, Reverend T. (trans.) Geoponika; Agricultural Pursuits, Volume I. Of the Queen’s College at the University of Oxford. London: W. Spilsbury, 1805.

Rackham H., Jones W.H.S., Eichholtz D.E. (trans.). Pliny’s Natural History, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press & London: William Heinemann, 1949-54.

Rasmussen, S.C. The Quest for Aqua Vitae. SpringerBriefs in History of Chemistry, 2014.

Images:
Lyon BM ms 27 https://www.pinterest.com/pin/315322411384728239/
https://www.penn.museum/sites/expedition/the-funerary-banquet-of-king-midas/

Pin Down the Dead! Or, how to protect against zombies and the evil eye…

11 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Esoterica

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blogs, magic, Viking

By Elska á Fjárfella of the Dominion of Myrkfaelinn, 2016

As part of my Viking persona the need for some sort of magical amulet devolved into another research project. I had heard about thunderstones, and straightforward that I am, assumed those would have been made out of fulgurites, which form of melted sand from lightning striking the beach. But just to be on the safe side I looked into these fascinating talismans and found that throughout history many, many objects had been perceived as thunderstones. For a very long time thunderstones were believed to be the physical remains of thunderbolts or lightning strikes endowed with the power to avert evil or bad luck, and to protect the house, property and family against lightning and by association, storms and fire. In the words of 17th century Adrianus Tollius “Thunderstones are generated in the sky by a fulgureous exhalation (whatever that may look like) conglobed in a cloud by a circumfixed humour, and baked hard, as it were, by intense heat”…

As much as that almost seems plausible, what did they expect those exhalations to look like? Most thunderstones seem to fall into one of three categories: they look like weapons (the sky gods used lightning as a weapon, like Thor’s hammer Mjöllnir), they are associated with thunderstorms (for instance resemble hail) or have lightning like properties (spark fire). Preferably they are found in conjunction with lightning storms and lightning strikes: objects that were not there before the storm but were there after – washed out of the ground by heavy rains but attributed to having fallen out of the sky; like stone objects with a peculiar shape, with holes in them or sharp ends, polished, chipped (proof they fell from the sky), perfectly round, smooth, with a projectile shape, like pointed, arrow like etc…

Thunderstone amulets could be categorized in three classes: the minerals, the fossils and the ceraunia. Examples of minerals would be those unusually shaped stones; fire sparking stones like flint, iron pyrite and bog iron; fulgurites (found by digging out the lightning strike site, looking for the magical core) and meteorites, especially those with remaglypts which do kinda look like fingerprints of the gods! Only a couple types of fossils are considered thunderstones: sharks teeth and Belemnites (squid) resemble weapons, and Echinoids are rather round with a, to us, familiar five pointed pattern. But the most interesting are the ceraunia. These stone age tools were crafted by early man, but as this knowledge had been forgotten, the sometimes abundantly found stone weapons became part of thunderstone myths instead!

In archaeology, thunderstones are most often found in grave finds and in house foundations. This is interpreted as a wish to protect the dead and help them into the afterlife, and to protect the house and family from lightning strikes and fire. As thunderstones were seen as the manifestation of lightning strike cores, and throughout history the myth (hope) of “lightning/disaster never strikes twice” prevailed (even today, as shown by the Norse disaster protection rune on our modern day ambulances), having a thunderstone in your house or on your person would, therefore, exempt you from being hit. elska-1

The connection between thunderstones and burial could come from their connection to faeries. The Fae were thought to be the inhabitants of a mystical, enchanted world, with plenty of honey and wine, feasts, playing and drinking, and where you’d never grow old (sound familiar?). The Celts believed that this Otherworld could be accessed from the real world through Neolithic and bronze age barrows – which would have stone tools – and thought that Otherworld was the land of the dead. Placing echinoids (called faerie loaves) or stone tools in burial sites would help guide the spirits of the dead on their journey into Otherworld, or the afterlife.

In Norse mythology Thor’s hammer Mjöllnir was thought to have the power to call up the dead to renewed life and placing the sign of Mjöllnir, either as a fossil echinoid or a stone axe, in burials can therefore be seen as an act of symbolizing rebirth after death. Thunderstones were believed to fall from the sky during thunderstorms; missiles hurled by Thor to keep the wandering trolls under control. If a thunderstone struck a troll careless enough to be out in a thunderstorm, instant death followed. If it were not for Thor’s missiles, the Norse believed, the trolls would have spread across the earth like a plague! Thor’s hammer Mjöllnir also represents the lightning as when thrown it magically returns to Thor’s hand, just as natural lightning is seen to strike the earth (leader) and then fly black to the skies (return stroke).

There is also a connection between thunderstones and the use of iron. Revered for its transformative qualities by way of smelting and smithing, the transformation of iron into a new state could be regarded as a parallel for the path of the body and soul through burial rituals and might seem as a good catalyst to assist the dead to do the same, similar to the believe of stone tools and echinoids. According to Norse belief, placing objects of iron in and around the grave site is a most reliable way of ensuring the dead stayed bound to their proper place (the Norse draugr are zombies, apparently risen from the grave due to lack of iron, or thunderstones!). Iron is also used to wire wrap thunderstones to wear as amulets as iron would trap the magic and keep the thunderstone ‘loaded’. Popular myth also mentions faeries can be deterred/trapped or hurt/killed with pure iron, which concurs with thunderstone myths.

Apparently thunderstones were seen as pretty darn useful: tools & echinoids would be included in graves to protect souls, guide travel into the afterlife and keep evil spirits away. They would be placed inside walls, under the floor or the threshold or kept under eaves or staircases of buildings to protect the owner and his house from being struck by lightning, fire and storms, and would be worn to avoid dying at sea, losing in battles, and to guarantee good sleep at night.

Echinoids placed on shelves in the pantry would keep the milk fresh and cause plenty of cream, and were hung around the necks of cattle. They guaranteed good breeding luck and good hunting & fishing luck. And thunderstone echinoids made the beer ferment.

Who finds a thunderstone should not give it away, otherwise he loses his luck. In Norse mythology they were thought to keep trolls and witches (or general evil) away, and bring good luck. They were also thought to protect the unchristened child against being “changed”. And thunderstones were considered to be good protection against elfish malice, the evil eye and especially, the Devil. elska-2

Thunderstone echinoids were even assimilated into Christian culture as a protection sign against evil. In some parts of England, openings like doors and windows on the north side of a church, which in medieval and earlier times was known as the Devil’s side of the church, would be rimmed with echinoids (called shepherd’s crowns), all with the five pointed side visible. Echinoids naturally display a five pointed star, the forbearer of the pentagram, which became symbolic of the power of good over evil!

To keep up with demand, objects that looked like magical items became regarded as similar, and were believed to take on the same magic, which is called the Theory of Similars (or Sympathetic Magic). This explains the prevalence of manmade Thor’s hammer amulets in later period, from very crude (as part of iron amulet rings which were believed to keep the spirits of the dead confined to the grave) to elaborate jewelry pieces, all used as protection amulets and talismans. And how the five pointed star of the echinoid likely evolved into the powerful symbol the pentagram, which took with it several of the thunderstones protections, including safeguarding brewing (Scandinavian), protection against witches & general evil and especially protection against the Devil.

Interestingly, the word “urchin” for modern sea urchins likely came by way of thunderstones: fossil echinoids, often called fairy loaves, were associated with the Fae, and another word for these creatures was “urchin”. And ironically, it took until contact with Native American Indians in the 16th CE, who at that time still used stone tool technology, for the European scientific community to realize ceraunia were actually stone tools made by an earlier kind of people!

Over time, the powerful thunderstones devolved into no more than talismans, or lucky stones. But remember, next time you find a stone with a hole in, and you just have to put it in your pocket – you’re just following in your ancestors footsteps and there is nothing superstitious about that! Or is there…

The inspiration amulet, my amulet and part of my Thunderstone Amulet display at the Yule Peace Tournament this December. In the foreground is a striker (to demonstrate how well flint sparks fire) and a piece of naturally found flint from England (shaped like a tube as the flint formed in a prehistoric animal seafloor tunnel). Thank you, Angelika for loaning the striker and the replica stone tools, Edward Harbinger for the real stone arrow point and Artemius of Delftwood for the belemnite. The rest of the collection comes from my personal stash collected during years of wandering all over the place picking up whatever looked unusual!

Bibliography

McGinnis M., Meghan P. Ring Out Your Dead. Stockholm: Stockholms Universitet, 2016

http://www.archaeology.su.se/polopoly_fs/1.288568.1467018819!/menu/standard/file/Mattsson_McGinnis_Meghan_Paalz-Ring_Out_Your_Dead.pdf Fig a & b are attributed to this text.

Johanson, Kristiina. The Changing Meaning of ‘Thunderbolts’.

https://www.folklore.ee/folklore/vol42/johanson.pdf

McNamara, Kenneth J. Shepherds’ crowns, fairy loaves and thunderstones: the mythology of fossil echinoids in England. Myth and Geology. London: Geological Society, 2007. Fig 4 & 8 are attributed to this text.

http://sp.lyellcollection.org/content/273/1/279.refs?cited-by=yes&legid=specpubgsl;273/1/279

Report of the U.S National Museum, Part I. Washington: Government Printing Office, 1899.

Ravilious, K. “Thor’s Hammer” Found in Viking Graves. National Geographic News, 2010.

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2010/08/100810-thor-thors-hammer-viking-graves-thunderstones-science/

Seigfried, Karl E. H. The Norse Mythology Blog. 2010

http://www.norsemyth.org/2010/04/mighty-thor-part-one.html

Dian-stanes and “Thunderstones”. Orkneyjar, the heritage of the Orkney Islands.

http://www.orkneyjar.com/tradition/dian.htm

Sibley, Jane The Divine Thunderbolt USA: XLibris, 2009

Extant piece found at http://www.geolsba.dk/echinoids/dan/Galerites-vikingesmykke.html

See Elska’s blog here.

“A fresh laid egge”

08 Sunday Jan 2017

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Brewing, Cooking

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blogs, egg test, Soapmaking

The Egg Float Test explained, for period Soapmakers, Cooks, and Brewers.

By Unnr in elska á Fjárfella (Susan Verberg, 2017).

Of the Dominion of Myrkfaelinn in the Kingdom of Æthelmearc.

Sometime in the middle of the 16^th century someone figured out that a fresh laid chicken egg has a similar density as certain strengths of solutions. The egg will float instead of sink as it would in plain water, indicating a specific strength or density. First mentioned in soap making manuals to check the strength of lye (1558), it quickly surfaced both in cooking recipes to check the strength of brine (1597), a solution of salt & water, and brewing recipes to check the strength of must (1594), a solution of fruit or honey sugars & water.

Initially the only available references for the egg test in brewing were from the copious but out of period 1669 cookbook The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digby Knight Opened. Even though this manuscript came from Digby’s lifelong collection of recipes and was posthumously published several years after his death so could be seen as probably period, his recipes are much more contemporary to 17^th century recipes than to what is found before. For instance, many recipes mentioned in Digby use ingredients and techniques not yet found, or commonly used, in our period of study. The addition of citrus, like lemons, and the use of raisins, which is common in Digby, is not found in any of the pre 1600 recipes. And the technique of aging in the bottle, often for a sparkling beverage, is something that does not match with the medieval method of serving mead young or aging in wooden casks and barrels either. But even though the recipes themselves may not be period, they do tend to include more information on the actual process and can serve as a good almost period explanation on previously unexplained techniques.

It was not until I delved deeper into period mead making that I came across four late 16^th century brewing recipes mentioning the egg float test, and was finally able to firmly place this technique within our time of study for all three crafts: soap making, cooking and brewing. This article explores the underlying process and easy application of this intriguing trick of science!

But doesn’t a floating egg mean the egg is spoiled? It depends. The floating egg technique works by way of the internal design of an egg, which includes an air sack at the rounded end of the egg for the bird embryo to breath. A fresh egg has a relatively small air sack but as the egg shell is slightly porous over time the size of the air sack increases as the contents of the egg slowly evaporate and dry out. As an old egg will have a large air sack, when put into water it will bob up and float. This test is still used in our modern times to test to see if an egg is fit to eat before cracking it and not be surprised with a sulfur bomb!

Because the size of the air sack changes over time, interfering with the results of our density test, it is very important to use a fresh egg which has not yet had time to evaporate. It is also important to check the supposedly fresh egg as eggs sold in the supermarket are not always as fresh as you might assume (check the sell by dates or even better, get a local backyard egg). To do this, before every density test calibrate your egg in plain water to make sure it sinks flat to the bottom, with both butt and tip level. Use a wide mouth glass jar and tongs to place the egg on the bottom as it can sink so fast it cracks in bigger jars.

The density or specific gravity of water is 1. When minerals like salts or sugars are dissolved into water the extra particles change the density of the solution by making it more crowded, or dense. A fresh egg has a density between 1.03-1.1 g/ml which means it would be borne, or float, by a solution of a density matching or exceeding 1.03-1.1 g/ml. A saturated salt solution, or brine, has a density of about 1.2 g/ml, a wood ash lye solution for laundry soap a density of about 1.11 g/ml and a brewing solution would be between 1.06-1.1 g/ml – all fairly close together and why using the egg test works, in some way or another, for all three.

In modern brewing a hydrometer is used to take a starting (before fermentation) and finishing (after fermentation) gravity reading. Determining the difference of sugars between start and end makes it possible to calculate the percentage of alcohol produced by the yeast from that difference (what is gone has been consumed by the yeast and thus converted into alcohol). As medieval brewers were not aware of the micro-biology involved in brewing and artificially stopping the yeast for a specific alcohol content was not understood (how they wished to know what caused the summer ‘boiling’ and consequent explosions of wine!), all the brewer needed to know was if there was the right amount of sugar for proper fermentation.

Most recipes ask for so many pounds of honey to so much water, why should you go through the trouble of checking the density to make must? For two reasons, the first being that not all honey is created equal. A thick syrupy honey created in a dry year will have more sugar per liquid volume than a thin, runny honey. Both will make mead, but if you measured a thin honey to make sweet mead you might be unpleasantly surprised at the dry white wine-like mead you ended up with… Secondly, in period all honey would have been used for brewing, not just the easy to extract. The centrifuge type honey extruder is a modern convenience and allows for high yield with minimal processing. In period honey would be extracted by hand, first by breaking up the combs to leak out as much as they could, and then by washing the broken up combs in warm water to dissolve the remaining and any crystallized honey. This honey/water mixture would be of unknown strength and would have to be checked before brewing, as not enough fermentable sugars could result in an easily spoiled brew and too much sugar can inhibit yeast growth, stalling fermentation and giving competitors a change. I don’t doubt master brewers of the time could eyeball or taste and have a perfect brew each time, but for the less initiated household brewer (and modern re-enactor) it is nice to be able to check with a visual aide, as the Digby recipe Mr. Pierce’s Excellent White Metheglin confirms:

“When it is blood-warm, put the honey to it, about one part, to four of water; but because this doth not determine the proportions exactly (for some honey will make it stronger then other) you must do that by bearing up an Egge.”

Would any kind of fresh egg work? Not until the Digby recipe Mr. Corsellises Antwerp Meath did a recipe specify that the egg should be a hen’s egg “as above, an Hens Egge may swim with the point upwards”. Even so, with differences in breed, health, age and diet the egg size & shape can differ as well. For the best results, Digby’s Mr. Pierce’s recipe advises to test several eggs and pick out the most average one, both in freshness and shape.

“… and put a good number, (ten or twelve) New-laid-eggs into it, and as round ones as may be; For long ones will deceive you in the swiming; and stale ones, being lighter then new, will emerge out of the Liquor, the breadth of a sixpence, when new ones will not a groats-breadth. Therefore you take many, that you make a medium of their several emergings; unless you be certain, that they which you use, are immediately then laid and very round.”

But what does “beare an egge” mean? How does that look like? It depends on the density you’re looking for and the solution you are playing with. For instance, in soap making two densities are used; a strong one to make laundry soap and a weaker one to make body soap. While in the laundry soap recipe the egg is floating horizontally at the surface (with about the size of a quarter above the surface), as the The seconde part of the Secretes of Master Alexis of Piemont of 1560 puts “the Egge into it, and whiles the egge remaineth aboue”; the body soap recipe for shampoo uses “stronge lye that will beare an egge swimminge betwene two waters”, or, the egg is suspended in the middle.

Soapmaking lye looks like: laundry strength lye, and shampoo strength lye.

Laundry strength lye

Shampoo strength lye

This shampoo recipe is the earliest sample I’ve found of the egg float density test and is part of the 1558 manuscript The secretes of the reuerende Maister Alexis of Piemount Containyng excellent remedies against diuers disease by Girolamo Ruscelli.

”A very exquisite soap, made of diverse things.

Take aluminis catini (burnt cream of tartar), quicklime one part, strong lye that will suspend and egg in the middle, three pottels, a pot of common oil; mix all well together, put into it the white of an egg well beaten (dispersant), and a dishful of wheat flour (thickener), and an ounce of roman vitriol (cupric sulfate), or red lead (lead oxide pigment) well beaten into powder, an mix continuously for the space of three hours, then let it rest, by the space of a day, and it will be right and perfect. Finally, take it out, and cut it in pieces: afterwards set it to dry two days, in the wind, but not in the sun. Always use this soap, when you want to wash your hair, for it is very wholesome, and makes fair hair.” (Translated by Susan Verberg)

As the density of a saturated salt solution is fairly strong, the egg in a salt solution would also float horizontally at the surface, similar to laundry soap strength lye. The recipe in the 1597 cookbook The second part of the good hus-wiues iewell by Thomas Dawson uses this technique to make sure the brine is saturated and is the earliest mention I’ve found of the egg float test in a cookbook. Apparently, it is also used for numerous pickling recipes of the new world colonies but I have not found any period mentions of that as of yet.
”To keepe lard in season.

Cut your lard in faire peeces, and salt it well with white salte, euery péece with your hand, and lay it in a close vessel then take faire running water, and much white salt in it, to make it brine, the~ boile it vntill it beare an Egge, then put it into your Lard and keepe it close.”

Like with soap, brewing with different sugar strengths makes for different types of brews. The stronger the mead the longer it can keep, as Digby’s To Make Metheglin advises: “If you would have it to drink within two or three months, let it be no stronger then to bear an Egg to the top of the water. If you would have it keep six months, or longer, before you drink it, let it bear up the Egg the breadth of two pence above the water. This is the surer way to proportion your honey then by measure.” Medieval meads are usually fermented using ale yeast, which generally dies off once the alcohol level reaches about 10%. As an alcohol level of about 10-12% will kill off most contaminants responsible for spoiling meads and fruit wines, a higher starting sugar level resulting in a higher alcohol percentage would therefore allow the mead to keep longer. Unlike the soap & brine recipes, the brewing egg does not float horizontal but vertical, as Digby’s Mr. Corsellises Antwerp Meath mentions “so strong that an Egge may swim in it with the end upwards”, indicating an intermediate strength between suspended and floating.

Both the soap making recipes and the brine recipes indicate to boil first, then measure – the brewing recipes are not so certain and often recommend to test the strength before boiling, as Digby’s To Make Metheglin shows: “And the time of the tryal of the strength is, when you incorporate the honey and water together, before the boiling of it.” apparently not realizing boiling evaporates water thereby changing the density. The recipes can also not quite make up their mind if the must should be cold, blood warm or boiling, which could indicate they did not understand how temperature affects specific gravity either, as shown in the 1597 Dutch beekeeping manual “Van de Byen” by Theodorus Clutius; “and let it cook / until an Egg can float in the liquid / then set it off the fire”, which could also resulted in a nicely boiled egg if the egg is not removed… As medieval recipes over many disciplines have a tendency to be brief to the point of missing pertinent information, it is entirely possible the period brewer knew to remove the egg and cool down the must, but did not bother to note that down. The 1616 Danish cookbook Koge Bog advises to “put an egg or two into this lukewarm brew so that there is a part of egg as big as a 2 shilling over the water then it is sweet and fat enough” which probably is the most accurate measurement.

Bees coming out of a hive to drive off an intruder.

Following are two 16^th century recipes which specifically mention using the egg float test:

Jewell House of Art and Nature by Hugh Platt, 1594.

76 A receipt for the making of an artificiall Malmesey.

Take four gallons of conduit water, into the which put one gallon of good English honie, stirre the honie well till it be dissolved in the water, set this water in a copper pan upon a gentle fire, & as there ariseth any skumme take it off with a goose wing or a Skimmer, and when it hath simpered about an hour, then put in a new laid egge into the water, which will sinke presentlie, then continue your first fire without any great encrease, and also your skimming so long as any skim doth arise, and when this egge beginneth to floate aloft and sinketh no more, then put in another new laide egge, which wil sinke likewise, & when that second egge doth also swim aloft with the fyrst egge, let the water continue on the fyre a Paternoster while, then take it off, and beeing colde, put the same into some roundelet, fylling the roundelet brimful. And in the middest of this roudelet hand a bagge, wherein first put some reasonable weight or peize, and to everie eight gallons of liquor two nutmegges groselie beaten, twentie Cloves, a rase or two of Ginger, and a sticke of Cynamon of a fynger length. Set your roundelet in the sunne, in some hot Leades or other place, where the sunne shineth continuallie for three whole monethes, covering the bung-hole from the raine, and now and then fylling it uppe with more of the same composition as it wasteth. This I learned of an English traveyler, who advised me to make the same alwaies about the middest of Maie, that it might have 3. hot moneths togither to work it to his ful perfection. […]

“Van de Byen” (Of the Bees) by Theodorus Clutius, 1597

To make mead.

One shall take the rest that stayed in the basket / from the dripping of the raw honey or zeem / and wash it with hot water / so that all the sweetness goes into the water / until you have a tub full or two / or as much as you want: Then put this liquid in the kettle / and let it cook / until an Egg can float in the liquid / then set it off the fire / and pour it into the barrels and let it cool / add some yeast of beer / and set it to rise and work / and althus filling the barrel / so the filthiness may overflow / and when it does not bubble or work / so shall one close up the barrel / and let it rest. This is the way to make mead / some put in a piece of tied cloth some cinnamon / ginger / nutmeg / cloves and similar spices / to give the mead a good taste and scent. (Translated by Susan Verberg)

Between the end of the 16^th century and the publishing of Digby’s cookbook a number of mead recipes are found to use a similar egg float technique as described in Digby, but with old-fashioned ingredients and techniques. This is an interesting time of transition, as by the 16^th century not only could the average person read, due to cheaper & more extensive trade unusual ingredients like spices, sugar, citrus, chemicals & pigments became available to the common man. It was a time of great exploration, both of the sea and in the mind, not in the least helped by the success of the numerous Books of Secrets, each claiming to expose trade secrets never seen before, which greatly helped to spread knowledge before only accessible to the educated elite. This period of transition shows in the difference between Digby’s work and our time of interest, both in ingredients used and in their often elaborate and detailed explanations.

Numerous recipes in Digby mention the use of coins, like the groat & two pence (most with an average diameter of about 20mm) as a size measurement of the bit of shell sticking above the water surface. This type of measurement seems to become fairly universal in later times as observed in many of the Digby recipes and later in the US Colonial soap making lye measurements which often also specify an area the size of a coin, in this case a quarter. Even though coins are mentioned in the barely out of period 1604 Complete Receipt Books of Ladie Elynor Fettiplace “so strong of honie that it will cover an egg to the breadth of two pence”, and the 1609 The Feminine Monarchie “make it to bear an egge the breath of a groat”, the period recipes do not specify how the egg should float, only that is should.

So after all this, where do you start? With a fresh egg no more than two days old, of the roundest kind, weighing less than or about 2 ounces. Making a brine solution is easiest: add enough salt until it stops dissolving, which means a saturated solution is reached, place the egg, and slowly add water until it floats just as the recipe likes it. To test lye for soap making the egg would be used after the heated evaporated lye is cooled down, which allows for contaminant minerals to settle out of solution and thus not interfere with the remaining solution’s density (for more information on leaching lye and making soft soap see the Bibliography). For brewing, make your honey must first, heat and evaporate as needed, let cool down to blood temperature, and add an egg. If the egg sinks the must is too weak, if it floats close to tipping or tips, the must is too strong. As the 1609 beekeeping manual The Feminine Monarchie instructs: “If the liquor be not strong enough to beare an egge the breath of a two-pēce above it, thē put so much of your course hony into it, as wil give it that strength: or rather, when it is so strong powre in more water (stirring it with the liquor) until the egge sinke.” In other words; if it is too weak, add more honey, stir well to make sure the sugars are completely dissolved, and try again. If too strong, add some water, stir well, and try again. As you can imagine, it is easier to start with too strong a solution and dilute it, than to start with a weak solution and try to incrementally dissolve more sugars into it.

The table below matches egg position with specific gravity, giving us an idea of what to aim for. Egg readings are given for both 10% tolerance yeast (ale yeast) and 12% tolerance yeast. (from The Egg Test)

mead	start SG	egg	start SG	egg
style	10% yeast	reading	12% yeast	reading
dry mead	1.085	touches	1.1	20mm
Medium	1.095	18mm	1.11	26mm
Sweet	1.1	20mm	1.12	30mm
Dessert	1.1 +	> 20mm	1.2 +	30mm +

To make sure there is enough sugar for the yeast to feed on, the egg should float. But if it starts to tip over and not reliably float point up anymore, the solution has become too strong with too much honey sugar for the yeast to properly work and fermentation will likely stall. The average range of 1.08 to 1.12 g/ml at which the average, round fresh laid egg floats point up is also the ideal range of sugar content for starting a successful mead. And now that you have everything you need to make a successful solution using medieval techniques, whether it be for soapmaking, cooking or brewing, and are able to properly document it, let the experiments begin!

I would like to express my thanks to Mistress Roheisa le Sarjent from Lochac for her article The Egg Test for Period Brewers and Mead Makers. It proved a great starting point as we’re working from similar sources, and I’m grateful to find the heavy lifting of figuring out egg readings already done. Tak!

“Dryckeslag, Nordisk familjebok” from Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus or History of the Northern People, by Olaus Magnus, printed in Rome 1555.

References

Digby, Kenelme. The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digby Knight Opened, 1669

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Closet of Sir Kenelm Digby Knight Opened. Anne MacDonell (ed.), 2005

Sibly, Belinda. The Egg Test for Period Brewers and Mead Makers, 2004, Mistress Roheisa le Sarjent, Cockatrice, May AS 49, p.20-29.

Butler, Charles. The Feminine Monarchie. Oxford: 1609. Transcription by Susan Verberg.

Density values

Platt, Hugh. Jewell House of Art and Nature. 1594. London: Peter Short. Transcription by Susan Verberg

Anonymous, Koge Bog: Indeholdendis et hundrede fornødene stycker etc. Kiøbenhaffn (Copenhagen): Aff Salomone Sartorio, 1616.

Krupp, Christina M. & Gillen, Bill. Making Medieval Mead, or Mead Before Digby. The Compleat Anachronist #120. Milpitas: SCA Inc, 2003. (includes the Complete Receipt Books of Ladie Elynor Fettiplace, 1604).

Ruscelli, Girolamo. The secretes of the reuerende Maister Alexis of Piemount. London: John Kingstone, 1558.

Ruscelli, Girolamo. The seconde part of the Secretes of Master Alexis of Piemont. London: John Kyndon, 1560.

Dawson, Thomas. The second part of the good hus-wiues iewell, London: E. Allde for Edward, 1597.

Clutium, Theodorum Van de Byen. Leyden: Jan Claesz van Dorp, Inde Vergulde Son, 1597. Transcription by Susan Verberg.

More information on leaching soapmaking lye

More information on making medieval soft soap:

More information on brewing with honey: Of Hony, a Collection of Medieval Brewing Recipes. WEBSITE forthcoming…

To find a groat, and other period coins

Image of fresh egg test

Photographs of soap making lye by Susan Verberg, 2016.

Bees coming out of a hive to drive off an intruder. Museum Meermanno, MMW, 10 B 25, Folio 37r –

“Dryckeslag, Nordisk familjebok” from Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus, by Olaus Magnus, Rome, 1555.

See Elska’s blog here.

Backyard Dyeing Fun!

29 Saturday Oct 2016

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Fiber Arts, Herbalism

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blogs, dyeing, mordants

By Elska á Fjárfella (Susan Verberg).

Left to right: undyed, goldenrod, nettle, onion, onion (longer), iron – all unmordanted wool.

Having laid my hands on half a dozen skeins of plain white wool yarn, and having the resources of a homestead, I decided to combine the two under the guidance of my friend Angelika and try my hand at all-natural plant dyeing.

But where to start? And what to buy?

Isn’t dyeing quite an intricate and expensive challenge better left to the experienced and initiated?

In part that is true; it is quite handy learning to dye from someone who has done it before.

But it does not have to be difficult or expensive at all (it can be as intricate only as you decide to make it). If you’re looking for a specific shade and want to be able to duplicate, my way is not the way for you. But if you’re happy to get color — and even happier if it is mostly the color you intended — you can get a surprising amount of dyeing fun out of an ordinary backyard.

We both prefer natural fibers so we used a selection of linen, cotton, and wool fabrics and fibers. I quickly learned that plant-based fibers and animal-based fibers do not take color the same way. Plant-based fibers are made from cellulose, which is fairly resistant to taking dye. Animal fibers are made from protein and are relatively easy to dye. Both need a little help to create a good connection between fibers and dye; this process is called “mordanting.”

From looking over Angelika’s shoulders and listening to her explanations the past few years (she loves dyeing with natural materials), I picked up that some dyes need mordanting, some fibers need it, too, but not always or in the same amounts… but why? As it turns out, most fibers and dyes are not all that compatible because there isn’t a lot for the dye to adhere to. So to give the dye a place to stick, something is added that bridges or sticks both to the fabric and to the dye.

In the case of cellulose fibers, a tannin mordant is needed, followed by a metal mordant; in the case of protein fibers, a metal mordant is enough. It is possible to dye wool without mordants but the result won’t be as vibrant; onion and tea are high in tannin and will dye, but mordanting influences the intensity of color. Black walnut is a bit of an odd one since it does not need mordanting because it is high in natural mordants; however, the chemical structure of the pigment allows it to directly adhere to the protein fiber!

Processing sumac leaves to make a tannin mordant.

Two good sources for tannin mordants are sumac and rhubarb leaves. Since rhubarb is easily available in spring and sumac easy to find in summer and fall, these two make a good three-season source of natural tannin mordant. With both sumac and rhubarb the leaves are used, not the wood; for each pound of dry yarn use four pounds of greens.

Put leaves in a big pot, cover with water, bring to a boil, and boil for an hour.
After an hour remove the greens, add the cellulose yarn and let sit for another hour, or two.

Another source for tannins would be black tea, but as that is highly concentrated it would also act as a dye and darken the yarn significantly. Sumac does too, but not as significant and therefore does not interfere with the dyeing process as much, making it a better tannin mordant for brighter colors (and it’s free).

A good metal mordant is alum, or aluminum sulfate, which is fairly inexpensive and sold over the internet at stores specializing in dyes. Use 10% for wool or up to 20% for fine yarn like silk, cotton, or linen, of the dry weight of the yarn.

Add enough water to submerge the yarn, bring to a boil, turn off, add the damp yarn and let steep for an hour, or so.
Do not boil fibers, especially wool roving and tips, as the roiling bubble action of boiling can naturally felt it!

Mordanting the fibers in sumac ‘tea’ overnight

Mordant the evening before and let the yarn sit in the mordant overnight; that way, the yarn is cooled down enough it can easily be squeezed or wrung dry for the next step, the dye bath. Keep in mind that each mordant results in slightly different color dyes, so choose accordingly. For instance, chromium really brightens colors (but is poisonous), alum gives clear colors, tin brightens colors and can also be used as an afterbath (adding it to the dye late to darken), copper gives the best greens and iron darkens, and is often used as an afterbath. Both copper and iron can be made at home: copper can be added by dyeing in a copper pot, and an iron solution can easily be made by adding vinegar to iron scraps (like nails and pieces of cheap fencing) in a glass jar… but be careful not to screw down the lid as the exothermic reaction might respond unexpectantly!

Harvesting stinging nettles is quite a prickly business!

Using plant materials it is not all that difficult to dye yellows; pale yellow, lime yellow, greenish yellow, brownish yellow – most plants give some sort of yellow dye. Like ragweed dyes a greenish yellow, birch & poplar dyes yellow, any of the rosacea leaves dye yellow, peach & apple leaves dye yellow and bindweed dyes a light green yellow. It’s the other colors that are harder to find:

Onion skins can dye a bright orange.
Reportedly,bindweed roots dye a slight pink, as do rhubarb roots (but I’m not digging up my patch!).
Willow leaves and bark dye a cinnamon brown, black walnut a deep brown at first draw and a cinnamon brown at the second.
We also tried some odd ones like daffodil heads (yellow) and tageta flowers (also yellow) and honestly, if there is any indication of dye (it stains your fingers while weeding) get a bunch, boil it down, and see what happens!

Harvesting goldenrod flowers to make a bright yellow dye.

Except for a few dyestuffs, like goldenrod, most dye baths benefit from prolonged exposure. A good rule of thumb is to make your bath in the afternoon, add the yarn, put the colander with greens on top of it (keeps the yarn submerged and keeps steeping more dye) and let it sit overnight. You’ll benefit from the cooler evening temperatures to cool down your kitchen again and as an added bonus the yarn is nicely cooled down by the next day to easily be rinsed in cold water without starting a felting reaction. Let it dry, or set, completely – out of the sun – before washing with soap.

Goldenrod dye with unmordanted wool yarn (top left) and alum mordanted wool (top right).

In the case of goldenrod, the flowers give the bright yellow color and are a potent dye. The longer it sits, though, the deeper the color gets and at some point the green stems and small leaves, which dye brown, will add, making it even darker. So for a bright yellow 15 minutes tends to be the optimum time. Similar with onion peels; sitting overnight can darken the orange towards brown. Black walnut is also a powerful dye and needs no mordanting at all for wool fibers, making it a good beginner’s dye. It also has antifungal properties and was used for wool underclothing throughout history to help prevent skin conditions!

Onion skin dye with alum mordanted wool fiber and unmordanted wool yarn.

For my first project we used well known dye plants like black walnut leaves, goldenrod flowers, stinging nettle and onion peels. We could have weighed the greens, but as our limitation was space in the pots, not the amount of greens, we picked as much as we could fit into each stockpot. As I could fit three stockpots on my stovetop we made three dye baths at the same time, in a similar fashion as the mordant solution: cover the greens with water, bring to a boil and boil for an hour, or so. Remove the greens, turn off the heat, add the yarn – and see the color change…

We dyed plant fibers and protein fibers and got wildly different results – both between the two types of fibers and from what we expected and what actually happened. Unless every variable, including temperature, pH & weights, are carefully controlled, natural dyeing is quite the spontaneous undertaking! For instance; a linen dress I was hoping to dye a deep brown with black walnut turned into a beautiful yellow copper instead – linen really does not take dye very well. A cotton dress I was hoping to dye yellow with logwood turned blue instead! The wool was mordanted in an acidic environment (an alkaline can damage wool fibers) but not rinsed really well, acidifying the dye to a pretty yellow brown. But when we made a new batch and added the cotton dress it was naturally alkaline and dyed a deep blue!

We sure saw chemistry in action: what a difference the nature of fibers makes, how some dyes react to changes in the pH but others not at all, the color difference a bit of metal mordant makes, how some strike enthusiastically quick but others need soaking overnight… to get a taste of all the intricate variables possible while still being such a surprisingly easy and rather satisfying project… I totally see how natural dyeing quickly can become quite the passion!

See Elska’s blog here for the rest of her dyeing adventures.

Make Your Own Period Drawing Charcoal!

24 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Youth Activities

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A&S, blogs, Charcoal

Make your own period art supply!
By Elska á Fjárfella (Susan Verberg)
Dominion of Myrkfaelinn in Aethelmearc – Ithaca, NY

Affordable, but oh-so-easy to make yourself, charcoal drawing sticks might very well have been one of the first art supplies available to man. As all that is needed to make some is a low oxygen burn, and as we have seen time and again with our son, it only takes a kid playing near a cooking fire and another graffiti artist is born!

The science behind making charcoal, or charring, is interesting yet surprisingly simple, and revolves around oxygen. Charcoal is formed by the incomplete burn, or combustion, of wood. Composed of mostly cellulose (CH₂O), wood does not burn immediately; first it releases steam (H₂O) and turns from white to black. It chars, thus becoming charcoal (C, or the element carbon, with trace minerals). When charcoal burns in contact with air, carbon combines with oxygen to form the gas carbon dioxide (C + O₂ => CO₂) and lots of heat. The white ash leftover from burning charcoal is what remains of the small amount of non-flammable minerals which were present in the wood from the start (and can be used to make lye).

When wood is burned without oxygen (this is called anaerobic), it turns black as the water is evaporated out and charcoal is left behind. If access to air is limited and heat is removed, the charcoal will become stable and available for future use. Charcoal takes up less space and is able reach a higher temperatures with the addition of extra air (bellows) than a pile of wood, which makes it ideal for use in a smithy’s furnace. To make proper charcoal an anaerobic burn is necessary, and in history people have found different ways of doing so, mostly by either digging in wood in hill sides or covering wood with a burn resistant material (like a metal kettle) while building a large fire right over it.

Previously used and new paint cans ready for heating.

All kinds of woody twigs can be made into charcoal and by varying the types of trees the twigs come from you can make sticks of varying densities and hardness. To make the type of charcoal sold in art stores, traditionally grape vine or willow twigs are used. Add a small charcoal kiln, and a nice big bonfire, and voila! charcoal sticks!

Any kind of metal can with a tight fitting lid can be used as a charcoal kiln. I prefer to use a new paint can from a home improvement store as it has lots of room, a handle, and minimal chemical residue. It does have a liner and same as with yard sale tins it is a good idea to dry burn it first, not only to remove any leftover residue but also to see if the tin is strong enough to survive the temperatures of a good fire without melting or warping! Lastly, your kiln needs an air hole – a vent – in the lid; a finishing nail hammered through the center works perfectly.

Bonfire ready to go, kiln steadily venting steam.

Next up is the hunt for some good sticks and twigs. Keep in mind that charcoal shrinks significantly so don’t get real skinny ones. Wild grapes are easily found along roadsides and forest edges; willow likes to grow in ditches and near water. The bark can be removed beforehand, or left on to be removed later as needed. Fill the kiln as full as you can, making them as long as you can while still being able to close the lid. Hammer the lid on well, its purpose is to keep oxygen from entering the kiln chamber. It’s fine to mix types of wood and various diameters, and that way you’ll get a nice mix of drawing sticks to play with too!

Combustible gasses are being burnt off.

And now it’s time to play with fire. Make a good wood fire with lots of coal and with a long stick place your cans in or near the fire. Depending on the amount of water in the wood. after a bit steam will come out of the vent enthusiastically. If the steam comes out forcefully, looking like a pillar, pressure is building up inside which can blow off the lid. Either scoot the can over away from the heat a little, or wire the lid down, and try again. If you feel like it should be steaming but suddenly is not, the hole might be plugged with liquid tree sugars – fish the kiln out of the fire, use the nail to poke open (and slightly enlarge) the hole, and try again.

Closing off the air hole during cool down.

Heat the kiln well for at least an hour if it is directly in the fire, or a couple of hours if at the sideline. As long as steam is coming out no air can come in, and the charcoal is doing fine. If the lid blows off, replace is as soon as you can, and take another drink… At the end of the burn, when all water is evaporated, the combustible gasses are ready to go. The steam will dwindle away and suddenly a candle flame will spout out of the lid hole! When the flame also dwindles away, carefully take the kiln out of the fire, immediately plug the air hole and let it cool down completely.

Admiring the charcoal – it’s like a magic trick!

When the kiln has cooled down, pry open the lid and behold – your own freshly made drawing sticks! The neat thing of charcoal sticks as an art medium is that it smudges easily, which can be used to create impressive shadows and highlights – but can also easily muck up your drawing. It is a good idea to use a fixative (like hairspray or an art fixative) to protect your finished drawing, and to store your fragile drawing sticks in a sturdy container like a mason jar so they don’t get crushed or bent. And, last but not least: go forth & create!

It works!

BIBLIOGRAPHY
Dunn, Kevin M. Caveman Chemistry, 2003. ISBN 1-58112-566-6
Neddo, Nick. The Organic Artist, 2015. ISBN 978-1-59253-926-0
Verberg, Susan. Of Charcoal and Ashes, 2015. Class Handout by Elska á Fjárfella.
https://www.academia.edu/27757474/Of_Charcoal_and_Ashes

People in photographs:
Bedwyr Danwyn (Theodore R. Lazcano)
Sîmon á Fjárfelli (Simon Verberg, my son)
Photography by me, Susan Verberg

Bedwyr did this demo at my birthday party in 2015 and taught me the process of making charcoal in a paint can as part of my interest in making quality ashes for soap making.

Marzipan & Sugarpaste: Medieval Playdough!

12 Tuesday Jul 2016

Posted by aethgazette in Arts & Sciences, Food

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Tags

A&S competition, AEthelmearc War Practice, blogs, Subtleties

By Elska á Fjárfelli.

The hens and their eggs at the Scarlet Apron cooking competition. All photos by Susan Verberg Photography.

Inspired by the Scarlet Apron subtleties contest at Æthelmearc War Practice, I delved into the challenge of sculpting with food. And what’s better to play with than sugarpaste and marzipan!

As a traditional sweet at our Dutch Saint Nickolas celebrations and as filling of our traditional Christmas Stollen bread, marzipan (sweetened and finely pureed almondpaste) symbolizes home and the year’s end to me. For years, the store Aldi’s supported my seasonal habit… until a few years ago they stopped carrying German marzipan. Luckily, my best friend Angelika Rumsberger, originally from Hamburg and with a similar seasonal sweet tooth, gets a holiday package filled with German goodies. The marzipan from Lübeck is highly prized! As Angelika grew up on Lübeck marzipan, considered to be the best marzipan in Germany (and probably the world), she was able to give me great feedback on what good marzipan should taste and feel like.

Even though modern marzipan is typically seen as a German sweet, it originated in the Orient (where almonds and sugar also originated). A Persian doctor, Rhazes, praised the curative qualities of almond and sugarpaste as far back as the 9^th century. When the Crusaders returned from the Orient, they brought marzipan with them. Thirteenth century philosopher and theologian Thomas Aquinas reflected upon the indulgence of eating marzipan, reassuring his anxious clerics: “Marzipan does not break the fast.” And in his novels, 14^th century poet and author Boccaccio clearly noted a correlation between passion and marzipan.

The hen mold liberally covered with powdered sugar in preparation for the sugarpaste.

In 13^th century Italy, confectionery and spices were generally traded in tiny boxes. One theory is that the Italian word, mataban, for “small box,” gradually came to be used for the sweetmeat contents of the box: mazapane (Italian), massepain (French), marzipan (German, recently also English), marsepein (Dutch), and marchpane (English). The Latin form of marzipan appears as martiapanis in Johann Burchard’s Diarium curiae romanae (1483–1492), and Minshæu defines the word as Martius panis, or bread of Mars, for the elaborate towers, castles, and other subtleties made of this confectioner’s art sweetmeat.

For my subtlety entry, I choose to use marzipan as a filling and sugarpaste on the outside, since sugarpaste has a much finer definition of detail and would help keep the marzipan moist during display. As suggested in my period source, I wanted to use a mold and was lucky to find a good deal on a vintage Dutch candy mold. Even though this mold is obviously not period, the use of molds to shape food is period.

I based my marzipan on recipes in A Closet for Ladies and Gentlewomen, 1602:

To make a Marchpane, to ice it, and garnish it after the Art of Comfit-making.

Take two pound of small Almonds blanched, and beaten into perfect Past, with a pound of suger finely searsed, putting in now and then a spoonfull or two of Rose water, to keepe it from oyling, and when it is beaten to perfect Past, rowle it thin, and cut it round by a charger, then set an edge on it, as you doe on a tart, then drie it in an Ouen, or a backing pan, then yce it with Rose water and suger, made as thicke as batter for fritters, when it is iced garnish it with conceits, and sticke long comfits in it, and so guild it, and serue it.

To make all sorts of banqueting conceits of Marchpane stuffe, some like Pyes, Birds, Baskets, and such like, and some to print with moulds.

Both halves of the mold lined with sugarpaste.

TAke a pound of Almond past, made for the Marchpane, and drye it on a Chafindish of coales, till you see it waxe white, then you may print some with moulds, and make some with hands, and so guild them, then stoue them and you may keepe them all the yere. They bee excellent good to please children.

Blessed with a local health food store, I was able to pick up two pounds of raw almonds. Then I looked up the word “blanched” simce I was unfamiliar with the process. Properly educated, I thought, I poured boiling water over the almonds so that the skins would loosen enough to be removed, since the skins are bitter and would darken the almond paste a brown color (rather than a very light beige). Since I do not own a large mortar and pestle (yet), I chose to run the blanched almonds through my food processor and came to the first hurdle: the almonds would crumble but not stick together as a paste! Maybe mixing in the sugar and rosewater would help it come together? But no… the period recipe clearly does not mention processing it twice. However, it did not look right, so I ran a small sample again and behold: marzipan! Apparently, modern almonds need to be processed twice?

This kept bugging me, and after some brainstorming with a fellow SCA cook, I learned about the difference between modern blanching and period blanching: in modern blanching, boiling water is used (a quick process) while in period blanching involved extended soaking in cold water (a slow process). And I wondered — would the extended soaking have a different effect? Soaking anything for extended periods hydrates tissue, and the same is true for soaking dried almonds: I suspected that grinding soaked almonds makes for perfect period marzipan.

The mold is filled with marzipan

Since historically marzipan is connected with both Christmas and with Easter celebrations, I choose a hen shape for the main mold. In Denmark and Norway, it is common to eat marzipan pigs for Christmas and marzipan eggs for Easter. And the English word marchpane might mean “march bread,” for marzipan shaped into a loaf. Inspired by the German tradition of Marzipankartoffeln, small potato-shaped marzipans dusted brown with Dutch cocoa, I shaped little egg marzipans. Instead of dusting with cocoa, as post-period kartoffeln are, I used spices available in period, including cinnamon, to give the “eggs” a beautiful brown glow (and a bit of a tartness in the first bite).

And what about the sugarpaste?

Sugar, by far the most important ingredient in confectionery, was first grown probably by the Persians and Arabs. Most importantly, they learned how to refine sugar from the raw cane plant. In Roman times, sugar (called saccharon) was available only as naturally exuded droplets from the cane. Before that time, honey was the world’s main sweetener; after this discovery, the cultivation of sugar cane spread slowly throughout the Arab world. A number of sugar-related words trace their heritage to Arabic origin, including sugar to sukkar, candy to qand, and syrup to sharab.

In medieval times, sugar was imported by the Venetians and Genoese from Arab-controlled areas until the 1420’s, when the Portugese started cultivating cane in the Azores. Not only would sugar quickly become indispensible in medicine, as a sweetener, and a preservative, it also became an artistic culinary ingredient of amazing flexibility: sugarpaste, which could be molded, formed, and dried into an array of edible items.

Although THL Lijsbet de Keukere quickly pointed me in the right direction to find a period sugarpaste recipe, unfortunately it was made with an ingredient not typically found in modern cooking supply stores or supermarkets: gum tragacanth. This period binding agent (also known by gumme and dragant) is a bit challenging to locate (and more expensive) than modern gum paste. If you have the time, order a couple of ounces if only to experience sugarpaste from scratch. (See URL for a vendor below.)

Against my cooking philosophy but up against deadline I used modern gum paste, which was available in the bridal section of my local Jo-Ann’s Fabrics Store.

The mold is clamped tightly.

The most complete period recipe for sugarpaste comes from Thomas Dawson’s The Second Part of the Good Hus-wives Jewell, 1597 (see http://www.cooksplaydough.html for a redacted recipe).

To make a past of Suger, whereof a man may make al manner of fruits, and other fine things with their forme, as Plates, Dishes, Cuppes and such like thinges, wherewith you may furnish a Table.

Take Gumme and dragant as much as you wil, and steep it in Rosewater til it be mollified, and for foure ounces of suger take of it the bigness of a beane, the iuyce of Lemon, a walnut shel ful, and a little of the white of an eg. But you must first take the gumme, and beat it so much with a pestell in a brasen morter, till it be come like water, then put to it the iuyce with the white of an egge, incorporating al these wel together, this done take four ounces of fine white suger wel beaten to powder, and cast it into the morter by a litle and a litle, until they be turned into the form of paste, then take it out of the said morter, and bray it upon the powder of suger, as it were meale or flower, untill it be like soft paste, to the end you may turn it, and fashion it which way you wil. When you have brought your paste to this fourme spread it abroad upon great or smal leaves as you shall thinke it good and so shal you form or make what things you wil, as is aforesaid, with such fine knackes as may serve a Table taking heede there stand no hotte thing nigh it. At the ende of the Banket they may eat all, and breake the Platters Dishes, Glasses Cuppes, and all other things, for this paste is very delicate and saverous. If you will make a Tarte of Almondes stamped with suger and Rosewater of this sorte that Marchpaines be made of, this shal you laye between two pastes of such vessels or fruits or some other things as you thinke good.

Modern sugarpaste is made by combining powdered sugar with gum paste and glucose. I used my trusted Kitchenaid mixer with the dough paddle attachment and followed the recipe on the gum paste’s can, and discovered that it made a fairly sticky dough (like thick peanut butter). To be able to sculpt I was expecting something more like bread dough, and since sometimes my bread dough is also similar to peanut butter when the liquid is off (that extra egg…) I did the same thing I’d do then and kept adding a dry ingredient. I added more powdered sugar slowly until the dough came together as a ball without sticking to the bowl, until it finally turned into something I felt comfortable sculpting with. According to the can’s instructions, I then rolled it into a loaf, wrapped it in plastic, and cured it at room temperature until the next day.

The two hens ready for final detail. The mold worked great!

The sugarpaste was initially dry to the touch, but probably due to body heat handling it quickly became very sticky, which made sculpting rather frustrating. My solution was to keep my finger pads dusted with powdered sugar, which worked like a charm. To keep the sugarpaste from sticking to the mold (which would have made it impossible to unmold without losing the fine detail I wanted) I used a paper towel dipped in oil to grease the inside of the hen mold, and then liberally dusted both insides with powdered sugar. The sugarpaste hardly stuck to the walls and the hens were much easier to remove. I recommend keeping sugarpaste sculptures away from heat or moisture (including sunlight), and give it time to air dry until it becomes a beautiful chalky white.

While the sugarpaste I used was a modern substitute, I was able to make my marzipan with raw almonds and raw sugar. It therefore had a fairly course texture, which I really like. For a smoother marzipan, you could use finely ground almond flour and powdered sugar, which you can buy pre-made from a store. But never forget the rosewater – it’s the finishing touch of quality marzipan! The one feedback on my entry that is still with me is the remark that the “eggs” could have been made sweeter. I suspect cinnamon was at fault for this, as well as the influence of my Lübeck-trained friend who was very clear that good marzipan is never made with less than two-thirds almonds, to cater to a more refined European taste!

References

http://www.niederegger.de/World-of-Marzipan/A-History-of-marzipan

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marzipan

https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/1911_Encyclop%C3%A6dia_Britannica/Marchpane

“A Closet for Ladies and Gentlevvomen, Or, the Art of Preseruing, Conseruing and Candying” (1602). Edited and Annotated by Johanna H. Holloway, 2011. www.Medievalcookery.com

HistoricFood.com article on Confectionery

http://www.mkcc.rhawn.com/MKCCfiles/cooksplaydough.html (Countess Alys Katherine’s how-to article, which inspired many of the sugarpaste subtleties across the SCA)

Thomas Dawson, “The Second Part of the Good Hus-wives Jewell” (1597)

Where to buy gum tragacanth:

http://www.chemworld.com/Tragacanth-Gum-Powder-p/LO-7270-2.htm?gclid=Cj0KEQjw4827BRDJvpbVuKvx-rIBEiQA2_CzsNCeGynEUvEuLBWy2IwlgH3kksXHao_j7vt4Jd8CnwMaAnBH8P8HAQ

Artisans! Do you have narrative documentation or a project diary of your recent A&S creation? Have you written a handout for a class? Share your knowledge and submit it to the Gazette at aethgazette@gmail.com! Our editors are happy to work with you to format it into an article.

The Æthelmearc Gazette

~ Covering the Kingdom of Æthelmearc of the SCA

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