.... Then came a platter
.... with dainty sword-fish fraught,
And then fat cuttle-fish, and the savoury tribes
Of the long hairy polypus. After this
Another orb appear’d upon the table,
Rival of that just brought from off the fire,
Fragrant with spicy odour. And on that
Again were famous cuttle-fish, and those
Fair maids the honey’d squills, and dainty cakes,
Sweet to the palate, and large buns of wheat,
Large as a partridge, sweet and round, which you
Do know the taste of well. And if you ask
What more was there, I’d speak of luscious chine,
And loin of pork, and head of boar, all hot;
Cutlets of kid, and well-boil’d pettitoes,
And ribs of beef, and heads, and snouts and tails,
Then kid again, and lamb, and hares, and poultry,
Partridges and the bird from Phasis’ stream.
And golden honey, and clotted cream was there,
And cheese which I did join with all in calling
Most tender fare.”
The Greeks used many of the meats and vegetables we enjoy; and others
we disclaim; for instance, cranes. Even mushrooms were known to their
cooks, and Athenæus suggests how the wholesome may be distinguished
from the poisonous, and what antidotes serve best in case the bad
are eaten. But with further directions of his our tastes would not
agree. He recommends seasoning the mushrooms with vinegar, or honey
and vinegar, or honey, or salt--for by these means their choking
properties are taken away.
The writings of Athenæus have, however, a certain literary and, for his
time as well as our own, an historic and archæologic flavor. The only
ancient cook-book pure and simple--bent on instruction in the excellent
art--which has come down to us is that of Apicius, in ten short books,
or chapters. And which Apicius? Probably the second of the name, the
one who lectured on cooking in Rome during the reign of Augustus. He
gave some very simple directions which hold good to the present day;
for instance--
“UT CARNEM SALSAM DULCEM FACIAS
“Carnem salsam dulcem facies, si prius in lacte coquas, et postea in
aqua.”
But again his compounds are nauseating even in print. He was famous for
many dishes, and Pliny, in his Natural History, says he discovered the
way of increasing the size of the liver of the pig--just as the liver
of the Strasbourg geese is enlarged for pâté de foie gras, and as our
own Southern people used to induce pathological conditions in their
turkeys.
The method of Apicius was to cram the pig with dried figs, and, when
it was fat enough, drench it with wine mixed with honey. “There is,”
continues Pliny, “no other animal that affords so great a variety to
the palate; all others have their taste, but the pig fifty different
flavors. From this tastiness of the meat it came about that the censors
made whole pages of regulations about serving at banquets the belly
and the jowls and other dainty parts. But in spite of their rules the
poet Publius, author of the Mimes, when he ceased to be a slave, is
said never to have given an entertainment without a dish of pig’s belly
which he called ‘sumen.’”
“Cook Apicius showed a remarkable ingenuity in developing luxury,”
the old Roman says at another time, “and thought it a most excellent
plan to let a mullet die in the pickle known as ‘garum.’” It was
ingenuity of cruelty as well as of luxury. “They killed the fish in
sauces and pickled them alive at the banquet,” says Seneca, “feeding
the eye before the gullet, for they took pleasure in seeing their
mullets change several colors while dying.” The unthinkable garum
was made, according to Pliny, from the intestines of fish macerated
with salt, and other ingredients were added before the mixture was
set in the sun to putrefy and came to the right point for serving. It
also had popularity as a household remedy for dog-bites, etc.; and in
burns, when care was necessary in its application not to mention it by
name--so delicately timid was its healing spirit. Its use as a dish
was widespread, and perhaps we see in the well-known hankerings of the
royal George of England a reversion to the palate of Italian ancestors.
But garum was only one of strange dishes. The Romans seasoned much with
rue and asafetida!--a taste kept to this day in India, where “Kim” eats
“good curry cakes all warm and well-scented with hing (asafetida).”
Cabbages they highly estimated; “of all garden vegetables they thought
them best,” says Pliny. The same author notes that Apicius rejected
Brussels sprouts, and in this was followed by Drusus Cæsar, who was
censured for over-nicety by his father, the Emperor Tiberius of Capreæ
villas fame.
Upon cooks and the Roman estimate of their value in his day Pliny
also casts light. “Asinius Celer, a man of consular rank and noted
for his expenditure on mullet, bought one at Rome during the reign
of Gaius Caligula for eight thousand sesterces. Reflection on this
fact,” continues Pliny, “will recall the complaints uttered against
luxury and the lament that a single cook costs more than a horse. At
the present day a cook is only to be had for the price of a triumph,
and a mullet only to be had for what was once the price of a cook! Of
a fact there is now hardly any living being held in higher esteem than
the man who knows how to get rid of his master’s belongings in the most
scientific fashion!”
Much has been written of the luxury and enervation of Romans after
the republic, how they feasted scented with perfumes, reclining and
listening to music, “nudis puellis ministrantibus.” The story is old
of how Vedius Pollio “hung with ecstasy over lampreys fattened on
human flesh;” how Tiberius spent two days and two nights in one bout;
how Claudius dissolved pearls for his food; how Vitellius delighted
in the brains of pheasants and tongues of nightingales and the roe of
fish difficult to take; how the favorite supper of Heliogabalus was
the brains of six hundred thrushes. At the time these gluttonies went
on in the houses of government officials, the mass of the people, the
great workers who supported the great idlers, fed healthfully on a mess
of pottage. The many to support the super-abundant luxury of a few is
still one of the mysteries of the people.
But in the old Rome the law of right and honest strength at last
prevailed, and monsters gave way to the cleaner and hardier chiefs of
the north. The mastery of the world necessarily passed to others;--it
has never lain with slaves of the stomach.
The early folk of Britain--those Cæesar found in the land from which
we sprang--ate the milk and flesh of their flocks. They made bread
by picking the grains from the ear and pounding them to paste in a
mortar. Their Roman conquerors doubtless brought to their midst a more
elaborated table order. Barbarous Saxons, fighters and freebooters,
next settling on the rich island and restraining themselves little for
sowing and reaping, must in their incursions have been flesh-eaters,
expeditiously roasting and broiling directly over coals like our early
pioneers.
This mode of living also would seem true of the later-coming Danes,
who after their settlement introduced, says Holinshed, another habit.
“The Danes,” says that delightful chronicler, “had their dwelling
... among the Englishmen, whereby came great harme; for whereas the
Danes by nature were great drinkers, the Englishmen by continuall
conversation with them learned the same vice. King Edgar, to reforme in
part such excessive quaffing as then began to grow in use, caused by
the procurement of Dunstane [the then Archbishop of Canterbury] nailes
to be set in cups of a certeine measure, marked for the purpose,
that none should drinke more than was assigned by such measured cups.
Englishmen also learned of the Saxons, Flemings, and other strangers,
their peculiar kinds of vices, as of the Saxons a disordered fierceness
of mind, of the Flemings a feeble tendernesse of bodie; where before
they rejoiced in their owne simplicitie and esteemed not the lewd and
unprofitable manners of strangers.”
But refinement was growing in the mixture of races which was to make
modern Englishmen, and in the time of Hardicanute, much given to the
pleasures of the table and at last dying from too copious a draught of
wine,--“he fell downe suddenlie,” says Holinshed, “with the pot in his
hand”--there was aim at niceness and variety and hospitable cheer.
The Black Book of a royal household which Warner quotes in his
“Antiquitates Culinariæ”[4] is evidence of this:
“Domus Eegis Hardeknoute may be called a fader noreshoure of
familiaritie, which used for his own table, never to be served with ony
like metes of one meale in another, and that chaunge and diversitie
was dayly in greate habundance, and that same after to be ministred
to his alms-dishe, he caused cunyng cooks in curiositie; also, he was
the furst that began four meales stablyshed in oon day, opynly to be
holden for worshuppfull and honest peopull resorting to his courte;
and no more melis, nor brekefast, nor chambyr, but for his children
in householde; for which four melys he ordeyned four marshalls, to
kepe the honor of his halle in recevyng and dyrecting strangers, as
well as of his householdemen in theyre fitting, and for services and
ther precepts to be obeyd in. And for the halle, with all diligence of
officers thereto assigned from his furst inception, tyll the day of his
dethe, his house stode after one unyformitie.”
Of Hardicanute, “it hath,” says Holinshed, “beene commonlie told,
that Englishmen learned of him their excessive gourmandizing and
unmeasurable filling of their panches with meates and drinkes, whereby
they forgat the vertuous use of sobrietie, so much necessarie to all
estates and degrees, so profitable for all commonwealthes, and so
commendable both in the sight of God, and all good men.”
Not only to the Danes, but also to the later conquerors, the Normans,
the old chronicler attributes corruption of early English frugality and
simplicity. “The Normans, misliking the gormandise of Canutus, ordeined
after their arrivall that no table should be covered above once in the
day.... But in the end, either waxing wearie of their owne frugalitie
or suffering the cockle of old custome to overgrow the good corne
of their new constitution, they fell to such libertie that in often
feeding they surmounted Canutus surnamed the hardie.... They brought in
also the custome of long and statelie sitting at meat.”
A fellow-Londoner with Holinshed, John Stow, says of the reign of
William Rufus, the second Norman king of England, “The courtiers
devoured the substance of the husbandmen, their tenants.”
And Stow’s “Annales” still further tell of a banquet served in far-off
Italy to the duke of Clarence, son of Edward III., when, some three
hundred years after the Norman settlement, the lad Leonell went to
marry Violentis, daughter of the duke of Milan. It should not be
forgotten that in the reign of Edward II. of England, grandfather of
the duke, proclamation had been issued against the “outrageous and
excessive multitude of meats and dishes” served by the nobles in their
castles, as well by “persons of inferior rank imitating their example,
beyond what their station required and their circumstances could
afford.”
“At the comming of Leonell”, says Stow, “such aboundance of treasure
was in most bounteous maner spent, in making most sumptuous feasts,
setting forth stately fightes, and honouring with rare gifts above
two hundred Englishmen, which accompanied his [the duke of Milan’s]
son-in-law, as it seemed to surpasse the greatnesse of most wealthy
Princes; for in the banquet whereat Francis Petrarch was present,
amongst the chiefest guestes, there were above thirtie courses of
service at the table, and betwixt every course, as many presents of
wonderous price intermixed, all which John Galeasius, chiefe of the
choice youth, bringing to the table, did offer to Leonell ... And such
was the sumptuousnesse of that banquet, that the meats which were
brought from the table, would sufficiently have served ten thousand
men.”
The first cook-book we have in our ample English tongue is of date
about 1390. Its forme, says the preface to the table of contents, this
“forme of cury [cookery] was compiled of the chef maistes cokes of kyng
Richard the Secunde kyng of nglond aftir the conquest; the which was
accounted the best and ryallest vyand [nice eater] of alle csten ynges
[Christian kings]; and it was compiled by assent and avysement of
maisters and [of] phisik and of philosophie that dwellid in his court.
First it techith a man for to make commune pottages and commune meetis
for howshold, as they shold be made, craftly and holsomly. Aftirward
it techith for to make curious potages, and meetes, and sotiltees, for
alle maner of states, bothe hye and lowe. And the techyng of the forme
of making of potages, and of meetes, bothe of flesh, and of fissh, buth
[are] y sette here by noumbre and by ordre. Sso this little table here
fewyng [following] wole teche a man with oute taryyng, to fynde what
meete that hym lust for to have.”
The “potages” and “meetis” and “sotiltees” it techith a man for to make
would be hardly more endurable to the modern stomach than some old
Greek and Roman seasonings we have referred to. There is no essential
difference between these and the directions of a rival cook-book
written some forty or fifty years later and divided into three
parts--Kalendare de Potages dyvers, Kalendare de Leche Metys, Dyverse
bake metis. Or of another compiled about 1450. Let us see how they
would make a meat.
“Stwed Beeff. Take faire Ribbes of ffresh beef, And (if thou wilt)
roste hit til hit be nygh ynowe; then put hit in a faire possenet;
caste therto parcely and oynons mynced, reysons of corauns, powder
peper, canel, clowes, saundres, safferon, and salt; then caste thereto
wyn and a litull vynegre; sette a lyd on the potte, and lete hit boile
sokingly on a faire charcole til hit be ynogh; then lay the fflessh, in
disshes, and the sirippe thereuppon, And serve it forth.”
And for sweet apple fritters:
“Freetours. Take yolkes of egges, drawe hem thorgh a streynour, caste
thereto faire floure, berme and ale; stere it togidre till hit be
thik. Take pared appelles, cut hem thyn like obleies [wafers of the
eucharist], ley hem in the batur; then put hem into a ffrying pan, and
fry hem in faire grece or buttur til thei ben browne yelowe; then put
hem in disshes; and strawe Sugur on hem ynogh, And serve hem forthe.”
Still other cook-books followed--the men of that day served hem
forthe--among which we notice “A noble Boke off Cookry ffor a prynce
houssolde or eny other estately houssolde,” ascribed to about the year
1465.
To the monasteries the art of cooking is doubtless much indebted,
just as even at the present day is the art of making liqueurs. Their
vast wealth, the leisure of the in-dwellers, and the gross sensualism
and materialism of the time they were at their height would naturally
lead to care for the table and its viands. Within their thick stone
walls, which the religious devotion of the populace had reared, the
master of the kitchen, magister coquinæ or magnus coquus, was not the
man of least importance. Some old author whose name and book do not
come promptly to memory refers to the disinclination of plump capons,
or round-breasted duck, to meet ecclesiastical eyes--a facetiousness
repeated in our day when the Uncle Remuses of Dixie say they see
yellow-legged chickens run and hide if a preacher drives up to supper.
Moreover, the monasteries were the inns of that day where travellers
put up, and in many instances were served free--no price, that is,
was put upon their entertainment, the abbot, or the establishment,
receiving whatever gift the one sheltered and fed felt able or moved to
pay.
Contemporary accounts of, or references to, the cooking and feasting in
religious houses are many--those of the Vision of Long Will concerning
Piers the Plowman, those of “Dan Chaucer, the first warbler,” of
Alexander Barclay, and Skelton, great satirist of times of Henry
VIII., and of other authors not so well remembered. Now and then a
racy anecdote has come down like that which Thomas Fuller saves from
lip tradition in his “History of Abbeys in England.” It happened, says
Worthy Fuller, that Harry VIII., “hunting in Windsor Forest, either
casually lost, or (more probable) wilfully losing himself, struck down
about dinner-time to the abbey of Reading; where, disguising himself
(much for delight, more for discovery, to see unseen), he was invited
to the abbot’s table, and passed for one of the king’s guard, a place
to which the proportion of his person might properly entitle him. A
sirloin of beef was set before him (so knighted saith tradition, by
this King Henry), on which the king laid on lustily, not disgracing one
of that place for whom he was mistaken.
“‘Well fare thy heart!’ quoth the abbot; ‘and here in a cup of sack I
remember the health of his grace your master. I would give an hundred
pounds on the condition I could feed so heartily on beef as you do.
Alas! my weak and squeazy stomach will badly digest the wing of a small
rabbit or chicken.’
“The king pleasantly pledged him, and, heartily thanking him for his
good cheer, after dinner departed as undiscovered as he came thither.
“Some weeks after, the abbot was sent for by a pursuivant, brought up
to London, clapped in the Tower, kept close prisoner, fed for a short
time with bread and water; yet not so empty his body of food, as his
mind was filled with fears, creating many suspicions to himself when
and how he had incurred the king’s displeasure. At last a sirloin of
beef was set before him, on which the abbot fed as the farmer of his
grange, and verified the proverb, that ‘Two hungry meals make the third
a glutton.’
“In springs King Henry out of a private lobby, where he had placed
himself, the invisible spectator of the abbot’s behavior. ‘My lord,’
quoth the king, ‘presently deposit your hundred pounds in gold, or else
no going hence all the days of your life. I have been your physician to
cure you of your squeazy stomach; and here, as I deserve, I demand my
fee for the same!’
“The abbot down with his dust; and, glad he had escaped so, returned to
Reading, as somewhat lighter in purse, so much more merrier in heart
than when he came thence.”
The “squeazy” abbot stood alone in proclamation of his disorder.
Archbishop Cranmer, according to John Leland, king’s antiquary to Henry
VIII., found it necessary in 1541 to regulate the expenses of the
tables of bishops and clergy by a constitution--an instrument which
throws much light on the then conditions, and which ran as follows:
“In the yeare of our Lord MDXLI it was agreed and condescended upon, as
wel by the common consent of both tharchbishops and most part of the
bishops within this realme of Englande, as also of divers grave men at
that tyme, both deanes and archdeacons, the fare at their tables to be
thus moderated.
“First, that tharchbishop should never exceede six divers kindes of
fleshe, or six of fishe, on the fishe days; the bishop not to exceede
five, the deane and archdeacon not above four, and al other under that
degree not above three; provided also that tharchbishop myght have of
second dishes four, the bishop three, and al others under the degree of
a bishop but two. As custard, tart, fritter, cheese or apples, peares,
or two of other kindes of fruites. Provided also, that if any of the
inferior degree dyd receave at their table, any archbishop, bishop,
deane, or archdeacon, or any of the laitie of lyke degree, viz. duke,
marques, earle, viscount, baron, lorde, knyght, they myght have such
provision as were mete and requisite for their degrees. Provided alway
that no rate was limited in the receavying of any ambassadour. It was
also provided that of the greater fyshes or fowles, there should be but
one in a dishe, as crane, swan, turkey cocke, hadocke, pyke, tench; and
of lesse sortes but two, viz. capons two, pheasantes two, conies two,
and woodcockes two. Of lesse sortes, as of patriches, the archbishop
three, the bishop and other degrees under hym two. Of blackburdes, the
archbishop six, the bishop four, the other degrees three. Of larkes
and snytes (snipes) and of that sort but twelve. It was also provided,
that whatsoever is spared by the cutting of, of the olde superfluitie,
shoulde yet be provided and spent in playne meates for the relievyng
of the poore. _Memorandum_, that this order was kept for two or three
monethes, tyll by the disusyng of certaine wylful persons it came to
the olde excesse.”
Still one more tale bearing upon a member of the clergy who would set
out more “blackburdes” than “tharchbishop” is told by Holinshed. It
has within it somewhat of the flavor of the odium theologicum, but an
added interest also, since it turns upon a dish esteemed in Italy since
the time of the imperial Romans--peacock, often served even nowadays
encased in its most wonderful plumage. The Pope Julius III., whose
luxurious entertainment and comport shocked the proprieties even of
that day, and who died in Rome while the chronicler was busy in London,
is the chief actor.
“At an other time,” writes Holinshed, “he sitting at dinner, pointing
to a peacocke upon his table, which he had not touched; Keepe (said he)
this cold peacocke for me against supper, and let me sup in the garden,
for I shall have ghests. So when supper came, and amongst other hot
peacockes, he saw not his cold peacocke brought to his table; the pope
after his wonted manner, most horriblie blaspheming God, fell into an
extreame rage, &c. Whereupon one of his cardinals sitting by, desired
him saieng: Let not your holinesse, I praie you, be so mooved with a
matter of so small weight. Then this Julius the pope answeringe againe:
What (saith he) if God was so angrie for one apple, that he cast our
first parents out of paradise for the same, whie maie not I being his
vicar, be angrie then for a peacocke, sithens a peacocke is a greater
matter than an apple.”
In England at this time controlling the laity were sumptuary laws,
habits of living resulting from those laws, and great inequalities in
the distribution of wealth. On these points Holinshed again brings us
light:
“In number of dishes and change of meat,” he writes, “the nobilitie of
England (whose cookes are for the most part musicall-headed Frenchmen
and strangers) do most exceed, sith there is no daie in maner that
passeth over their heads, wherein they have not onelie beefe, mutton,
veale, lambe, kid, porke, conie, capon, pig, or so manie of these as
the season yeeldeth; but also some portion of the red or fallow deere,
beside great varietie of fish and wild foule, and thereto sundrie
other delicates wherein the sweet hand of the seasoning Portingale is
not wanting; so that for a man to dine with one of them, and to taste
of everie dish that standeth before him ... is rather to yeeld unto
a conspiracie with a great deale of meat for the speedie suppression
of naturall health, then the use of a necessarie meane to satisfie
himselfe with a competent repast, to susteine his bodie withall. But as
this large feeding is not seene in their gests, no more is it in their
owne persons, for sith they have dailie much resort unto their tables
... and thereto reteine great numbers of servants, it is verie requisit
and expedient for them to be somewhat plentifull in this behalfe.
“The chiefe part likewise of their dailie provision is brought before
them ... and placed on their tables, whereof when they have taken
what it pleaseth them, the rest is reserved and afterwards sent downe
to their serving men and waiters, who feed thereon in like sort with
convenient moderation, their reversion also being bestowed upon the
poore, which lie readie at their gates in great numbers to receive the
same.
“The gentlemen and merchants keepe much about one rate, and each of
them contenteth himselfe with foure, five or six dishes, when they have
but small resort, or peradventure with one, or two, or three at the
most, when they have no strangers to accompanie them at their tables.
And yet their servants have their ordinarie diet assigned, beside such
as is left at their masters’ boordes, and not appointed to be brought
thither the second time, which neverthelesse is often seene generallie
in venison, lambe, or some especiall dish, whereon the merchant man
himselfe liketh to feed when it is cold.”