Apicius 4.3.4: Matian Minutal

And now the minutal, which I made the meatballs for below. It's another pork and fruit stew, this time with apples.

[4.3.4] minutal Matianum: adicies in caccabum oleum liquamen cocturam; concides porrum coriandrum, esicia minuta; spatulam porcinam coctam tessellatim concides cum sua sibi tergilla. facies ut simul quoquantur; media coctura mala Maziana purgata intrinsecus concisa tessellatim mittes; dum coquitur teres piper cuminum coriandrum uiridem uel semen mentam laseris radicem; suffundis acetum mel liquamen defritum modice et ius de suo sibi; aceto modico temperabis, facies ut ferueat; cum ferbuerit, tractam confringes et ex ea obligas; piper asparges et inferes.

[4.3.4] Matian minutal: put in a pan oil, liquamen, stock; chop in leek and coriander, ground forcemeat, diced cooked shoulder of pork with its crackling. Allow all this to cook together. In the middle of the cooking put in cored and diced Matian apples. While it is cooking pound pepper, cumin, green coriander or seed, mint, laser root; pour on vinegar, honey, liquamen, a little defrutum, and some of the cooking liquor; flavour with a little vinegar, bring it to heat; when it is simmering, crumble a tracta and thicken with some of it, sprinkle with pepper and serve.

According to G&G, Matian apples were a variety developed by one Gaius Matius or his son, the elder a friend of Julius Caesar, the younger a friend to Augustus Caesar, though they don't say what kind of apples they might be. I used some sweet crisp eating apples (Galas) as I thought they'd hold up better than the softer cooking apples like you'd use to make pie. And again, I hate cilantro ('green coriander') and so used parsley.

olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons liquamen (Thai fish sauce), divided
2 cups chicken broth
1 leek, white and green parts only, chopped into half-moons and thoroughly washed
1/2 cup fresh cilantro or parsley, chopped
about a dozen meatballs from the isicia recipe below
1 cup leftover roast pork, cubed (such as from Apicius 7.5.5)
1-2 crisp sweet apples, peeled, cored, and roughly chopped
a few peppercorns, or more, to taste
1/2 teaspoon cumin (I used ground)
1/2 teaspoon coriander seed
1/2 teaspoon dried peppermint
pinch asafoetida
1-3 teaspoons vinegar or more, divided
2 teaspoons honey
2 teaspoons defrutum
cornstarch or wheat flour to thicken

Put a bit of olive oil in a large saucepan or deep skillet (I didn't use too much as the isicia already had a fair amount), then add a teaspoon of liquamen and the chicken stock. Add the leek, cilantro or parsley, the isicia/meatballs and the leftover pork. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook until the leeks are beginning to soften. Add the apples and cook until they are soft but not falling apart and the leeks are done. Grind the spices as finely as you can, then mix into a paste with a teaspoon of vinegar, the honey, the remaining 1/2 teaspoon of the liquamen and the defrutum. Add to the pork, meatball and apple mix, then taste for balance, and add more vinegar if necessary (I added another 2 teaspoons). Bring it back up to a simmer then thicken with a bit of starch. Sprinkle with pepper and serve.

This worked quite well as a filling stew or soup and was nicely balanced between sweet, sour, and savory, and was plenty rich as well. Given that the pork shoulder and the meatballs were already cooked, it didn't take all that long to simmer but tasted like it'd been stewing forever. It's probably not actually necessary to grind the spices then mix them with all the liquids; one could certainly just grind the spices by themselves then throw everything in with the stew, but I've given the more complicated instructions here as that's what the original recipe called for.

Apicius 2.1.7: Isicia With Caroenum

(Ignore the sauce; the recipe below is just for the meatballs.)

I originally made these to go in another recipe, a pork and apple minutal, but these were so good I have made them just on their own several times since. Really, these are absolutely wonderful.

Isicia refers to finely chopped meat; it seems to get used in Apicius in a variety of ways, but in this particular recipe likely refers to something meatball-like (according to Grainger and Grocock, anyway).

[2.1.7] esicia omentata: pulpam concisam teres cum medulla siliginei in uino infusa; piper, liquamen; si uelis, et bacam mirta extenteratam simul conteres. pusilla esicia formabis intus nucleis et pipere positis; inuoluta omento subassabis cum caroeno.

2.1.7. Forcemeat faggots: you pound chopped meat with fresh white breadcrumbs soaked in wine, with pepper and liquamen; if you wish, you pound crushed myrtle berries with them. You shape the faggots with pine nuts and pepper placed inside. Wrap them in caul fat and roast them with caroenum.

I did alter this recipe a little, mostly because I'm not sure where I'd find caul fat; also the idea of finding whole surprise peppercorns in the middle of a perfectly innocent-looking meatball didn't appeal, so I mixed the (ground) pepper and pine nuts in with the meat instead (though you could, of course, follow the original method, which does sound interesting). So instead of the caul fat, which I'm assuming was there to give some rich flavor and to keep the meatballs from drying out, I rolled them in a bit of olive oil. It seemed to work quite well. For the myrtle berries (which are not available here, and which don't grow around here as it's too far north), I substituted juniper berries plus a pinch of allspice (though allspice is New World), as according to The Internet, that was the closest approximation to the taste. Plus I had both of them. If you can't find either, the berries are optional; it'll be a bit blander but still pretty rich and sweet. And as for bread crumbs, I just used the plain white kind from a canister. I suppose I could have made my own, but I'm lazy. And I used ground pork because I thought with the sweet caroenum over it it wanted a mild meat. Ground chicken or turkey (or veal) would probably also work just as well. The recipe:

1 pound ground pork
1/2 cup plain white bread crumbs
1/4 cup sweet white wine
1/2 teaspoon peppercorns
1 tablespoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
6 juniper berries
pinch ground allspice
1/4 cup pine nuts
olive oil
caroenum

Preheat the oven to 325° Fahrenheit. Drizzle a bit of olive oil in a 9 by 13 inch baking dish and set aside.

Put the bread crumbs in a bowl; pour the wine over and mix. Grind the peppercorns to a fine powder, then add the juniper berries and allspice and grind them as well. Toast the pine nuts in a dry pan until a little browned and fragrant, then tip into a mortar and grind to a paste. Add the spices, pine nuts, liquamen, and the soaked bread crumbs to the ground pork and mix thoroughly. Form into meatballs about an inch and half in diameter. Roll them in the olive oil in the baking pan to coat (add more if necessary). When they're all in there drizzle a decent amount of caroenum over each one, though not enough that they're swimming in the stuff (probably about 1/4 cup altogether).

Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until the meatballs are cooked through and have begun to brown, and the caroenum has started to caramelize a bit. Makes about two dozen.

These were absolutely lovely. The olive oil kept them tender and moist, even though they cooked for quite a while, and the caroenum formed a delicious sticky sugary crust on them. Really seriously, try these.

Apicius 5.2.1: Lentils With Mussels

(To be fair, I don't think even Martha Stewart's people can get an appetizing photo of lentils. They're just the color of mud, and there's nothing for it.)

This was an odd one I'd been wanting to try. Now, granted spondyli (according to Grocock and Grainger) can mean both 'mussel' and 'artichoke' in Latin and Greek, through some logic I'm not quite following likening both mussels and artichokes to vertebrae (which is what the word originally meant). So it's not outside the realm of possibility that this is supposed to be a lentil and artichoke recipe. Though I'm not sure that's any less weird.

[5.2.1] lenticula ex spondilis siue fondilis: accipies caccabum mundum, adicies in mortarium piper cuminum semen coriandri mentam rutam puleium, fricabis, suffundis acetum, adicies mel, liquamen et defritum, aceto temperabis, reexinanies in caccabo. spondilos elixatos teres et mittes ut ferueant. cum bene ferbuerint, obligas. adicies in boletari oleum uiridem.

5.2.1. Lentils with mussels: take a clean pan, (put the lentils in and cook them). Put in a mortar pepper, cumin, coriander seed, mint, rue, pennyroyal, and pound them. Pour on vinegar, add honey, liquamen, and defrutum, flavour with vinegar. Empty the mortar into the pan. Pound cooked mussels, put them in and bring to heat; when it is simmering well, thicken. Pour green oil over it in the serving dish.

I used frozen mussels, both because that's what the store had, and because I thought it would make it easier to measure the amount of them. I wanted the lentils and mussels to be roughly half each, and wasn't sure how much I'd be getting if I got them fresh in the shell. I could tell they'd been frozen, though, and I imagine fresh ones would have tasted a bit better. But frozen worked perfectly fine, if you can't get ahold of fresh ones yourself.

This is what I tried; as it was an experiment I only made a small amount, just enough for a serving. The rue is not yet up in my garden, so I had to leave it out, though I rather like it. And these days there is some concern about pennyroyal as I've mentioned here before, so I just went heavy on the mint which is related.

1/4 cup lentils (I had the small brown ones)
a few peppercorns
1/2 teaspoon cumin (I had ground)
1/2 teaspoon coriander seed
1 teaspoon dried mint
a dozen mussels
1 1/2 teaspoons cider vinegar
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 teaspoon defrutum
olive oil

Boil the lentils in plenty of water, adding more if necessary, until quite soft (about half an hour).

Grind the peppercorns and coriander seed, add the other spices and grind a bit more; then add the vinegar, honey, liquamen and defrutum and mix to a paste.

Boil or steam the mussels for about five minutes if using fresh ones; discard any that remain closed after that time. Remove from the shells and debeard. If using frozen pre-cooked mussels, throw in some water and bring to a boil, then take off the heat (just to thaw and warm them up).

Drain the lentils, then put the spice/vinegar mixture in; put the mussels in the mortar and smash to a paste as best you can (or you can use a food processor). Put in with the lentils and stir it all together.

Drizzle with a bit of olive oil (or mix a bit in), and serve.

These were surprisingly good; the earthy lentils and briny mussels were both strong enough to work well together, and the pepper and vinegar gave it a nice bit of kick. The olive oil was also surprisingly necessary and gave it a bit of a flowery taste (the rue would do so as well). It worked out much better than I'd feared, and I ate the whole thing right up, though I could tell the mussels were frozen as the texture was a bit grainy. It would be better with fresh, I'm quite sure. Still, though, for something that I'd worried would just be weird, it totally worked, and I'll call it a keeper.

Though I do wonder how it would work with artichokes.

Apicius 8.6.8: Coriander Lamb

I got some lamb shoulder chops the other day, figuring I could try something Roman with them, though I wasn't sure what. But browsing through Apicius tonight I found I was missing ingredients for most of the lamb recipes. So I opted for the simplest one, though I know others have done it. It's a quite modern-looking recipe, no elaborate sauces or boiling involved, just lamb rubbed with oil and spices and roasted in the oven. I'll admit it actually felt like kind of a cop-out as it was so simple. But, holy moly, am I glad I tried it.

[8.6.8] hedus siue agnus crudus: oleo piper fricabis et asparges fores salem purum multo cum coriandri semen. in furnum mittis, assatum inferes.

8.6.8. Rare kid or lamb: rub with oil and pepper, and sprinkle plenty of pure salt and coriander seed all over the outside. Put in the oven. Serve roasted.

I assume the original recipe is for a whole lamb, or a roast or somesuch, but like I said I had chops. This is what I did:

2 lamb shoulder chops 3/4 inch thick (together they came to a little under a pound)
1/2 teaspoon peppercorns
1 teaspoon coriander seed
olive oil
salt

Grind the peppercorns and remove to a small bowl, then grind the coriander seed separately. Drizzle a bit of olive oil over the chops, sprinkle about half the pepper over them and rub in; repeat with more oil and the remaining pepper on the other side. Then sprinkle each chop with a generous amount of salt and the ground coriander seeds, getting both sides as well.

Broil 3 inches from the heat for 6 to 8 minutes; turn and broil for another 6 to 7 minutes.

Oh. My. God. Now, maybe, I just hadn't had a lamb chop broiled to perfection for a good long while, and maybe I hadn't had much to eat earlier in the day so was hungrier than usual, but there was no maybe about how unbelievably delicious these were. This was pure Roman hedonism at its most decadent, and I found myself inspired (nay, driven) to eat as the ancients:

Was I compelled to abandon my knife and fork? Did I need to get my face in there to get every last morsel of lamb? Did I then gnaw on the bones? Did I make little whimpering noises while doing so? Did I then go and eat the second chop (the one I'd planned to save for tomorrow) like the slavering sybarite I was? When that was gone, did I then use my fingers on the pan, picking up the littlest crumbs of the spice mix? Did I then lick every last molecule of the stuff off my fingers? Did I, at last, sit down in the chair with a contented sigh, close my eyes and say (out loud) That was a religious experience?

Yes, yes, and HELL YES to all of the above. These were crispy on the outside, and just pink enough on the inside, and the spices were absolutely wonderful. I'd been (as usual) wary about getting too much pepper in there but let myself go for once; once it's cooked it's a lot less spicy, so it was fine (in fact feel free to use more). And the coriander gave it a lovely lemony sort of taste, that, wow. The key, though, and the original recipe is quite clear, is to make sure to be generous with the salt. The salt is really what makes it.

OH MY GOD it was REALLY freakin' good. Honestly, that photo up there (which came out kinda nice for once) is making me all misty-eyed with longing and regret that it's All Gone. I simply must have more.

Apicius 6.2.14 & 6.8.14: Stuffed Chicken With A Cumin Raisin Sauce

I had tried the stuffed chicken part of this recipe a couple weeks ago, but didn't like the balance of seasonings (it was far too mild); tonight I tried it again and liked it a lot better. It also seemed to need a sauce of some kind, as it was a bit dry without the stuffing, so I went with 6.2.14, Sauce for various birds.

The chicken recipe:

[6.8.14] pullus farsilis: pullum sicut in iure cuminato. a ceruice expedies. teres piper ligusticum gengiber pulpam cesam aliquam elixam, teres cerebellum ex iure coctum. oua confringis et commiscis ut unum corpus efficias. liquamine temperas et oleum modice; mittis piper integrum, nucleos abundantes. fac inpensam et imples pullum uel porcellum ita ut laxamentum habeat. similiter in capo facies. ossibus eiectis coques.

6.8.14: Stuffed chicken: the chicken (is prepared) as if (served) with a cumin sauce. Draw the chicken from the neck, pound pepper, lovage, ginger, chopped meat, boiled alica, pounded brains cooked in stock; break eggs and stir them all to make a smooth mixture. Flavour with liquamen and a little oil, add whole peppercorns and plenty of pine nuts. Make the stuffing and fill the chicken or piglet in such a way that some space remains. You can do the same with a capon. Cook with the bones taken out.

Now. Once again, I'm an American, and a New Englander at that. So, besides the fact that I'm not sure even where I would find brains for eatin', I'm really not inclined to try them. You can call me a wimp; I'm perfectly good with that. It does look like that in a lot of the recipes that call for brains they're used as a binder. I made do with just the egg.

I liked the look of this recipe (brains notwithstanding) because it was one of the few that called for ginger, and that sounded interesting. I don't know, now, if I got the proportions of alica (semolina) to meat right; I was (of course) thinking of bread stuffing, like made at Thanksgiving, but it occurs to me now that they might have wanted it more meat than 'filler'. The stuffing did have a lot in common with some of the sausage filling recipes earlier in the book; those I'd think should be mostly meat. Well, it came out nice anyway. I did go for the whole peppercorns as the recipe called for, so I may not be that much of a wimp, though I have to say I did rather regret it. I think I'd grind it next time, personally. But here's what I tried. It made rather a lot of stuffing, probably enough for four pieces of chicken, actually; since I was testing this I only used one piece, and put the rest of the stuffing to the side of the baking dish to cook with the chicken.

Oh, and the leftover pork was from the pork roast recipe a few posts down (linked in just below in the recipe here). I've found my favorite mix for the honey glaze is a few ground peppercorns, a tablespoon of honey to a teaspoon of fish sauce, and a decent pinch of asafoetida.

1 boneless chicken breast (or half a chicken breast, if they're large)
1/4 teaspoon lovage or celery seed
1 tablespoon fresh minced ginger
1/2 cup diced cooked pork (preferably from a roast per 7.5.5)
1/4 cup semolina flour
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon whole peppercorns
3 tablespoons pine nuts

Bring 1/2 cup of water to a boil in a saucepan; add the semolina and take off the heat, stirring until mostly smooth. Let cool a bit.

Grind the peppercorns and lovage or celery seed in a mortar; when a fine powder add the minced ginger and get as smooth as you can manage. Add the contents of the mortar, chopped meat, egg, liquamen, and oil to the semolina and mix till quite smooth. Toast the pine nuts and peppercorns in a dry pan until the pine nuts are lightly browned and fragrant; mix in with the semolina/meat mixture.

Butterfly the chicken breast and flatten it out a bit (I always whack it with the back of a knife); put about a 1/4 cup of the stuffing mix on one side then close it up like a book. Put in an oiled baking pan; you can smooth a little olive oil over the top too if you like. (Extra stuffing can be put in the pan with the chicken, or probably you should use like 4 or so pieces of chicken). Bake in a 350° F oven for 30-40 minutes, covering for the first 20 minutes or so, then uncovering it to crisp up a bit. Serve with the sauce below.

The sauce:

[6.2.14] ius in diuersis auibus: piper cuminum frictum ligusticum mentam uuam passam enucleatam aut damascena; mel modice. uino myrto temperabis, aceto liquamine et oleo. calefacies et agitabis apio et satureia.

6.2.14: Sauce for various birds: pepper, roasted cumin, lovage, mint, de-seeded raisins or damsons, a little honey. Flavour with myrtle wine, vinegar, liquamen and oil. Bring it to heat and stir it with a stick of celery and savory.

I went through the fowl chapter looking for a cumin sauce (since the stuffed chicken recipe mentioned one) and of several chose this one, as it looked like it would harmonize and seemed interesting. I used raisins, because I had a bunch soaking in port in the fridge for another batch of (faux) passum, and pre-soaked ones seemed like they'd be easiest to grind up. Damsons are a type of plum; I would guess that because the recipe says to use either them or raisins, that dried damsons are what it's calling for, i.e. prunes. I do have some on hand, but again went with the raisins because it was easiest for me, but you could certainly try it with prunes if that appeals.

I used to have some savory out in the herb garden; I can't remember now if it was summer (annual) savory or winter (perennial) savory; at any rate there's nothing growing out there now, so I added some dried savory in with the ground spices instead of stirring it with a twig. Also, I didn't have any celery in the house so didn't use it to stir. It didn't cook very long anyway, and I'm not sure quite how much flavor it would have imparted in the first place.

I did not have myrtle wine, and have no idea where I would even find any or how I might make some (since I'm guessing it's made with myrtle berries?), so used some of the raisin-soaked port, assuming it was a sweet sort of interesting wine being called for.

a few peppercorns
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin or cumin seeds
1/2 teaspoon lovage or celery seed
1/2 teaspoon savory
1 teaspoon dried mint
1 tablespoon raisins, soaked either in water or wine until soft
1 teaspoon honey
1 tablespoon sweet wine or passum
1 teaspoon vinegar
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 teaspoon olive oil

Dry roast the cumin seeds, if using; grind the peppercorns and the cumin to a powder in a mortar, then add the savory and mint and grind them as well. Add the raisins and mash to a paste as smooth as you can manage. Add the honey, wine, vinegar, liquamen and olive oil and mix, then turn into a small saucepan and heat for a bit, then pour over the stuffed chicken above and serve.

This was good, if a little odd. We don't usually stuff one kind of meat with a different kind of meat, although it really is very Roman. Ginger does have an affinity with sweetened pork, so it worked, though as I was using the ubiquitous de-boned, de-skinned bland chicken breast the chicken part anyway wasn't exactly exciting. It would have been much better with the skin left on I think. The original recipe does say you can use a piglet instead of the chicken, so pork stuffed with pork might be more to modern tastes and one could use a thick pork chop butterflied to hold the stuffing. I think it came out pretty good, though; the second time around I did get enough ginger in there, though really personally I would skip the peppercorns and use ground. They were a bit much for me.

The sauce was quite good, very dark and very rich, just a little sweet and sour; there wasn't a whole lot of it, though, so if you make more than one piece of chicken you may wish to double (or even triple) the recipe. I suppose you could add a bit more wine to it too, without doing any harm.

Overall, I'd give it a B or so, so I'll consider it a keeper.

Apicius 5.6.3 Redux: Fava Beans in Pine Nut Mustard Sauce

So I gave this one a try again, having found some frozen fresh fava beans (i.e. not canned or dried). It came out quite nicely this time, and I think the frozen beans made all the difference. The Latin and the English, from Grocock and Grainger, once again:

[5.6.3] aliter: fabaciae ex sinapi trito melle nucleis ruta cumino; ex aceto inferuntur.

5.6.3. Alternatively: serve the beans (cooked) in some pounded mustard, honey, pine nuts, rue, cumin; serve with vinegar.

1 cup fresh frozen fava beans
1 teaspoon ground mustard
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon pine nuts
1/2 teaspoon cumin
sprig or two of rue, minced, to make about 1/2 teaspoon
vinegar to serve

Cook beans according to directions on the package (it took about a half hour of boiling for me).

Grind the cumin seeds (if you're not using ground) with the rue (if you can get it) in a mortar. Toast the pine nuts in a dry frying pan until golden brown and fragrant; transfer to the mortar and grind, adding the mustard to make a smooth dryish paste. Add the honey and mix; it should form a thick sticky mess.

When the beans are finished cooking, drain well and then toss with the sauce; the heat from the beans will thin it a bit. Sprinkle a little vinegar over and serve.

This definitely worked better this time, and was quite simple, especially given I didn't have any cumin seed so went with pre-ground. I did not, however have any rue, since it's still winter out there, but as I used it the last time I tried this recipe I think that amount should be fine. It was quite rich, and well balanced, and definitely had a nice kick with the ground raw mustard. It could be described as a hot mustard honey sweet and sour sauce.

I found I rather liked the fava beans, unlike last time when the choices I had were dried or canned; the frozen ones really did taste much, much, better. They don't seem that far off from lima beans, actually, mild and a little sweet, so if you can't find frozen fava beans frozen lima beans would work just as well.

So now I finally get to put this one with the keepers, yay!

Apicius 7.11.4 Redux: Peppered Sweets

So I gave this one another try tonight, after finally figuring out how to make really thick semolina without burning it. I was able, then, to roll them up like little truffles, the 'sweets' of the recipe title. Here, again, are the Latin and English, to refresh your memory:

[7.11.4] dulcia piperata: teres piper, mittis mel merum passum rutam. eo mittis nucleos nuces alicam elixatam. concisas nuces auellanas tostas adicies et inferes.

7.11.4 Peppered sweets: pound pepper; add honey, wine, passum, and rue. Add to the mixture pine nuts, nuts and boiled alica. Add chopped roasted hazelnuts and serve.

Alica, you will remember, is a type of groat, or smashed up grain (in this case emmer wheat) which came in several grades, the finest (according to Grocock and Grainger) about the texture of semolina, though that is made from a different variety of wheat (durum, which, according to Wikipedia, was bred from emmer wheat originally anyway). I suppose something like bulgur wheat (though a bit more coarse) like you'd use for making tabbouleh would also work. (And, looking it up, emmer wheat is still used in Italy, where it's called farro, and is apparently available in health food stores, so I'll keep an eye out.) At any rate, I used semolina flour.

And again, I didn't have any rue, as it's the middle of winter and it has all died down in my herb garden (I checked). Rue, while bitter, gives a distinct flowery note, which makes me wonder if a little rose water (not that that's period) would give a similar effect. I did use wildflower honey, so hopefully that helped.

When I'd made this recipe in the past I didn't get the semolina very thick, and so the whole thing came out like a pudding, which, while perfectly tasty, wasn't what I'd guess the original recipe had in mind. Though who can tell, really; Apicius is more about what's between the lines than the actual lines sometimes.

So here's my third attempt:

a dollop of cream plus whole milk to equal 1 cup
1/2 cup semolina flour
15 peppercorns (or more, to taste)
3 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon wine
1 teaspoon passum
2 tablespoons pine nuts
2 tablespoons chopped walnuts
1/2 cup chopped hazelnuts

Heat the milk + cream up as hot as you dare without scalding it (I got it to just starting to simmer), then throw in the semolina, stirring constantly. Take off the heat pretty much immediately and continue stirring till more or less smooth and about as thick as cookie dough, then set aside.

Grind up the peppercorns in a mortar, then add the honey, the wine, and the passum. Stir to mix.

Toast the pine nuts and walnuts in a dry frying pan on medium heat until lightly browned and fragrant. Tip out onto a cutting board and cut them up as finely as you can manage, then put in the mortar with the honey/wine/pepper mixture and get as smooth as possible. When you're tired of that, throw it all in with the cooked semolina, then mix it as smoothly as you can with a spatula or potato masher.

Toast the hazelnuts in the pan you used for the other nuts until again lightly browned and fragrant, then empty them onto the cutting board and chop as finely as you can.

Take small lumps of the semolina mixture and roll into one inch balls (you may wish to give your hands a light coating of oil so it doesn't stick, and if you're being strictly authentic it probably ought to be olive), then roll in the hazelnuts till you get these lovely little truffle-looking things. Makes about two dozen.

These were really really really really good, and very rich. And even with the uncooked wine and the passum they didn't taste alcoholic at all (and I'm pretty sensitive to that). I kept nibbling on the semolina mixture (like one does with cookie dough, because one can't resist) as I was getting the hazelnuts ready and kept thinking it was a little on the bland side, but once the hazelnuts were on there they made the whole thing work quite well. I would have said that maybe the mix could have used a little salt, just like a cake has a little just to bring the other flavors out, but now I don't think it needed even that. The walnuts (what Apicius generally means when it just calls for 'nuts') and the pine nuts gave it a richness, along with the semolina itself and the milk (plus the cream I added). The peppercorns this time were fine, and gave it a little bite without being obnoxious.

So, yeah, this one is definitely going in the keeper pile. Third time pays for all, as they say.

Oh Well

Oh, and I found out tonight while attempting to make another batch of caroenum that it is indeed possible to burn grape juice. I neglected to pay attention to it long enough that I found it was suddenly doing that bubbly sugary candy thing; I think actually it might have gotten a little past the caramel stage, though when I tasted it it was definitely over into burnt and so useless. Too bad; it could have been interesting, as far as candy-making goes. And I imagine some fellow idiot in Roman times managed the same inattention. But I suppose we'll never know.

Apicius 3.13.1: Sweet Cumin Turnips

(Okay, my photography skills are pretty much crap, which is especially embarrassing because I actually have a degree in fine arts, though obviously photography was not my major.)

So, when I was a kid I hated turnips. But then there was this recipe in Apicius that sounded interesting, and well, I am a grown-up now. And since I hated them as a kid I pretty much hadn't had them since I was a kid, and tastes change...

Alas, not really. Even with the honey and the defrutum sweetening it up, I didn't really care for it. But maybe other people like turnips, so I'll publish this anyway. And this recipe might work with butternut squash, so. Not that that's Old World.

[3.13.1] rapas siue napos elixatos exprimes. deinde teres cuminum plurimum rutam minus laser Particum mel acetum liquamen defritum et oleum modice; feruere facies et inferes.

3.13.1. Squeeze the water out of boiled turnips or swedes. Then pound plenty of cumin, a little rue, Parthian laser, honey, vinegar, liquamen, defrutum and a little oil. Bring to a simmer and serve.

The local supermarket didn't have any turnips, so I got a rutabaga, thinking it was the same thing. Apparently it isn't, being a cross between a turnip proper and maybe cabbage; though as they are also called swedes I guess that works with the recipe too.

Here's the recipe; as it's still winter out there, I didn't have any rue available and left it out.

1 rutabaga
2 teaspoons cumin (I used ground, because that's what I had)
1/2 teaspoon asafoetida
4 tablespoons honey
4 teaspoons vinegar
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1/2 cup defrutum
2 teaspoons olive oil

Peel and cube the rutabaga and then boil forever until it's reasonably softened up. When it's done, drain and mash it a little to get the extra liquid out (though I found it didn't really need it). Throw the rest of the ingredients in the saucepan, and heat to a simmer; mix the rutabaga back into the pan and heat it through.

The sauce to this was perfectly nice and quite sweet, but no, I think I just don't care for turnips (or rutabagas). So now I don't know if this should go in the keepers or not; someone who likes turnips might think it's a great thing to do with them. Anyone care to give it a try and let me know?

Apicius 3.15.3: Lettuce Mash

Well, this recipe wasn't nearly as horrible as I'd feared it would be. (Hey, they can't all be keepers.)

I picked this one to try because it was unusual, and because the ingredients were easy to come by. Plus it was just weird, and it's good to widen one's horizons, yes? Here's the Latin, with the English translation:

[3.15.3] aliter holus molle ex foliis lactucarum: cum cepis quoques ex aqua nitrata; expressum concides minutatim; in mortario teres piper ligusticum apii semen mentam siccam cepam liquamen oleum et uinum.

3.15.3 Another vegetable mash recipe made with lettuce leaves: cook them with onions in water with soda. Squeeze the water out and chop finely. In a mortar pound pepper, lovage, celery seed, dry mint, onion, liquamen, oil, and wine.

That's right, this recipe is for boiled lettuce. Which, yes, sounds absolutely horrifying to modern ears, because you just don't do that with lettuce. But then I considered that we eat boiled cabbage, and boiled spinach with no problems, so it's not like it was that far out there. And I wanted to see. Morbid curiosity, I suppose. So this is what I did:

1 small head romaine (cos) lettuce
1 medium onion
baking soda
a few peppercorns
1/2 teaspoon celery seed
1 teaspoon dry mint
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 cup wine

Chop lettuce roughly, removing any discolored leaves. Chop half the onion, and put it and the lettuce in a pan with a pinch of baking soda and enough water to cover. Bring to a boil, then simmer until the onions are cooked and translucent. Strain in a colander and rinse under running water, then get as much of the water out of it as you can (I patted it with a paper towel). Turn out onto a cutting board and chop quite finely.

Grind the peppercorns, celery seed, and mint in the mortar; mince another teaspoon of the onion and mash that up in the mortar with the spices until smooth, or as smooth as you can make it. (Save the remaining onion to use in another recipe, or save yourself the horror of finding it in the back of the fridge in three weeks' time and throw it out now.) Add the contents of the mortar plus the remaining ingredients and bring to a simmer to cook the onion a bit and flash off the alcohol, then add the lettuce/onion mixture and heat through.

Eat, if you dare.

So, then. The first bite of this was definitely strange and confusing. So confusing that I found myself taking another bite. And then another, and another, and pretty soon I'd found I'd actually eaten all of it, though even after finishing it I wasn't sure if I liked it.

The cooked lettuce part wasn't actually that bad. I was afraid it would just turn to slime, but it didn't; it held its shape, and even some of its crispness fairly well. And as for the taste, it wasn't really all that far from bok choy, and that's fine. It was a little bitter, that was all, and I was curious as to why of all the recipes in Apicius, this one didn't have honey in it when it could definitely have used some. I would guess it was the celery seed; I don't know if it's normally bitter or if I just have an old batch (and again, I left out the lovage because I don't have any). Although I suppose romaine or cos lettuce is famous (or at least was in ancient times) for being rather bitter (it's one of the 'bitter herbs' eaten at Passover, if I'm remembering correctly). So I don't know.

It was certainly different, though.

Apicius 7.11.7 Variation

Oh my GOD.

Try this, for the cheese patina recipe a couple posts down:

1 cup total whole milk + cream in whatever proportion you like (I used rather more cream than milk)
3 eggs
1/3 cup honey
8 oz package (1 cup) mascarpone cheese
ground pepper (optional)

Follow the directions linked above. Eat it, and revel in the decadence that was the Roman Empire.

Happy Lupercalia!

Apicius 8.7.8 Flaccian Pork

Well, okay, originally it's 'Flaccian Piglet', but those being hard to come by around here I just used a pork chop. There are more than a few recipes for piglet in Apicius; it seems it was a fairly common food, not surprising I guess given how many young sows have in a litter. As to whom this dish is named for, there are more than a few Flaccuses or Flacianuses to choose from, ranging from consuls to freedmen. In Appendix 3, G&G name four individuals it might be connected to, but they can't pin it to one in particular. Anyhow, the text and translation:

[8.7.8] porcellum Flacianum: porcellum ornas in modum apri, sale asperges et in furnum mittes. dum coquitur adicies in mortarium piper ligusticum careum apii semen laseris radicem rutam uiridem, fricabis; suffundes liquamen, uino et passo temperabis. in caccabum; cum olei modicum ferueat; amulo obligas. porcellum coctum ab ossibus tanges, apii semen teres ita ut fiat puluis, asperges et inferes.

8.7.8. Flaccian piglet: dress the piglet in the manner of a boar. Sprinkle with salt and put in the oven. While it is cooking, put in a mortar pepper, lovage, caraway, celery seed, laser root, green rue; pound them. Pour on liquamen, flavour with wine and passum. In a pan, bring it to heat with a little oil. Thicken with starch. Smother the cooked piglet (thoroughly with the sauce) 'down to the bone'. Pound celery seed to a fine powder, sprinkle and serve.

I'm not sure what is meant by 'dress the piglet in the manner of a boar'; as I was just using a pork chop I suppose it doesn't much matter.

I had to leave a couple things out of this, alas. For one, though I have rue planted in my herb garden, it's February in New England. I could have, I suppose, checked to see if there's any out there hanging on, but while I was making this it was both a) dark out and b) pouring rain, so I opted to skip it, though I do like the unique flowery note rue gives to food. The other sad news, and it is very sad, is that my little lovage plant, the one I got back in the fall, has since died. I was planning on overwintering it in the house on the windowsill, as I bought it rather too late in the season I thought to plant it outside, but it didn't survive. Come spring I think I'm going to buy a bunch of lovage seed for planting (those, at least, aren't too hard to find on the internet), and broadcast ALL OF THEM in a specific patch in the flower garden. I'm not great with seeds, but I imagine some of them will have to come up, right? Anyway, argh.

Even with those changes (and the fact that I'm using faux passum, meaning port that has had raisins soaked in it, rather than raisin wine proper), I have to say it came out quite good, though it was basically just a roasted pork chop with sauce over it.

1 thick cut boneless pork chop
a few peppercorns (or more, to taste)
1/4 teaspoon caraway seed
1/2 teaspoon celery seed
1/4 teaspoon laser root (ground asafoetida)
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1/4 cup wine
1/4 cup passum
1 teaspoon olive oil
cornstarch (or wheat flour) for thickening
salt

Preheat oven to 350° F. Sprinkle the pork chop with salt and bake for about 30 minutes (or less, if you use a thinner cut of pork).

Grind 1/4 teaspoon of the celery seed to a fine powder; set aside in a little bowl.

Grind the peppercorns, caraway seed, asafoetida, and the remaining 1/4 teaspoon of the celery seed. (You may want to toast the caraway seeds first to make them easier to grind). Throw them in a small saucepan, then add the wine, passum, liquamen and oil. Let it heat up a bit then add the cornstarch mixed in with a little more wine and cook till thickened and bubbly. Pour over the pork, sprinkle with the reserved ground celery seed, and eat.

This sauce was quite good. It was a little bitter, but that was actually part of the flavor I think, especially given the celery seeds added at the end (which of course I forgot to add for the picture), never mind the rue I left out. It was quite rich but also a little piquant, and rather reminded me of steak sauce, almost, though the only thing I can think it might have had in common were the raisins in the passum. It was also very dark in color given the port/passum. I'd gone a little light on the caraway seeds, not wanting them to dominate; I might actually add a little more just to bring them out more, but still, I was surprised by how complicated and interesting this sauce actually was.

I did end up using the last of the passum, though, so I guess I'll be making another batch soon. And since it was the bottom of the bottle, there was a bit of raisiny sediment there that made the sauce all the richer and thicker. Oh and also, it was quite a bit of sauce and you could probably get away with this amount for two pork chops. As it was it was good enough I spooned it all up even after I'd finished the pork, so, you know, throw this one in the keeper pile too.

Defrutum

I made another batch of defrutum last night, the flavored grape syrup used in Roman cooking; though I've made it before I don't think I've given instructions for it here. It's pretty much the same as the instructions for caroenum, just boiled down a little more, and with some fruit added for richness. I made this batch with some figs, and started with purple grape juice this time as it has a richer flavor than white.

In Apicius 2.2.8 a couple types of defrutum are mentioned, including:

...defrutum made from quinces that has been left in full sun until it is as thick as honey. If you don't have any of this add a defrutum which has been made from dried figs, which the Romans call 'colouring' [colorem]...

Defrutum could also have spices added to it, according to G&G; they list 'sweet rush, iris, and fenugreek'. 'Sweet rush' is Acorus calamus, according to Wikipedia; it says the dried rhizome (root, more or less) could be ground up and used as a substitute for ginger, nutmeg, or cinnamon, so I'm assuming it has a similar sweet flavor. The roots are used in herbal medicine, so it is available, though the FDA hasn't approved its use in food, as they consider a chemical in it carcinogenic. I'm not sure what is meant by 'iris'; that could be anything, really, though sweet rush is also called sweet flag from what I gathered, and is iris-like, especially in the sword-shaped leaves. Fenugreek could be the seeds or the leaves, though the seeds are certainly easier to come by around here.

Anyway, here's the very simple instructions for fig defrutum:

1 64 oz bottle unsweetened purple grape juice (I used Welch's; the store brand being noticeably more watered-down to start with)
8 dried figs

Empty the grape juice into a large soup pan; then slice up the figs and throw them in. Heat to a boil and let it do that until it is reduced to about a third of its original volume. Let cool a bit, then strain out the figs; when pouring it into a bottle you may want to run it through a sieve as well, to get any of the tiny fig-seeds out. Store in the fridge.

Apicius 7.11.7: Sweet Cheese Patina

It's been a few months since I've done any Roman cooking; I think I got to a point where I just needed a damned tomato in my life (and peppers, and zucchini, and chocolate, and butter). Also, this is a hobby blog and I tend to do things in waves, so I at least am not surprised. But it seemed time to get back into this.

This recipe for a cheese patina sounded rather like a honey cheesecake without the crust. Strictly speaking a patina is a wide flat cooking dish or pan with sloping sides; the name was also applied to the kind of dish cooked within it. These generally used eggs as a binder, though not always, and seem to have ranged from something like a quiche or frittata to custards. They could be sweet or savory and contain pretty much any ingredient you could imagine. (Incidentally patella, 'little patina', the word for kneecap, comes from the same root, as does the Spanish paella, which also gave its name to a specific type of dish cooked in it.) This particular patina recipe is found under the Homemade Sweets and Curds section of Apicius.

I'll give the Latin followed by the English, as usual; and as usual, the translations and information about Roman cooking techniques are straight from Christopher Grocock and Sally Grainger's Apicius: A Critical Edition With an Introduction and English Translation, so, you know, don't go thinking I'm an actual expert on this stuff or anything.

[7.11.7] tiropatinam: accipies lac, aduersus quod patinam estimabis, temperabis lac cum melle quasi ad lactantia, oua quinque ad sextarium mittis, si ad eminam, oua tria. in lacte dissoluis ita ut unum corpus facias, in cumana colas et igni lento coques. cum duxerit ad se, piper adspargis et inferes.

7.11.7. Cheese patina: take some milk and choose a dish of sufficient size to hold it; flavour the milk with honey as though for milk pudding. Put in 5 eggs to a pint or 3 to a 1/2 pint. Dissolve them in the milk so that you have a smooth emulsion. Strain it into a Cumaean clay dish and cook over a slow fire; when it has set, sprinkle with pepper and serve.

Apparently this is one of the (all too common, alas) recipes in Apicius where a key ingredient is found only in the title; at first I thought well maybe 'cheese' referred to the consistency of the finished custard, but that didn't seem very likely really, especially given that part of the instructions are 'as though for milk pudding', implying that it is specifically not a milk pudding. But then I had to guess at the amount of cheese to put in. Not that that's anything new with Apicius.

I have to confess I'm not that handy with a custard; in fact I pulled out my Mastering the Art of French Cooking by the one and only Julia Child (and Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle) just for some tips. Those recipes turned out to be rather more complicated than I'd hoped, so instead I cribbed from an old Better Homes and Garden cookbook (yes, the one with the gingham/Italian restaurant tablecloth cover). The added texture of the cheese confused me too, as it was a bit grainy and hard to tell if the egg was separating, though I think I did all right in the end. So this is the recipe:

1 cup whole milk
3 eggs
5 tablespoons honey (=1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon, if that's easier)
1 cup ricotta cheese
ground pepper

Put the milk in a saucepan and mix in the honey with a whisk (you may wish to start warming the milk first to allow the honey to more easily dissolve). Add the cup of cheese and whisk till smooth. Beat the eggs in a separate bowl until quite smooth, then add to the milk and cheese mixture. Heat slowly over low to medium heat (you can use a double boiler if you've got one), stirring all the while. Keep stirring until the mix is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. It may look like it's not going to get there, especially with the cheese making it kind of grainy, but it will. I gave it a couple more minutes after that stage because I was following directions for creme brulée and I wanted it to be a little thicker, but you don't have to.

Take it off the heat and allow it to cool down; you can eat it then, sprinkled with some pepper, or put it in the fridge to firm up for later.

I don't know why the Romans were so taken with pepper, especially given that from what I could find the variety they used had both larger peppercorns and was rather spicier than the common round black peppercorns that are ubiquitous today; but they put the damned stuff on everything, including sweets. I guess that was one of the few sources of kick or heat they had for spices and a little bit of pain with their otherwise perfectly good food made them feel alive or something, like it does in Mexico or India. Me, I'm a wussy New Englander; our (sacred) recipe for clam chowder specifically says to use white pepper, if you must, because black pepper would just be too much. I put some on there for the photo (and I did eat it) but given my druthers I'd leave it off.

In spite of the pepper, this was quite good; I was a little confused though when I pulled it out of the fridge later to see a bit of water in with it. I thought that maybe I'd gotten it too hot after all and the egg had scrambled a bit; but actually I think it was just condensation, as I threw it in a bowl with some foil over it and stuck it in the fridge while it was still pretty hot, since it was getting late. I drained it off today and it certainly tasted fine, quite rich and custardy, with a bit of sweetness from the cheese.

I used ricotta because I was assuming a soft farmer's type cheese would be what they'd have. Mascarpone would certainly work, and now that I've thought of that I may just have to try this again because god damn, mascarpone cheese is amazing, especially with honey. And I suppose you could also add a little cream to the milk if you wanted, as I don't know that they separated that out. Though for that matter I don't know that they used cow's milk, either; goat's or ewe's milk would I'd guess be more common, but who knows.

It was as I said, quite rich and custardy; the only thing I might tweak is to add a little more honey, as it was a bit on the mildly sweet side for my tastes. But then I definitely have a very sweet tooth. Overall, though, this is definitely going into the keeper pile.

ETA: I did indeed try it with mascarpone cheese and some cream and it was absolutely heavenly. Here are the proportions for that version of this recipe.