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.