APICIUS 6.8.11: Vardanian Chicken

Well, I'm back, to quote Sam Gamgee.  It has been a while.  

So let's jump right into it with another chicken recipe; this one is called Vardanian Chicken.  As usual I am taking the recipes and translation from Apicius: A Critical Edition With an Introduction and English Translation, by Sally Grainger and Christopher Grocock.  Now, while the footnote on the recipe page tells the reader to refer to Appendix 3 for information on the possible 'Vardanus' the recipe is named for, there is no mention of any 'Vardanus' in Appendix 3 (oops).  And poking around on the internet I couldn't find anything about a 'Vardanus', though I did find a 'Vardanes', a prince of Parthia of the 1st century C.E., so maybe that's him.  I rather like the idea of this chicken being nice enough for royalty.

At any rate, I thought I'd try this with a whole chicken for once; and going over the recipe it looked like it might be a type of stewed chicken.  Naturally the recipe doesn't state that outright, because why would it; but it does sound like it needs to be cooked in a bit of liquid.  Also, the three recipes before it are titled 'boiled' chicken, and a lot of the recipes in Apicius build on the preceding ones.  Of course, the Latin term used for 'boil', whatever, is a rather general term, used for several different cooking methods including frying in oil (!), so I'm assuming 'stewed' could fall under that term too.

To stew this chicken, I did add water, though the recipe doesn't specifically call for it; either the original cook figured it was so obvious he didn't bother to mention it, or rather more wine or liquamen is used, as that ancient Roman fish sauce used a lot less salt than the modern Thai fish sauce I've had to substitute.

Here's the Latin, and the English, as usual:

[6.8.11] pullus Vardanus:  pullum quoques iure hoc:  liquamine oleo uino fasciculum porri coriandri satureiae; cum coctus fuerit teres piper; nucleos ciatos duos et ius de suo sibi subfundis et fasciculos proicies.  lac temperas et reexinanies [in] mortarium supra pullum, ut ferueat.  obligas eundem aluamentis ouorum tritis, ponis in lance et iure supra scripto perfundis.  hoc ius candidum appellatur.

[6.8.11] Vardanian chicken:  cook the chicken with this sauce:  a bundle of leek, coriander and savory, in liquamen, oil, wine; when it is cooked, pound pepper, two cups of pine nuts, and pour on the cooking liquor and discard the bundle.  Blend with milk and pour the contents of the mortar over the chicken and bring it to heat.  Thicken it with beaten white of egg.  Place the chicken on a serving dish and pour the sauce written above over it.  This is called a white sauce.

Why yes, that is called white sauce, even now, because it's white, fancy that.  Anyway here's my take on this recipe:

1 four to five pound whole chicken
2 leeks, rinsed and roughly chopped
1 small bundle of cilantro (or parsley)
1 small bundle of fresh savory, or 2 tablespoons dried
1 tablespoon Thai fish sauce
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup white wine
several black peppercorns, or 2-3 grains of long pepper
1 cup of pine nuts
1/2 cup of cooking broth
1/2 cup of whole milk
1 egg white

Rinse the chicken in cold water and remove the giblets, if any, then place in a large stock pot.  Add the leeks, the cilantro or parsley, the savory, fish sauce, olive oil, and wine, then add water to nearly cover it.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a lowish medium and cover, so that it is bubbling quite gently.  Stew the chicken for about an hour and a half, checking every once in a while to make sure it doesn't go dry (if it needs more water, add it).

When the chicken is so tender it is falling off the bone, take it off the heat and start on the sauce.

Toast the peppercorns and the pine nuts in a dry pan until fragrant and a little colored, then take off the heat and put in a bowl so it doesn't continue to brown in the hot pan.  Fish out the peppercorns and grind them first; then add some of the pine nuts and go at it until it's practically pine nut butter.  If, like me, your shoulder gets sore, feel free to use the food processor.  There is no shame in it.

Ladle out some of the broth and strain it; then measure out 1/2 cup and add it to the pine nuts along with the 1/2 cup of milk.  Blend until quite smooth, either by hand or machine, then tip into a pan to heat on medium.

Give the egg yolk to the cat, then beat the egg white till smooth; when the pine nut/milk mixture is heated and making a little bit of steam, add a small spoonful of the hot mixture to the egg white and stir to temper it.  (This will prevent the egg from scrambling when added to the hot sauce.)  Then add the egg into the sauce and stir constantly until it thickens, which won't take too long, probably less than a minute.  Remove from heat.

You can either then remove the whole chicken to a plate, and pour the sauce over to serve, or just cut off some of the chicken as an individual portion like I did and scoop some sauce over it, depending on how fancy you're feeling.  

This was unexpectedly mild for a Roman dish, though looking back at the ingredients I suppose that makes sense.  It was also quite rich, with the pine nuts and the whole milk and I would only tweak it a little.  When I originally made it, I only used one single grain of the long pepper, since it's about equivalent in size to several regular black peppercorns, but of course it has a much milder, and richer, flavor, so I've called for double or triple that amount above.  I suppose pepper is more or less always to taste, anyway.

It also was a little lacking in salt.  Now it's hard to tell because I of course am a modern American, and we're all acclimated to a truly scandalous and unhealthy amount of sodium, so older recipes are probably going to taste like there's not enough salt.  That said, it's true that I was afraid to use too much fish sauce, as it can get overpowering even though it does mellow quite a lot when cooked.  Perhaps it should have two tablespoons instead of just the one.  I did sprinkle the finished dish with a little salt; I would guess the Romans probably did the same, as individual tastes certainly vary.

As usual, I swapped out the cilantro for parsley as I have that cilantro-hating variation of the OR6A2 gene (and in looking that up, found that the same foul-smelling chemical in cilantro is also found in some stinkbugs, and yes!  I've always thought marmorated stinkbug stink smells like cilantro!); though of course parsley is missing the little bit of citrusy taste that cilantro has.  Perhaps next time I'll add a little lemon juice.  

Overall this was quite good; the chicken was wonderfully tender, and the sauce rich, and I'd make it again, just with a little more pepper and salt, maybe.  So I'll add it to the keepers list!

Note:  I did not get a photo of this; the chicken was so tender that it was literally falling apart and looked quite a mess, though it certainly tasted good!

APICIUS 6.8.1: Chicken With Uncooked Dill Sauce

Not-quite-as-horrible-as-usual photo I think; I think my lovely new (repro) Samian ware dish helps.  (Seriously though, my pictures are crap at least partially because I'm always making these in the evening and photographing them by artificial light.)  I am forever embarrassed by my lack of photography skills.  I have a degree in art, dammit!

I have this crazy dream of trying all the recipes in Apicius. It's an especially crazy dream because I., there are an awful lot of recipes in Apicius, II., some of them are fragmentary and/or garbled, III., there are plenty of foodstuffs that are difficult to find here in the US, IV., actually some of them are extinct, and V., some of the ingredients I simply refuse to eat (e. g., brains).

I wasn't entirely sure where to start with this goal; I've been wanting to get a good overview of Roman cooking, and pecking around at random wasn't really doing that.  So I picked one type of dish and decided I'd do the recipes in order, hoping that will help me get a feel for them.  A lot of the recipes do follow one from the other, with only one or two ingredients that differ, and I thought it would be interesting to highlight those differences.  There do seem to be certain 'types' of recipes in Apicius.

I picked the chicken dishes to start with, as that's certainly an easy ingredient to come by.  And the first one is (text and translation from Grocock and Grainger, as ever):

[6.8.1] elixo ius crudum:  adicies in mortarium aneti semen mentam siccam laseris radicem; suffundis acetum, adicies careotam, refundis liquamen senapis modicum et oleum, defrito temperas et sic mittis.

6.8.1.  Uncooked sauce for boiled chicken:  put dill seed, dried mint, and laser root into a mortar, pour on vinegar, add date, pour on liquamen, a little mustard and oil, flavour with defrutum and use as it is.

This recipe is unusual, not just because the sauce isn't cooked, but because there's neither pepper nor lovage in it, which is pretty much mandatory for the chicken dishes.  It seemed to me that the main flavors in this dish ought to be the dill and the vinegar, since those two pair well and the dill was a bit uncommon for Apicius; and since there wasn't much liquid in it otherwise it seemed it would have to use a decent amount of vinegar.  Though to be fair, the Romans probably were able to use their liquamen, fermented fish sauce, rather more liberally; I'm using Thai fish sauce, which is made by a similar process, but is much, much saltier, so you can't use too much.  I ended up adding a little of the cooking liquid to make up for that.  And as usual I used asafoetida for the extinct laser (silphium) root, though it was the powdered resin/sap, not the root part of the plant.

My attempt:

1 chicken breast

2 teaspoons dill seed
1/2 teaspoon dried mint
scant 1/4 teaspoon powdered asafoetida
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
2 tablespoons chopped date
1 teaspoon Thai fish sauce
1/4 teaspoon powdered mustard
2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon defrutum

Plunk the chicken breast in a saucepan with water to cover; bring to the boil, then reduce to a simmer.  Simmer until cooked through; depending on the size something like 20 or 30 minutes should do it.

While that cooks, grind the dill seeds in a mortar (or use a spice grinder); when they're fine enough (that will be up to your tastes and how tired your arm is), add the mint and grind that too.  Add the powdered asafoetida, then the vinegar and date.  Squish that all up until you get a fairly smooth paste, then add the remaining ingredients.  Add a teaspoon or two of the cooking liquid if you think it needs it‑it should be a little thinner than barbecue sauce, but not too thin.

Drizzle the sauce over the cooked chicken when done, or shred the chicken and use as a dipping sauce.

When I tried the sauce by itself in order to try and balance the flavors, I was worried it might be too heavy on the vinegar; however once paired with the chicken the flavor of the chicken itself balanced it out.  A lot of times I think I get the sauces too thick (again, that might be because of the difference in salt between Roman liquamen and modern Thai fish sauce), but this time I think it was about right.  I only used one date, but since I had Medjool dates it was very large (which is why I gave the amount for chopped), and it may have made the sauce a bit too sweet.  Also I think I'd like to have been able to taste the dill more.  It was still quite good, though, and I think just needs a little tweaking.  Also I wonder if grinding the dill seed, and then soaking it in the vinegar (say the night before), would help to draw out the taste a bit.  I know there's all kinds of herb-flavored vinegars out there that use that principle.

I used the usual supermarket boneless skinless chicken breast; and while I kept an eye on it as it simmered it was still a bit dry and bland.  Perhaps thighs would be better; I know when I make chicken and dumplings I use boneless skinless thighs and they end up melty and lovely and still quite moist.  At any rate this was just a test, a single serving.  I would like to someday try all these recipes again using whole chickens, like the Romans did.

Overall though I am pleased with this, so I'll put it in the keeper pile now on the Recipes page.

Apicius 5.4.3: Plain Pea Conchicla

There are quite a few recipes for peas in Apicius, though I'd never tried one before this. They are made with dried peas, not fresh peas (as the 'instructions' invariably call for skimming the foam off while cooking them), and, according to Grocock and Grainger, are made with marrowfat peas.

Marrowfat peas are peas that are left on the vine to mature before harvesting, much like beans used for drying are. I do not seem to be able to find them for love or money here in the US; I have had to use the usual split peas for soup, which I'm guessing are harvested much earlier in the season going by the size. Marrowfat peas are apparently what are used to make the English dish of 'mushy peas', though I have to admit that has got to be one of the least appetizing names ever. I suppose these Apician recipes may well be the forerunner of that dish.

This recipe is a conchicla; there is some confusion as to exactly what that means, whether it refers to a type of bean (though the recipes are almost always for peas), or to a specific type of serving dish, presumably shell-shaped. They don't seem to be any more complicated, or particularly different in technique than the 'regular' pea recipes, so who knows.

I assumed, going by the instructions, that this was meant to make a quite thick paste, rather than something thick but still soupy like modern split pea soup.

The Latin, followed by Grocock and Grainger's English translation:

[5.4.3] conciclam de pisa simplici: pisam coques. cum dispumauerit, fasciculum porri et coriandri mittis. dum coquitur, teres piper ligusticum origanum, fasciculum de suo sibi; fricabis; suffundis liquamen; uino et liquamine temperabis, mittis. super adicies oleum et lento igni ferueat, et inferes.

5.4.3 Plain pea conchicla: cook the peas; when you have skimmed them, put in a bundle of leeks and coriander. While it is cooking, pound pepper, lovage, oregano, the bundle itself, pound again, pour on liquamen, flavour with wine and liquamen; put (in the pan). Pour oil over the top; let it come to heat over a gentle fire and serve.

A while back I ordered some of the more unusual spices used in Apicius, like calamus root, Indian bay leaf (probably what the Romans called malabathrum), and dried rue; I also got my hands on some long pepper.

They're not kidding about the name. A single 'corn' can be up to two inches long, probably equal in size to more than a dozen ordinary black peppercorns. The taste is a bit different—more fragrant, almost floral. And also, not actually 'hotter' than black pepper, though that was what I'd heard. A little astringent, too, maybe? Quite a bit different and much more complex; I'm not even sure I'd guess it was a type of pepper.

While the recipe calls for a 'bundle' of leeks, the modern ones in the supermarket were absolutely gigantic, so I've only used half of one here.

And in happy news, I finally have some lovage growing in my garden. I planted it a couple years ago now, and it's doing well, though only just sprouting for the spring.

The recipe:

1 cup split green peas
several sprigs of cilantro (or parsley, if you hate cilantro like I do)
a leek
1 small peppercorn of long pepper (about 1 inch in length); or, several regular black peppercorns
2 small sprigs of lovage
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano (or 1 teaspoon fresh, minced)
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 tablespoon wine
olive oil

Set the peas to boil in about 3 cups of water. Trim the roots and the dark green parts off the leek, then split the white/light green part lengthwise, setting aside one half to use in another recipe. Clean off the half left, making sure to get in between the layers as they tend to hold a fair bit of sand.

Put the half leek and the cilantro/parsley in with the peas, and continue to boil them, adding more water if needed so it doesn't get too thick, and skimming off any foam on the surface.

Grind the peppercorn(s) with the lovage and oregano and set aside. When the peas start to break down a bit, fish out the cilantro/parsley sprigs and leek slices and add to the mortar. They'll be quite wet, and you may need to squish them in a sieve a bit to make it easier to grind. Or, you can put them in a food processor and pulse to a paste. Mix in the fish sauce and the wine, then add all of it back to the peas.

When the peas start to thicken, turn the heat down to low and keep an eye on them, stirring here and there to make sure it doesn't stick to the bottom. When they've thickened about to the consistency of mashed potatoes, take off the heat. You can, if you like, run the whole thing through a food processor to really smooth it out; I didn't, since I didn't think of doing that until just now.

Serve with a drizzle of olive oil over. Makes two servings.

This were quite good, especially with the olive oil on top, which gave it a nice sort of floral note. Overall it was quite balanced, and though I could taste the pepper it didn't dominate. It could probably take even more of the herbs as the peas were themselves quite earthy, but on the whole it was good and not bland, and so I'll put it with the keepers.

I suppose one could eat it like a dip with bread, like modern bean dip. I just ate it with a fork.

There are, like I said, quite a few pea dishes in Apicius, some with pork (like in split pea soup); I'll definitely have to give some of the others a try.

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 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.

Apicius 7.5.5: Pork Roast

Oh. My. GODS. This recipe looks like nothing at all, but WOW.

This is it:

[7.5.5] assaturas in collare: elixatur et infunditur in fretali piper condimentum mel liquamen, et attorretur in clibano quousque coquatur. elixum uero collare, si uoles, sine conditura assas, et siccum calidum perfundis.

7.5.5. Roasted neck joint: the joint is boiled, placed in a roasting dish with pepper, spices, honey, liquamen, and roasted in a clibanus until it is cooked. If you wish you may roast the boiled neck joint without the sauce and pour it on while it is hot and dry.

A clibanus, in case you're wondering, is a sort of small portable oven the Romans usually used for baking bread, which could be nestled down in the embers. A modern oven will do.

Now, when Apicius talks about 'meat' without saying what kind exactly, I'm going to guess pork will work. While out shopping last night, the local supermarket had pork loin on special, so I grabbed one, figuring I'd make something Roman with it. It's not a neck joint like the recipe calls for, but those are hard to come by. From what I understand they are best cooked slowly, but are quite good. Which is probably why the Apicius recipe calls for both boiling and roasting. A pork loin probably doesn't need both, but I did it anyway, just to be (somewhat) authentic and to see if there was a reason for it. Oh, there WAS. It was AMAZING.

So here's what I did:

I threw the pork loin in a large stewpot and simmered it for about two hours. The reason I left it that long was because it was kind of a big one (like five pounds) and I wasn't sure how long it would take. I wanted to put something in there to flavor it, but none of the recipes really had any instructions for that (though there are three ham recipes that call for boiling the ham with figs). In the end I did drizzle a bit of the fig defrutum I made a while back over it while it simmered, which made it smell very wonderful.

I had meant to only sort of half-cook it and finish it off in the oven, but when I took it out of the pot and cut into it to test it was already done; in fact it was starting to fall apart a bit it was so tender. Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself in my enthusiasm; let's put this in recipe form:

1 4-5 pound pork loin
couple tablespoons defrutum or caroenum (optional)
about a dozen peppercorns (or more or fewer to taste)
1/2 teaspoon celery seed
1/2 teaspoon fennel seed
1 teaspoon dried mint
2 tablespoons honey
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)

Put the pork in a large soup pan with water to cover. Drizzle with caroenum or defrutum if you like, then bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, then let it cook for something like two hours, skimming as necessary, or until the pork is very tender. Transfer to a baking dish with a few tablespoons of the simmering liquid.

Preheat oven to 325° Fahrenheit (160° Celsius, if I've got that right). Grind the peppercorns and the other spices, then mix with the honey and liquamen to a paste. Spread over the top of the pork, then bake for half an hour to crisp up.

I made this basically to have some leftovers for other recipes from Apicius; there are plenty of sauces in there for copadia, probably leftover tidbits of meat, which I would like to try. The original recipe just says 'spices'; I picked ones that would work with the recipe I had my eye on, but you can substitute out whatever you like. Those three did work though, quite nicely.

Oh my god, really, this was amazing. The long simmering meant it was tender as could be, while the bit of roasting at the end dried it out a little and gave it a nice crunchy sweet crust which was pure heaven. It was so perfectly balanced and absolutely delicious. Oh I'll be making this again!

Apicius 8.5.2: Beef With Quince

This time, the lone beef recipe.

The Romans don't seem to have eaten beef like we do; I have it in my head it's because cattle were mostly used as work animals, and so not really fit for eating. On the other hand, I know in ancient Greece it was appropriate to sacrifice a cow or bull to certain Gods; as the animal thus killed was then generally cooked and shared in a ritual feast, they at least must have eaten it here and there. But here it is.

The seasoning is actually exactly the same as the lamb recipe just below—liquamen, pepper, and laser/asafoetida—but the other ingredients make it a very different dish.

Quince is a little hard to come by, though worth seeking out (it's generally seasonal, in the autumn); if you can't find it pears will do. Sort of.

[8.5.2] uitulinam siue bubulam cum porris [uel] cidoneis uel cepis uel colocaseis: liquamen piper laser et olei modicum.

8.5.2. Veal or beef with leek or quince, or onion, or taro: liquamen, pepper, laser, and a little oil.

Actually I suppose given the options in this recipe it could count for more than one. The first uel, which I assume means 'or', is in brackets, meaning it's not found in all manuscript editions; I took that to mean it could be leeks and quinces. There is another quince with leeks recipe elsewhere in Apicius, so the two were known to be paired together.

1/2 pound or so of beef, cut into cubes
1 leek, white and light green parts only, sliced into half moons and thoroughly washed
1 peeled, cored, and chopped quince (or large pear)
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
several peppercorns, ground (or more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon asafoetida
1 tablespoon olive oil

Put all the ingredients (unless you are using pear instead of quince) in the pan with water to cover. Bring to the boil, then reduce heat and simmer until the beef is tender (how long will depend on the cut of beef), adding water if necessary as it cooks. Once the beef is tender let the liquid reduce to the consistency of a thickish sauce or gravy. If you're using pears rather than quince, add them just at the end and cook until the pieces are soft but still holding their shape.

Don't be afraid to cook the quinces for a good long while; even if you use stew meat and end up simmering this for a couple hours they won't fall apart. They're better the longer you cook them, actually. Oh, and watch out when you cut the beef up; you may find, like me, that you have some extra 'help':

(That's Rory. Yes, his poor ears are a bit mangled from a pair of hematomas a few years back, but he's otherwise fine. And yes, when he's bad I call him Roranicus Pondicus!! How appropriately Roman.)

This dish was really quite good. The quince paired well with the leek, and gave the whole dish a nice sweetness. And even though the spices were the same as the last lamb recipe, it was definitely different. The cut of beef I used (it was the one on sale) was a shoulder steak; it turned out to be fairly tender, so I didn't cook it all that long. I would like to try it in a proper stew, to see just how mellow the quinces could get.

It doesn't seem like the Romans usually browned their meat first, though I suppose that might simply be a detail left out of Apicius, with its terminal case of shorthand. You could if you wanted to. Even so this was quite good, and is going straight with the keepers.

Apicius 8.6.1: Lamb With Black-eyed Peas

Another lamb recipe. This one sounded like a good hearty dish for a chilly night.

[8.6.1] copadia hedina siue agnina: pipere liquamine coques, cum faseolis faratariis liquamine pipere laser, cum inbracto bocellas panis et oleo modico.

8.6.1. Kid or lamb pieces: cook with pepper and liquamen, (or) with cow peas, liquamen, pepper, laser, (or) as a relish on pieces of bread with a little oil.

The translation has a bit of guesswork to it; in a footnote, G&G state "[t]he term faseoli faratariis seems to imply a 'starchy' pea, or perhaps pea flour is intended. Lit. 'with flour-filled beans'". So 'cow peas' (which Wikipedia tells me is the same as black-eyed peas) is a guess. They are an Old World plant, native (probably) to Africa, and it seems likely the Romans knew of them. I liked the idea of a lamb and bean dish with a thick sauce; again I was thinking of the Moroccan tagine, which is a slowly simmered meat dish that is a little thicker than a stew, so that's what I aimed for.

1 pound lamb, cut into cubes
1/2 cup dried black-eyed peas (cowpeas)
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
several peppercorns, ground (or more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon asafoetida

Put all the ingredients in a wide frying-pan with water to cover. Bring to the boil then reduce to a simmer, skimming off the foam. Simmer until the beans are soft and the lamb is tender, about an hour and a half, adding more water as necessary. At the end let the cooking liquid reduce down to a stew or gravy consistency, then serve.

This was just as hearty as I'd predicted—even with so few ingredients it had quite a full and rich flavor. Though originally I used a full tablespoon of fish sauce, thinking it needed a bit of broth to it, with the reduction at the end it came out a bit too salty for my tastes (though not inedible in the least); I reduced the liquamen to a teaspoon above to account for that.

It was pretty good, and very rich (I could only finish half the bowl), but I'm not entirely sure I like black-eyed peas. It was the first time I'd had them, and there was something about the taste I didn't really care for. Still, their earthy flavor was strong enough to hold its own with the lamb, and was a good match. I suppose one could substitute navy beans or the like, though those are technically New World ingredients; anyway the original recipe is a little vague on that ingredient so there's a bit of wiggle room.

I think it's probably just me; someone who liked black-eyed peas might just love this, so I'll put it with the keepers, as otherwise it did work quite well and made a rich hearty dish. I'd call it good simple plebeian/peasant food, if old gourmet Apicius wouldn't be insulted.

Apicius 6.2.16: Almond Chicken

Yeah, I'm catching up. I made this one a couple weeks ago now.

[6.2.16] ius candidum in auem elixam: piper ligusticum cuminum apii semen ponticam uel amigdalam tostam uel nuces depilatas, mel modicum, liquamen acetum et oleum.

6.2.16. White sauce for boiled bird: pepper, lovage, cumin, celery seed, roasted hazelnuts or almonds or (any) skinned nut, a little honey, liquamen, vinegar and oil.

For 'boiled bird' I used chicken, because that's what's available here; my little lovage plant is still pretty small, so I left that out instead of bothering the poor thing (I think I may try to root some cuttings over the winter). For the nuts I chose almonds, though they weren't skinned and the sauce wasn't 'white'. It still tasted really good.

1 split chicken breast, with bones and skin
several peppercorns (or more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon celery seeds
1/3 cup almonds
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
2 teaspoons vinegar
1 tablespoon oil

Boil the chicken in water to cover for 30 minutes or until done. Grind the pepper and seeds to a fine paste in a mortar. Dry roast the almonds in a pan until toasted and fragrant, then grind as finely as you can in a mortar or food processor. Throw the pepper, seeds and ground almonds in a pan and add the rest of the ingredients and heat. Pour over the chicken and serve.

Like the tuna with hazelnut mustard sauce, this 'sauce' was very thick; even with a bit of the liquid from cooking the chicken added it was pretty much a paste, which leads me to suspect that the Romans were using liquamen a lot more liberally, almost as a broth at times. Given I'm using Thai fish sauce, which, though it is made using a very similar process, is a lot saltier than proper liquamen, I'm not sure what to do about that. (Liquamen, according to Grocock and Grainger, was made with about seven parts fish to one part salt; modern Thai fish sauce uses three parts fish to one part salt, or even just one to one.) Also, I kind of don't really like the stuff, though I suppose once it's cooked the wet dog smell goes away. Some added chicken broth could work for some extra liquid I suppose.

At any rate, this dish was really very good, though I didn't realize how similar it was to the earlier tuna recipe until I was eating it. It was quite rich given the ground nuts; I think if I tried it again I'd use a food processor for the nuts to see if I could get them a bit smoother. I'd also add a good deal of chicken broth (or more of the water the chicken cooked in) just to thin it down a bit. But overall, it was very good and is going straight with the keepers.

Apicius 8.6.6: Lamb in Caroenum Sauce

I figured it was time to try some lamb (it was on sale). Poking around in my copy of Apicius this one looked interesting:

[8.6.6] hedus siue agnus syringiatus (id est mammotestis): exossatur diligenter a gula sic ut uter fiat et intestina eius integra exinaniantur ita ut in caput intestina sufflentur et per nouissimam partem stercus exinanibitur. aqua lauantur diligenter et sic inplentur admixto liquamine et ab humeris consuitur et mittitur in clibanum. cum coctus fuerit, perfunditur ius bulliens: lacte piper tritum liquamen carenum defritum modice sic et oleum, et iam bullienti mittis amulum. uel certe mittitur in retiaculo uel in sportella et diligenter constringitur et bullienti zemae cum modico salis summittitur. cum bene illic tres undas bullierit, leuatur et denuo bullit cum humore supra scripto. bulliente conditura perfunditur.

8.6.6. Hollowed-out kid or lamb (that is, swollen-skinned): carefully bone the carcass from the neck end so that it is like a bag. The entire intestinal tract should be emptied out in this way: blow into the intestines at the top end so that that excrement is expelled from the very bottom. It is washed carefully with water and filled with liquamen, the lamb is sewn up at the shoulder and put in the oven. When it is cooked this boiling sauce is poured on: milk, ground pepper, liquamen, caroenum, a little defrutum, a little oil too, and when it is boiling add starch. Or alternatively it is tied up carefully, put in a net or basket and lowered into a pan of boiling water with a little salt. When it has come to the boil well and truly three times, it is taken out and boiled once more in the sauce written above. Then pour the boiling sauce over it.

Since I was just making a single chop I was able to (thankfully) skip a lot of that; the "boiling" sauce sounded simple but interesting, and I had both the caroenum and defrutum on hand. Here's what I came up with:

1 lamb chop (I used a shoulder arm chop)
about a dozen peppercorns, ground (more or fewer to taste)
1/4 cup whole milk
1/4 cup caroenum
2 tablespoons defrutum
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 teaspoon olive oil
corn starch or other thickener

Put a little olive oil in a pan and heat on medium high; put in the lamb chop and cook about three minutes per side or until done.

Mix all the other ingredients save the starch in a bowl. When the lamb is cooked drain the rendered fat if there's a lot, and pour the milk/caroenum mixture into the pan. Deglaze the pan and bring the sauce to a gentle boil, then thicken with a little starch. Serve with the sauce poured over the chop.

I opted to pan-fry the lamb both because it was a single chop rather than an entire freakin' lamb, and because boiling and lamb don't generally go together unless you're making a stew.

This was quite interesting; the caroenum was a bit tart but still quite sweet, and gave it a rich red color; as there were no spices in it save the ubiquitous pepper, the grapey flavor of the syrups was the main flavor, which was definitely a bit strange to my modern palate. Grapes don't get used much like that. Roman food reminds me a bit of Japanese food, where on the whole there's a little sweetness in everything, even the savory dishes.

It was good though, if unusual, and I'll put it with the keepers as the flavors were quite nicely balanced, though there was rather a lot of sauce to it. If you try it you might want to make two chops with the same amount of sauce instead of just the one.

In other news, I made another batch of the marinated mushrooms, this time with the caroenum made from the fresh grapes. It was a lot more interesting and rich than the versions I'd made with the caroenum from store-bought grape juice. That may be my favorite recipe so far, though it's one of the simplest ones.

Apicius 6.8.10: Chicken With Taro

I happened upon some taro root in my travels the other day; I'd been wanting to try this particular recipe for some time, so got some. Taro is the root of the colocasia plant, widely used in Caribbean cuisine; it's native to southern India and the Romans did know it, though they don't seem to have made extensive use of it. It has a slightly sweet taste to it, sort of like a combination of potato and chestnut. It goes by a lot of names depending on the culture, which is probably why I'd had a hard time finding it before; this time though it was nicely labelled 'taro' so I grabbed some. They look like this, incidentally:

(Picture from Wikipedia)

You don't want to eat them raw, as they'll do nasty things to you, but they're fine once cooked. The ones I got were labelled both 'taro' and 'eddoe' which supposedly aren't quite the same thing, and now I'm a little confused; they're very closely related though and both types of colocasia (at least according to Wikipedia).

I'm going to give three recipes here, as the one I actually used refers back to the others.

[6.8.8] pullum elixum ex iure suo: teres piper cuminum timi modicum feniculi semen mentam rutam laseris radicem; suffundis acetum, adicies caroetam et teres. melle aceto liquamine et oleo temperabis. pullum refrigeratum et mittis siccatum, quem perfusum inferes.

[6.8.9] pullum elixum cum cucurbitis elixis: iure supra scripto, addito sinape, perfundis et inferes.

[6.8.10] pullum elixum cum cologasiis elixis: supra scripto iure perfundis et inferes. farcies inelixum etiam oliuis columbaribus, non ualde ita ut laxamentum habeat ne dissiliat dum quoquitur in ollam submissus in sportellam. cum bullierit, frequenter leuas et ponis ne dissiliat.

6.8.8. Chicken boiled in its own sauce: pound pepper, cumin, a little thyme, fennel seed, mint, rue, laser root; pour on vinegar, add date and pound. Flavour with honey, vinegar, liquamen and oil. Cool and dry the chicken and serve in the sauce.

6.8.9. Boiled chicken with boiled gourds: pour the sauce written above, with the addition of mustard, over the chicken and serve.

6.8.10. Boiled chicken with boiled taros: pour over the sauce written above and serve. You can also stuff the un-boiled bird with preserved olives, but not with too many, so that some space remains and it does not burst while it is cooking in the pot, lowered there in a basket. When it is boiling lift it out and replace it frequently so it does not burst.

The authors note that other translators have considered 6.8.10 to be two recipes, but they opted to give it as one; I don't think the olives part has much to do with the taro part, myself. But given I was just making a single chicken piece as a trial rather than a whole chicken, stuffing it with anything wasn't an option anyway.

My guess:

1 half split chicken breast, bone in and skin on
1 taro root (about the size of a medium potato)
a few peppercorns
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1/2 teaspoon fennel seed
a few mint leaves, shredded
a few small sprigs of rue, chopped
1/2 teaspoon asafoetida
2 teaspoons vinegar
2 dates, chopped
2 tablespoons honey
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon powdered mustard

Put the chicken in a saucepan with enough water to cover (about three cups) and bring to the boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Grind the seeds and spices in a morter, then add the leaves and grind to a paste; add a teaspoon of the vinegar to loosen it up and put in with the chicken. Grind the dates as best you can in the mortar, then add the honey to make a very sticky mess. Add the remaining vinegar to thin and the liquamen if also necessary; throw it all in with the chicken with the oil and the mustard and give it a good stir.

When the chicken is getting towards done (twenty minutes to a half hour depending on its size), peel the taro and cut it into chunks, then put in with the chicken; cook at least another fifteen minutes longer. When both the chicken and taro are cooked, fish them out and put them on a plate. Bring the sauce to a boil and let reduce till fairly thick, then pour over the chicken and taro and serve.

You could of course use whatever cut of chicken you prefer; I opted for a split breast because I figured the skin and bones would give it a bit more flavor (plain skinned breasts can be really very bland). I had to sort of do the grinding in stages given the small size of my mortar but it all worked and I actually did manage to get the dates to a genuine paste; when the sauce was cooked there were no little bits of date at all. Grocock and Grainger do mention that dried fruits were probably soaked before being ground, which does make a lot of sense.

So, this was really very good; the chicken was quite tasty even though it was boiled, and the taro was lovely and sweet and absorbed quite a bit of the flavor of the sauce. Strangely enough I couldn't taste half the herbs in it on their own—I would never have guessed there was mint in it, for example—but they all came together into something rich and a little sweet. I could taste the mustard (which I did want to), but even that wasn't overpowering.

The only problem I had with it was that there was a tiny bit of bitterness to it, though I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It seemed to be in the sauce, but there should have been plenty of honey in there to counteract the rue; I wonder if it was the asafoetida, but I don't know. In researching taro for this, though, I learned that the eddoe variety is known to have a bit of an acrid taste, so I wonder if that was it, though it did seem to be in the sauce. Other than that, though (which might be cured by adding just a little more honey), it was very good, and I'm going to consider it a keeper.

Apicius 5.5.2: Barley Soup

This one sounded interesting, if a little weird. I liked the mix of grains and pulses, but I also couldn't figure out how it wouldn't be, well, licorice soup. I really did think it had the potential to be absolutely horrible. But I tried it anyway. Dried beans are cheap, and hey, one should live a little, right?

It should be noted that this recipe is almost word-for-word the same as an earlier one in Apicius, namely 4.4.2, where it is called tisanum barricam. Barricam being an otherwise unknown word, Grocock and Grainger tentatively translate it as 'thick'; maybe, maybe not. It did end up fairly thick, for the record.

[5.5.2] aliter tisanum: infundis cicer lenticulam pisam. defricas tisanam et cum leguminibus elixas. ubi bene bullierit, olei satis mittis et super uiridia concidis: porrum coriandrum anetum feniculum betam maluam coliculum mollem. haec uiridia minuta concisa in caccabum mittis; coliculos elixas et teres feniculi semen satis, origanum silfi ligusticum. postquam triueris, liquamine temperas et super legumina refundis. agitas. coliculorum minutas super concidis.

5.5.2. Another barley soup: soak chick peas, lentils and peas; crush barley and boil it with the vegetables. When they are well boiled, add sufficient oil and chop (these) greens into it: leek, coriander, dill, fennel, beet (leaves), mallow, tender cabbage; chop the greens finely and put them in the pan. Boil (more) cabbage and pound a good quantity of fennel seed, oregano, silphium and lovage. After you have ground them, flavour them with liquamen and pour back over the vegetables and stir. Chop the cabbage finely and sprinkle over.

I wasn't sure what 'mallow' was, being an American; given what I could find out about it online it looks like it was a plant I used to have in my garden as an ornamental, something that was being called a miniature hollyhock or malva. While it was very pretty, it was also hideously invasive and so I'd ripped it out a couple years ago. I had no idea the leaves were edible. Well, supposedly; I'm still not sure I got the right plant. Anyway I left it out.

In other news, I did actually find some lovage! A sort of local specialty herb place had it, so I took the trip over there and bought a plant (they didn't have it dry). This being the end of the season though I had to pick the least scraggly of the ones they had left, oh well. It does have a nice new shoot coming in from the middle, so I assume it will be fine (if it makes it through the winter, which it should, I think). But it's pretty small yet and I didn't want to start picking off its leaves, the poor thing. So I used celery seed, still. But I found some! (You don't know how proud of that I am.)

I also made a fairly small quantity (so I thought) because, like I said, I was half sure the thing was going to be completely inedible.

1/4 cup dried chick peas
1/4 cup dried lentils (I used the little ones)
1/4 cup split peas
1/4 cup pearl barley
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 leek (white and light green parts only), cut into half-moons and thoroughly washed
decent handful cilantro or parsley, chopped
4 large sprigs dill leaves, chopped
4 or 5 large sprigs fennel leaves, chopped
4 or 5 beet leaves, shredded
small wedge of cabbage, shredded
1 teaspoon fennel seed
1 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon asafoetida
1 teaspoon celery seed or lovage
1 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)

Put the chickpeas in some water and bring to a boil. Let them boil for a couple minutes, then turn off the heat and let them soak for an hour. Or, soak them overnight to use the next day.

Put the beans/grains in a pot with four cups of water. Bring to the boil then reduce the heat; let them simmer for something like an hour and a half, until the chickpeas are tender (by that time the peas and the lentils will be starting to dissolve), skimming the foam every so often and adding more water when needed to keep it the consistency of soup. Add the olive oil, then stir in the leeks and the chopped greens, and cook until tender.

Grind up the seeds in a mortar, then add them and the other spices to the soup. Stir in the liquamen and let it cook a few more minutes.

Boil some more shredded cabbage to use as a garnish, if desired.

So, by the time this was done I was really dubious, what with the fennel leaves and fennel seed both. But I was really quite pleasantly surprised—not only did the anise flavor not dominate, it actually gave the whole thing a refreshing sort of flavor, especially combined with the dill. It was actually really good. The lentils and the peas were starting to dissolve and become the body of the soup; I suppose I should have left it longer to really cook down, but I was getting a bit impatient.

I'm quite surprised by how well it turned out. The only thing I would change (or rather, add) would be to throw some chicken broth in there. It did make a decent broth on its own, but it could have used a bit of extra oomph (though I suspect the Romans would have used more liquamen than I did). Otherwise, though, it all worked quite well. I do think it was important to keep it fairly thin for quite a while, because the greens needed to be able to cook in something that was mostly water; I added probably another four cups of water as it simmered. But it thickened up pretty quickly at the end.

So, surprisingly enough this one is a keeper!

Apicius 1.33 & 4.1.3: Cheese Spreads

In the back: the sweet Apicius 1.33; the front, savory 4.1.3

There are a few cheese mixtures in Apicius, to be eaten, I assume, with bread; two of them caught my eye because of the contrast in flavors. Also they looked pretty simple to put together, always a plus. The first one was a sweet mix, with raisins and dates in it; the second a savory one including garlic, surprisingly rare in Apicius as it was considered a food of the lower classes. The first recipe:

XXXIII YPOTRIMA: piper ligusticum mentam aridam nucleos pineos uuam passam cariotam caseum dulcem mel acetum liquamen oleum uinum defritum aut caroenum.

1.33. Hypotrimma: pepper, lovage, dried mint, pine nuts, raisins, dates, sweet cheese, honey, vinegar, liquamen, oil, wine, defrutum or caroenum.

According to Grocock and Grainger hypotrimma means 'something ground up', i.e. a paste made in a mortar; it looks to be the Greek equivalent of the Latin mortarium. (There is in fact a recipe titled Mortaria just down the page.)

The second recipe was strictly speaking a salad, with I think bread crumbs mixed into it; it's a little vague, though, and so I opted to try just the cheese mixture on its own.

[4.1.3] aliter sala cattabia: panem Alexandrinum excauabis; in posca macerabis. adicies in mortarium piper mel mentam alium coriandrum uiridem caseum bubulum sale conditum aquam oleum; insuper niuem et inferes.

4.1.3. Another sala cattabia: hollow out an Alexandrian loaf. Soak (the crumb) in posca. Put in a mortar pepper, honey, mint, garlic, green coriander, cows' cheese, salt, spiced wine, water and oil. Stand (the pot) in snow and serve.

There are three recipes labelled sala cattabia; I assume sala is 'salad' but I don't know what the cattabia part means, and G&G (they are officially G&G now) don't explain it. They do all use bread, or bread crumbs in the recipe, so maybe that's just what that type of salad was called. Posca is a kind of drink made from wine that's gone sour and turned to vinegar; that doesn't sound all that appetizing to modern western tastes, but there are known drinks made with vinegar, such as the old Persian sekanjabin. At any rate though since I left the bread part out I didn't use it.

I have to admit that 'cows' cheese' did confuse me at first; but then I realized that cheese was probably more commonly made with goats' or ewe's milk than cows' at the time, so the distinction was necessary. I used ricotta for both, assuming it was something like simple homemade farmer's cheese. The Romans did have a variety of cheeses available, both hard and soft, but I have no idea how any of that corresponds to modern cheeses, so I went with what seemed simple. And again, I don't have any lovage, so substituted celery seed.

Oh, and I'm one of those people who cannot stand cilantro (which is what is meant by 'green coriander'). Since it's a genetic thing, I'm going to assume there were plenty of ancient Romans who hated the stuff too, and so would have had to find something else to use. I substituted parsley; alas, the local supermarket had had a run on the fresh stuff (there was a bin for it which was empty save for a few stray leaves), so I used dry, which is kind of a crime, I know. I also didn't have spiced wine, so just used regular wine.

The recipes:

Sweet Cheese Spread (Apicius 1.33)

1 cup ricotta cheese
a few peppercorns (or more, to taste)
1/2 teaspoon celery seed
4 or 5 fresh mint leaves
1 tablespoon pine nuts
2 teaspoons raisins
3 dates
1 teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon vinegar
1/4 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon sweet wine
1 tablespoon caroenum

Grind the peppercorns in a mortar with the celery seed; add the mint and mash to a paste, then the pine nuts. Add the raisins and dates (you may need to empty the mortar first if there isn't room) and do your best to get them to a sticky paste too (or use a food processor). Add the honey, then the rest of the ingredients to thin it out, then mix it into the ricotta in a bowl. Serve as a spread on bread.

Savory Cheese Spread (Apicius 4.1.3)

1 cup ricotta cheese
a few peppercorns (or more, to taste)
1 teaspoon honey
8-10 fresh mint leaves
1 clove garlic, peeled
1 teaspoon chopped cilantro or parsley
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon wine
1 teaspoon olive oil

Grind the peppercorns first; add the mint, garlic, parsley and salt and make as fine a paste as you can (you probably don't want chunks of raw garlic in there). Add the honey and mix, then the wine and olive oil to thin. Mix into the ricotta, and serve on bread.

These were both quite nice, though I didn't get the dates nearly as mushed up as I thought I had, so the sweet version still had a few chunks in it. I think I'd prefer it smoother, personally, and would use a food processor next time. It was quite well balanced though and had a lovely richness to it, so I'm calling that a keeper.

I was really leery of getting the second one too garlicky (and in fact made sure to mix it second, because I figured the garlic would linger in the mortar no matter how well I scrubbed it out), but I think I under spiced it. It was pretty good, and the mint and garlic were balanced against each other, but a bit too mild; I'd redo it with twice the amount of each, as well as a good deal of fresh parsley to complement the mint. It was a good start though. I left it in the fridge overnight (rather than standing the pot in snow!) thinking it might get a little stronger as the flavors came together, but no. So that one will need a little tweaking before I call it final. Still though, it was definitely on the right track.

So one keeper, and one that needs tweaking. Not bad!

Apicius 3.7 Melon Salad

And another simple summery dish, this time watermelon with a sweet and sour dressing. Following are the Latin and English versions, once again from my copy of Apicius: A Critical Edition with an Introduction and English Translation by Christopher Grocock and Sally Grainger, which I have to say is a damned fine edition of Apicius, with an awful lot of helpful appendices on ingredients &c.

VII. PEPONES ET MELONES. piper puleium mel uel passum liquamen acetum. interdum et silfi accedit.

3.7. LONG AND ROUND SWEET MELONS: pepper, pennyroyal, honey or passum, liquamen, vinegar. Sometimes silphium is added.

I had just sort of assumed that melons like watermelon were New World things, since they look (to this non-botanist's eye anyway) related to the squashes like zucchini and butternut; but no. Poking around on the internet I fell down the rabbit hole of JSTOR to find Melons and Watermelons in the Classical Era by Alfred C. Andrews published in Osiris, Vol 12 (1956), which article says that there are even representations of melons in paintings from Herculaneum and Pompeii (although poking through some books and google images I couldn't find them, alas). According to Andrews watermelons are native to southern Africa, while cantaloupes and muskmelons are native to Asia and Africa; the ancient Egyptians had them, which must have been very welcome in that climate, and from there they spread to Greece and then Rome. I think that's pretty cool (but then I am a dork; witness this blog.)

As usual the "recipe" is just a list of ingredients with no proportions; it looked like it could reasonably be a vinaigrette dressing to pour over the melon pieces, so that's what I did.

This recipe uses some ingredients that are very typical of Roman food while very unusual to modern tastes, so I'll explain (and I really shouldn't take any credit for these explanations as they are all cribbed from Grocock and Grainger).

First, passum is a very sweet raisin wine; I don't drink so don't know much about wines, but I hear it is a little tricky to come by. But since the recipe gives honey as an alternative, I used that.

Liquamen is the famous fermented fish sauce. Grocock and Grainger devote an entire section of the appendix to liquamen and garum, concluding that garum (the more familiar name to modern readers) is a higher quality table condiment, often made with fish blood, while liquamen was the more common version made from whole fish and used in cooking (and hopefully I have got that straight). Luckily Thai fish sauce is really quite close to liquamen and readily available, though it's probably rather saltier than liquamen.

Silphium is the famous extinct herb/resin which was greatly loved by the Romans; as it went extinct in classical times they had already figured out substitutes such as its relative asafoetida, which I have some of, but have never opened because frankly I'm a little scared of the stuff. It's also called 'devil's dung', after all. But that was optional anyway, and given that I'm still a modern American and not acclimated to Roman cuisine just yet, I took the coward's route and left it out.

Now, pennyroyal is perfectly well-known in modern times; there is, however, some controversy about its toxicity (it has been implicated in some deaths), so I went with its common relative mint. Which, and I feel very silly for this, I bought fresh. I have plenty of mint in my garden (if you have any mint in your garden you have plenty of mint) but it's chocolate mint, and I didn't think that was going to work. So I bought freakin' mint.

My original guess at proportions:

2 cups sliced watermelon
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon liquamen (Thai fish sauce)
10 peppercorns, ground
10 mint leaves, shredded (about 1 tablespoon)

Put the watermelon in a bowl; whisk the remaining ingredients in another bowl and pour over the watermelon.

I'm definitely on the fence on this one. On the one hand it had plenty of interesting contrast—the heat of the pepper vs. the coolness of the melon, the sour vinegar vs. the sweet honey, and the salt of the liquamen also balancing out the sweetness. But it's hard to tell. I don't know if I just don't have the hang of Roman food, or if the proportions need tweaking, or if maybe I just don't like it. I even went pretty light (I thought) on the liquamen because after all that stuff kind of smells like wet dog to me. It was also really really peppery (and a bit heavy on the salt from the liquamen come to think of it). I think maybe I should try it again, halving the liquamen and pepper while leaving the rest as it is. Also I think the dressing would have benefited from sitting overnight in the fridge to come together a bit.

I guess this one gets a :|