because i know i can't stay out of this blue hell

The arrival of plague

Yellow shirt/Dora Maar

ROMAN GAME HEN WITH HAZELNUT SAUCE (1st c. AD)

After making a couple of simpler Tasting History recipes, I finally had the time and motivation (I am in between jobs) to make a more complex recipe: Roman Game Hen with Hazelnut Sauce. This recipe comes once again from De Re Coquinaria of Apicius, an ancient Roman collection of recipes from the 1st century AD. Max made this recipe because he wanted to make a recipe using the same ingredients that would have been available to Alexander the Great. Unfortunately, not many recipes survive directly from Alexander's time and place in history, and as a result, a fancy Roman roast recipe is perhaps best to demonstrate Alexander's love for feasting. He was known for throwing lavish feasts, and as he conquered more and more land, he began to incorporate some of the feasting customs of the conquered lands into his own feasts. He was also known for his love of drinking, and accordingly, this recipe's sauce has a red wine base. I must forewarn that this recipe completely conquered me, much like Anatolia, Syria, Phoenicia, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Greater Iran, Afghanistan, and much of India were conquered by Alexander the Great. Perhaps fitting - learn from my mistakes! See Max’s video on how to make this dish here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I halved the recipe for this one, since Max made two hens and I knew that would be way too much for us. One is enough. I opted to use hazelnuts instead of almonds, saffron instead of safflower, fish sauce instead of garum, and long pepper instead of black pepper. I didn't have any dried mint or calamint on hand, so I used the equivalent amounts adjusted for the fresh mint I had. The red wine I used was a Cabernet Sauvignon from France, and the honey was linden tree honey. As you'll find out later, my major mistake that compromised this dish was buying a frozen hen called a "Suppenhuhn" here in Germany. I'll explain why that ruined my dish further down.

I thawed the frozen chicken earlier in the day, so it would be ready to cook for dinner. An hour or so before we wanted to eat, I began preparing the other ingredients. Firstly, I preheated the oven and measured out the hazelnuts, then I spread the hazelnuts out on a baking tray to roast. While they roasted, I chopped and portioned out all of my other ingredients. When the nuts were toasty, I took them out of the oven and began crushing them with a mortar and pestle (in batches, since mine is quite small). This took a while and caused a light bruise to form in the palm of my crushing hand, but they did smell like Nutella! Yum. Next, I added all the other ingredients except the calamint (or for me, mint) and celery leaves to a sauce pan, mixing and simmering for five minutes. At this point, I realized I had forgotten to add the ground hazelnuts to the sauce, so I quickly poured them in and let the sauce simmer for an extra minute or two. I then took the sauce off the heat and mixed in the mint and celery leaves.

Now came time to prepare the hen. I adjusted the temperature of the oven, then removed the hen from it's packaging - fully thawed! I put the bird breast-side up in a deep enamel baking pan, brushed it with olive oil, stabbed a few slits in it with a knife, and then poured the thick, nutty sauce (which was still pretty chunky) onto the bird, making sure to cover it as best as possible. There was no sauce left after I covered the bird, so I couldn't reserve any to use as a dipping sauce afterwards. I put the bird in the oven and let it roast for half an hour before checking its temperature. For some reason, the temperature was only about half what I expected it to be, so I decided to leave it in the oven for another ten minutes or so. When I took it out again, the internal temperature of the bird was still about ten degrees under what is safe to eat, so I put it back in the oven even though the hazelnut sauce crust on the bird was already reaching an awfully dark colour. Five minutes later, I removed the chicken once again to check the temperature to find out some of the hazelnuts on the crust had blackened. Uh oh. Luckily, the internal temperature had finally reached 165 degrees Fahrenheit (74 Celsius) - safe to eat! Amidst the baking, I prepared some broccoli and fried potatoes to accompany the chicken, so I plated those up and presented the slightly-charred bird on the table. It looked a little overcooked due to the charring, but I was confident the chicken inside should be cooked exactly right thanks to the meat thermometer.

My experience tasting it:

As always, I let my husband do the honours of carving the bird. I came to regret this! Using the carving knife, he tried his best to make the usual central incision: it was near impossible to cut through. He's a pretty strong guy, and has never had to fight with a roast in order to cut it to pieces before, but this bird seemed like it was made of pure bone or something! He changed tactics and tried to cut off just a leg. The skin alone was thicker than usual, almost as if there was cartilage casing the entire chicken. I fetched the scissors to see if that would cut through it. It did help, but he was pulling and sawing, and he eventually had to shout a few expletives. I felt terrible by this point, having spent money on several ingredients and several hours of my time only to create a disaster of a bird. Overcome with frustration, I shed a few tears. After a long-fought battle, my husband had finally gotten one measly leg off the damned bird, and we both tried a shred of the rubbery chicken. While it was cooked through, it was flavourless and dense, like chewing rubber.

By this point, my husband had to hold me back from throwing the whole bird out - it was truly a lost cause. I mean, we couldn't even cut it. I half-heartedly tried the sauce, and this was the only somewhat redeeming aspect of the roast. Because it had been in the oven so long, it had mostly dried up, and what was left were chunks of hazelnuts infused with the flavours and sediment of the sauce - quite delicious, in fact. The red wine and herbs had that typical, rich Roman flavour, very savoury and strong. If the chicken had been a normal roast chicken, the sauce would have tasted lovely on it. I decided to read up online about the German "Suppenhuhn" to see what it was. I had trusted that a chicken is a chicken is a chicken, and all would taste roughly the same when roasted - that was clearly naive. To quote Google, a Suppenhuhn is a "12-15 month old laying hen. Their meat is very flavourful, but must be cooked for at least 1 hour to make it tender." So, we had tried to roast an older hen that had a higher amount of fat, and that was why it was so difficult to cut into. So, I class this as a failed attempt, and because of how emotional it made me when it all went wrong and how many hours and ingredients were wasted, I will probably not try this recipe again. I know it's not the recipe's fault, it probably tastes quite nice when it goes well, but I don't know if I have the patience for this one. Either way, I learned some lessons: don't buy a Suppenhuhn unless you're making soup, and don't cry over old hen. If you end up making this dish (successfully or unsuccessfully!), if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Links to harder-to-find ingredients:

Long Pepper

Garum

Roman Game Hen with Hazelnut Sauce original recipe (1st c.)

Sourced from De Re Coquinaria of Apicius (1st c.).

Aliter Ius in Avibus, Another Sauce for Birds: Pepper, parsley, lovage, dried mint, safflower, pour in wine, add toasted hazelnuts or almonds, a little honey with wine and vinegar, season with garum. Add oil to this in a pot, heat it, stir in green celery and calamint. Make incisions in the birds and pour the sauce over them.

Modern Recipe

Based on the recipe from De Re Coquinaria of Apicius (1st c.) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

2 cups (250 g) hazelnuts or almonds

1 tsp ground long pepper or black pepper

2 tsp minced fresh parsley

2 tsp dried or fresh lovage

1 1/2 tsp dried mint

A pinch of safflower threads, or saffron threads

1 1/2 cups (350 ml) dry red wine

2 tbsp honey

2 tbsp red wine vinegar

2 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp garum or fish sauce

2 tsp minced celery leaves

1 tsp minced calamint, or catmint or spearmint

Whatever fowl you like, I used 2 game hens

Olive oil, for brushing the birds

Method:

First prepare to roast the hazelnuts or almonds by preheating the oven to 350°F (175°C). Spread the nuts onto a baking pan and bake for about 12 to 15 minutes, moving the nuts around once or twice during the cook time. You can stir them or gently shake the pan. You’ll know they’re ready when you can smell the toasty nutty aroma.

Using a mortar and pestle or a food processor, grind the nuts into a coarse powder.

In a saucepan, stir together the ground nuts and all of the other ingredients except for the celery leaves and calamint.

Bring the sauce to a simmer over medium heat, and simmer for 5 minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the celery leaves and calamint.

You can now serve the sauce forth as-is with cooked poultry, but I cooked my game hens with the sauce for some extra flavor. To do this, first preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).

Arrange your poultry breast-side up in a baking dish. Brush them with olive oil. Pierce the breast of the birds several times with a knife, then pour the sauce over them, reserving some of the sauce for serving if you wish. The ground nuts will form a layer on the birds that will become a lovely crust.

PINEAPPLE TART FILLING (1736)

Having achieved a goal I had been working towards for months, namely, taking my B1-level German test, I thought it would be nice to celebrate midweek with a sweet and simplified Tasting History recipe: a Pineapple Tart (well, just the filling) from 1736. Due to the fatigue of taking a two-day long test in another language, I didn't have it in me to also make the crust, so I followed Max's recommendation and just made the filling portion of this recipe, which comes from the 6th edition of The Country Housewife and Lady’s Director by R. Bradley. Europeans did not come across pineapples until the early 16th century, but they soon become a coveted fruit. For hundreds of years after, the pineapple served as a status symbol for European royalty and nobility. Just one pineapple could cost about $10,000 in today’s money, and pineapples were depicted in architecture, tableware, paintings, clothing, and accessories. Many people knew what pineapples looked like, but few had actually tasted one. Some people would even rent pineapples to display in their homes as finery for a special occasion, and since the pineapples were only rented and must be returned, the renters did not even get to taste them. Nowadays, we can count ourselves lucky that we have easy access to these sweet, tropical fruits even an ocean away. In fact, my supermarket even has a machine that will de-stem, peel, and chop the pineapple according to your specifications in just one minute - what absolute luxury! Pineapples being among my favourite fruits, I just had to try this recipe, even in a crustless version. See Max’s video on how to make this dish here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

As I mentioned, I decided to make only the filling for this recipe, as it makes it a whole lot easier, and I was running a bit low on energy. To see the crusted tart version of this recipe, definitely watch Max's video. In line with the original recipe, I used a Rainwater Madeira wine. I had never had Madeira wine before, so I did taste a little bit of it on its own first. It reminded me of port (it was fairly sweet), but with a bit of a sherry aftertaste. Quite delectable!

Beginning with Step 12 of Max's recipe (to skip the preparing of the crust), I used the fun pineapple-chopping machine at my supermarket to make the first few steps easier on myself. I returned home with a container full of a fresh pineapple chopped into chunks. Easy peasy! In a bowl, I added the Madeira wine and whisked in a cup of sugar. It seemed like an awful lot of sugar and as a result, I was unsure it was going to properly combine with the wine, but the more I whisked, the more uniform the mixture looked. I put the chunked pineapple into a large frying pan and drizzled the wine and sugar mixture overtop of the pineapple. Setting the stove on medium heat (since my stove tends to run hot), I fried the pineapples in their sugary bath for 30 minutes. Nearing the end, the mixture was frothing and bubbling up a lot, which I took to mean that it was nearly ready. The pineapple chunks had softened a lot, and I was worried for their structural integrity. I let the pan and contents cool for a few minutes. Max says you can serve this hot or cold, and I wanted to try it both ways, so I decided to serve myself a portion hot in a tiny coupe glass with whipped cream on top (as he suggests), and I poured the rest into a container to put in the fridge. This way, my husband and I could have a cold version for dessert later. Upon serving up my hot pineapple filling, I was originally a bit worried that the syrup part of the filling was too thin. But after checking the refrigerated filling after 5 minutes or so, I noticed that the syrup really thickened as it got colder. The hot pineapple I was about to eat had cooled enough that I wouldn't burn my tongue, so I swirled some whipped cream on top and dug in with my tiny spoon!

My experience tasting it:

My first bite, with a bit of filling and a bit of whipped cream, was positively terrific! The hot and cold combo worked really nicely, and the mixture of textures was also lovely. As someone who doesn't normally like pineapple in any of its 'hot' preparations like deep-fried or on a pizza, it was a surprise to me that I didn't mind it being hot in this recipe. I commend the Madeira wine and copious amounts of sugar for pitching in on that front. You could really taste the Madeira wine - it lended a complex, slightly savoury taste which I could only describe as 'fancy'. This tasted like a dessert that would be served at a fine dining restaurant (in flavour, not in presentation!). I do think that if you don't make the crust, it is essential to add the whipped cream for this dessert, as otherwise, the sugar would most definitely overwhelm your tastebuds. And that's coming from me, a self-described sweet-tooth! After thoroughly enjoying the hot version of this pineapple tart filling, it came back for a chilled encore later that evening. For dessert, I served myself and my husband a cup each of the pineapple filling topped again with whipped cream. I'm not sure if it was only because it was over 30 degrees Celsius, our first really summery day, but the chilled version of this recipe was even better than the warm version. The flavour of the Madeira wine absolutely shone alongside the acidity of the pineapple and the sweetness of the syrup, and the whipped cream brought an extra lightness to an otherwise heavy dessert. I still think I could only eat one portion in a sitting due to how sweet it is, but in all other respects, this dish was really fantastic. My husband and I both loved it, and agreed to make it again in the future. I will perhaps try it at some point with the originally-intended crust. I completely see why the pineapple was so prized in Europe for so long, especially considering the great distances they must travel to get here. If you end up making this recipe, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Pineapple Tart original recipe (1736)

Sourced from The Country Housewife and Lady’s Director, 6th edition by R. Bradley (1736) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

To make a Tart of Ananas, or Pine-Apple. From Barbadoes. Take a Pine-Apple, and twist off its Crown: then pare it free from the Knots, and cut it in Slices about half an Inch thick; then stew it with a little Canary Wine, or Madera Wine, and some Sugar, till it is thoroughly hot, and it will distribute its Flavour to the Wine much better than any thing we can add to it. When it is as one would have it, take it from the Fire; and when it is cool, put it into a sweet Paste, with its Liquor, and bake it gently, a little while, and when it comes from the Oven, pour Cream over it, (if you have it) and serve it either hot or cold.

Modern Recipe

Based on the recipe from The Country Housewife and Lady’s Director, 6th edition by R. Bradley (1736) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Crust

1/2 cup (113 g) butter, cut into small pieces

1 3/4 cups (225 g) flour

Generous 1/3 cup (40 g) powdered sugar

1 tablespoon brandy

1 tablespoon Malmsey or other semi sweet dessert wine

1/4 cup (60 ml) milk

Filling

1 small pineapple

1 cup (200 g) sugar

1/2 cup (120 Malmsey or other semi sweet dessert wine

Method:

For the crust: Whisk the flour and powdered sugar together in a large bowl.

Rub the butter into the flour mixture with your fingers until it’s well incorporated and has a sandy texture.

Add the brandy, wine, and about half of the milk and work the mixture with your hands until it begins to form a dough. If the mixture is too dry, add more milk a little at a time until it comes together. You may not need all of the milk.

Turn the dough out onto a work surface and knead it a few times until there are no more bits of flour visible.

Flatten the dough out into a disc about 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick, wrap it up, and refrigerate it for at least 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C).

After the dough has chilled and rested for at least 1 hour, place it on a lightly floured work surface. Press the dough disc all over with a rolling pin until it softens up enough to roll out. Roll the dough out to 1/8 inch (3 mm) thick.

You can make one 9 inch tart or six 4 inch ones. Line your preferred tart tin(s) with the dough, making sure to press dough gently into the bottom and sides. Dock the bottom of the tart(s) all over with a fork.

Blind bake the dough by lining it with parchment and filling them with baking weights, dry beans, or dry rice. Crumpling the parchment up before using it can help it reach into the corners. Place the tins on a baking sheet.

Bake for 15 minutes, then carefully remove the parchment and baking beans. Return to the oven for 5 minutes or until the bottom of the tart(s) looks dry and the crust has lightly browned. Let the tart crust cool and remove from the tart pan(s). Place the crust(s) on a baking sheet.

For the filling: Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).

Slice the top and bottom off of the pineapple, then cut off the prickly skin. Use a paring knife to carefully cut out any remaining prickly bits.

Slice the pineapple into 1/2 inch (1 cm) slices and remove the core. A small round cookie cutter is helpful for core removal. If you’re making smaller tarts, then cut the pineapple rings into pieces, about sixths or eighths. If you’re making a large tart, you can leave them whole. Place the pineapple in a large pan.

In a bowl, whisk together the wine and sugar until the sugar is mostly dissolved. Pour this mixture over the pineapple.

Set the pan over medium high heat and bring it to a simmer. Let it simmer until the pineapple has become quite soft and the syrup has thickened, about 25 to 30 minutes. Take the pan off the heat and let the pineapple cool for a few minutes.

To assemble: Spoon the pineapple into your tart(s), filling most of the way. Pour some of the syrup over the pineapple. You may want to simmer the syrup by itself for a little while longer if it’s not nice and thick.

Bake the tart(s) for 20 minutes or until the syrup is bubbling.

PAPAL CONCLAVE BABY BACK RIBS (1570)

Having much more time on my hands than I expected this weekend, I felt it was the perfect time to spend it making a Tasting History dish that was eaten at the 1549 papal conclave in the Vatican: Papal Conclave Baby Back Ribs. Bartolomeo Scappi, the personal chef of Pope Pius IV and known as one of the first 'celebrity chefs', cooked baby back ribs for the cardinals deliberating over who would become the next pope in 1549. Scappi later wrote down the recipe for his ribs in his 1570 cookbook, Opera dell’arte del cucinare, known today as the Opera di Bartolomeo Scappi. This cookbook is unique for the time period, as Scappi not only describes the preparation of dishes, but also depicts illustrations showing steps for preparing and transporting the food. The food served to the papal conclave cardinals varies greatly depending on time period, as you could guess. In general however, the dishes served to the cardinals would be tested for poison, inspected for secret messages, put in special containers, and delivered to the cardinals using a turntable called Ruota del Conclave. For the conclave of 1549, the cardinals were not deliberating in the Sistine Chapel specifically, but in the Pauline Chapel. The Sistine Chapel was actually used as their dormitory, and each cardinal would have a curtained off wooden cell there where they would eat and sleep separately. Despite all of these measures however, the conclave of 1549 is known as one of the more controversial, as pretty much all of the rules of secrecy had been broken and the deliberations were therefore almost entirely known by the public. At least they had good food, though! I've never made ribs before, and what better way to try making them than with a recipe fit for a pope. See Max’s video on how to make this dish here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I had originally intended to halve this recipe, purchasing only 500g of baby back ribs instead of 1kg, but I noticed that mine didn't look too much smaller than Max's, so I decided to follow the rest of the recipe as written. I didn't find any saba to use for my defrutum, so I reduced some grape juice down to 1/3, as Max suggests. Unforunately, my measuring was a little off, so I ended up with one less tablespoon than needed for the sauce. To compensate for this in an attempt to keep the ratio of ingredients for the sauce balanced, I also reduced to the amount of red wine vinegar to 1 teaspoon instead of 1 tablespoon. I think it helped!

The night before I wanted to serve the ribs, I prepared them so they could marinate in the fridge overnight. I pulled the silverskin off the back of the ribs using the method Max describes: first cutting with a knife, then pulling it all the way off with a paper towel. To my surprise, this worked quite well! I mixed the salt and 1 teaspoon of ground coriander seed together, then rubbed it on both sides of the ribs. Following this, I prepared the marinade by chopping 3 cloves of garlic (mine were pretty big cloves, but when it comes to garlic, the more the merrier, in my opinion!) and mixing it with another teaspoon of ground coriander seed, a teaspoon of red wine vinegar, and a tablespoon of the reduced grape juice. It didn't completely combine, but I pushed forward anyways and brushed it over the front and back of the ribs until they were covered. I did all of this over a large piece of aluminum foil, which I then wrapped around the meat tightly so the juices would seep into the meat as it sat in the fridge overnight.

The next day, I preheated the oven, peeled and chopped the onions into quarters, then brought the tinfoil package of ribs out of the fridge. Unwrapping it, I placed the onion quarters in a row under the concave part of the ribs, then wrapped the package up again. I don't have a wire baking rack, so I just placed the package on a baking tray and put it in the oven. I left it in there for two and a half hours before deciding to check it with a meat thermometer (I wanted to make sure it hit a safe temperature for eating). Online it said the internal temperature should reach 190 degrees Fahrenheit when ready, so I aimed for that. The first time I checked it, it was still around 170 degrees, so I popped it back in the oven for another half hour. The next time I checked it, at the three-hour mark, the temperature was 187 degrees, so I put it back in for another 5 minutes. I figured that was close enough, because I did want to pop the ribs uncovered under the broiler to get a crisp on it, and I figured this would push it to the right temperature in the end. While I put the ribs under the broiler at 250 degrees Celsius, I made the sauce. I chopped the last clove of garlic, let that cook in some hot oil in a saucepan, added the last teaspoon of ground coriander seed, and kept stirring until it smelled nice. Then, I added the rest of the reduced grape juice and the teaspoon of red wine vinegar and simmered for a couple minutes. Max was right - it did not really thicken at all. As it simmered, I took the ribs out from under the broiler, and they looked like they had finally gotten a nice crisp on them (before they had looked fairly gelatinous). I cut them in two parts, drizzled about half the sauce on top, and surrounded the ribs with the roasted onions on a plate. I served them forth feeling quite proud of myself - they really looked like ribs you might see in a restaurant! Although I will admit, they didn't smell quite as good as real barbecue.

My experience tasting it:

My husband and I dug in immediately, leaving our manners behind and pulling the ribs apart with our fingers after a more than three-hour wait to eat. Ribs are supposed to be messy, and these were just a little bit. Because the sauce was thinner than your average barbecue sauce, they left less residue behind. The meat came off the bone well, as we tore in, but did not quite 'fall off the bone'. We didn't care though, they tasted really, really wonderful. I can't say I've tasted a sauce quite like it: while garlic was a forward flavour, the salt and ground coriander were the main flavour, with just enough sweetness from the reduced grape juice and just enough acidity from the red wine vinegar. I was really happy I adjusted the amount of red wine vinegar to keep the ratio constant with the amount of reduced grape juice I had, because otherwise the main flavour of the sauce would be vinegar! The rub, marinade, and sauce had really worked together perfectly to bring a wonderful taste to the ribs, and the ribs were also still pretty tender. I was so impressed I didn't mess those up, since I sometimes have problems cooking meats properly. The roasted onion also tasted fantastic with the sauce, so we dipped those into the remaining sauce. We finished the papal conclave ribs in record time, wishing we had more but thankful we didn't, since we were, in fact, full. Even though this recipe takes a long time to make and requires some overnight waiting, I will definitely make them again, perhaps for friends or family when they come for a visit. They are impressive visually, not to mention flavour-wise, and the sauce is wonderfully unique - something special. It's no surprise Scappi's food was well-loved by the cardinals of the papal conclave, and I can totally see why some conclaves lasted up to three years in those early days. I would also want more of that delicious conclave food! If you end up making this dish, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Papal Conclave Baby Back Ribs original recipe (1570)

Sourced from the Opera di Bartolomeo Scappi (1570) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Different ways to cook the back ribs of a domestic pig If the pig is young, the ribs can be roasted on the spit with the rind, or without, and with onions split in the pan, which are cooked with the fat that drips from the meat as it cooks…and before it is put on the spit, it is sprinkled with salt and ground coriander seed. You could also let the ribs stand in a marinade of vinegar, grape must syrup, garlic cloves and coriander, and then cook it on the spit in the above way, serving it hot with a sauce on top made of the same seasoning…

Links to Harder-To-Find Ingredients:

Saba

Modern Recipe

Based on the recipe from the Opera di Bartolomeo Scappi (1570) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Ribs

1 rack, about 2 lbs (1 kg) baby back ribs

1 tablespoon salt

1 teaspoon ground coriander

2-3 small onions, I used white

Marinade

3 cloves garlic

1 teaspoon ground coriander

1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

1 tablespoon sapa/saba*

Sauce

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 clove garlic

1 teaspoon ground coriander

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

3 to 4 tablespoons sapa/saba*

*Saba, or sapa, is grape must that has been reduced down to a syrup. It can be expensive, so you can reduce some grape juice instead to about 1/3 of your starting amount. It won't be as complex as saba, but it will work just fine.

Method:

To prepare the ribs: If your ribs still have the silver skin on the back, you can remove it if you’d like. This isn’t necessary, but it makes for a more pleasant texture in the end. To remove the silver skin, carefully pry it up with a sharp knife (often easier said than done), then you should be able to peel it off. A paper towel is helpful for getting a better grip on the silver skin.

Sprinkle the salt evenly over both sides of the ribs and rub it in, then do the same with the ground coriander.

For the marinade: Crush the garlic, then whisk it together with the ground coriander, red wine vinegar, and sapa.

Set the ribs on a large piece of aluminum foil. Brush the marinade evenly over both sides of the ribs, using all of the marinade. Wrap the ribs up tightly in the foil and place them in the fridge to marinate overnight.

To cook the ribs: Preheat the oven to 275°F (135°C). Place a wire rack on a baking sheet.

Peel and chop the onions into quarters. Unwrap the marinated ribs and place the onion quarters underneath the ribs.

Rewrap the ribs tightly and place them on the wire rack and baking sheet, and bake for 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

When the meat is falling off the bone, they’re done. For extra authenticity, you can open up the foil and place the ribs under the broiler for 2 to 3 minutes to darken them and better emulate Scappi’s open fires.

To make the sauce: Heat the olive oil in a pan over medium heat. Crush the garlic clove and add it to the pan along with the ground coriander. Cook, stirring occasionally, for a few minutes, until the garlic is fragrant. Stir in the red wine vinegar and the sapa and bring it to a simmer, then simmer for 2 minutes. The sauce will be fairly thin, much thinner than a modern barbecue sauce.