#opuscula

Detail from the first page of Opuscula (circa 1460-1465), manuscript, by Pier Candido Decembrio (1399-1477). MS Richardson 23, Houghton Library, Harvard University

At the center of the monastery lay a garden, cloister-bound, full of pink crepe myrtle and orange bougainvillea, yellow lilies and red roses rambling around the plinths and legs of terracotta statues. A long pool edged in rime-whitened stone lay warm and green and still under the sun, one or another of its corners dappled by myrtle-bough shade if the wind blew. Nothing swam there, leaving water-skimmers and dragonflies to ruche its silk surface without a care for fish or turtles.

The monotony of beef, bread, and stew in pseudo-Medieval European fantasy novels has never been appealing to me, and even without traveling to other continents, I wish more people looked past the obvious wheat and cattle to take advantage of the wealth of plant and animal ingredients that would have been available to people in various corners of Europe over a thousand years ago. We didn’t invent vegetables and condiments during the Victorian era, after all. So here are a few meals a person in pseudo-Medieval Europe could eat, sans potatoes, the description of which has made me extremely hungry:

Mutton braised in white wine and rosemary, served with leeks and followed by pomace brandy.

Grilled artichoke on a bed of stewed watercress, topped with walnuts and dressed in a citron vinaigrette. Followed by roasted duck and mashed celery root in gravy, and finished with redcurrant kissel for dessert. Accompanied by ruby port.

Pork and mushroom forcemeat, baked into a pie with a loose, flaky crust. Eaten cold, by hand, with a pickle and a smear of sour cream.

Soft-boiled eggs and smoked herring served on a bowl of savory millet porridge, topped with scallions and accompanied by dark lager.

Saint Bonaventura

Opuscula