The Greasy Spoon

The Medieval Christmas Banquet

I'm quite curious about the food people ate in the Middle Ages. In The Big Fat Duck Cookbook, Heston Blumenthal mentions his fascination with a bizarre 14th century French cookery book, Le Viander de Taillevent, in which a chicken is plucked alive, basted with soya, wheat-germ and dripping to simulate roasting, coaxed asleep, and then 'brought back to life' at the table.

In case you're wondering, the rather beautiful illustration is from the Duc de Berry's Book of Hours and depicts the month of January.  It probably shows the Twelfth Night banquet, as during the Middle Ages the focus of the Christmas festivities tended to be during the Twelve Days of Christmas, and after the Advent Fast.

I've adapted a 15th century  English recipe for Goose in a Garlic and Grape Sauce which you could easily make at home. I haven't tried it yet, so I've no idea what it tastes like- it could be foul:

You make a stuffing out of garlic cloves, seedless grapes, chopped parsley and salt, and then stick it up a goose. Roast the bird in an oven set at 350C (20 minutes per pound). When you're happy that the goose is cooked, take it out of the oven, and set aside to cool.

Spoon out the cooked stuffing and blend it in a food processor, adding three hard-boiled egg yolks, and half a cup of cider vinegar. Spoon the finished sauce over the goose.

Pheasant Casserole

Pheasant Casserole! I can't think of anything more suitable for a cold November.  I once had it at a Sunday lunch party, served with a jug of foamy Black Velvet- and this worked surprisingly well. If you don't know anyone who shoots, pheasant are amazingly cheap to buy, either from your local butcher or decent supermarket such as Waitrose. I've plucked a few pheasants in my time, and I have to say that I'm not sure that it's worth the hassle, when you can a) get the butcher to pluck them for you (and do a much better job) or b) buy them from the shops, ready plucked, for a few quid.

Here's my family recipe for pheasant casserole (from The ABC of Tried and Tested Recipes), which I've adapted slightly from the original version. Take a large cock pheasant and fry it in butter and oil, until lightly browned. Add a dash of cognac, and flambé it quickly until the flames die down.  Remove the pheasant and put it into a casserole.

In the same pan, fry some chopped bacon, diced celery and carrots cut into batons.  Add two tablespoons of flour, and cook.  After a few minutes pour in half a bottle of red wine (I suggest using a Burgundy or a Rhone) and top up with some chicken stock.

Bring to the boil, and simmer gently so that the alcohol burns off.  Pour it over the pheasant in the casserole and add 50g button mushrooms and 175g button or baby onions.

Cook in a moderate oven for just over an hour.  Pheasant has a tendency to get dry and stringy very quickly, so I've cut down the cooking time.  I'm sure you'll get the drift: you want lots of sauce, and you need to make sure that you don't over cook the pheasant.

When you reckon the pheasant is ready, take the casserole out of the oven and let it cool down.  Lift out the pheasant and carve it up: cut the legs and wings off and carve the breasts.  Place the carved meat in a flat casserole dish with the sliced breasts in the centre, surrounded by the legs and the wings.  Place the vegetables, mushrooms and onions over the pheasant.

Strain off the sauce through a sieve into a small sauce pan-  this will get rid of all the nasty bits and pieces. Add two teaspoons of redcurrant jelly to the sauce and  chuck in some crushed juniper berries. I'm currently crazy about juniper (which, of course, is used to flavour gin).  It has a rich, pine-nut, woodlandly sort of  taste and works beautifully with game.  Check the seasoning. When the sauce is at the right consistency, pour it back over the pheasant.

Serve the casserole with parsnip chips.

Pheasant with Juniper Butter and Pear

Another gem from Nathalie Hambro. Remember our old friend, Juniper, from the gin post? The woody, aromatic flavours of the juniper berry work beautifully with game. I also like this recipe because it uses a chicken brick- and that is essential if you don't want the pheasant to dry out. As much as I love pheasant, the meat has a worrying habit of drying out, and the chicken brick will stop this happening. You should be able to get a chicken brick from Habitat.

Soak the chicken brick in cold water for about ten minutes. The clay in the brick will absorb the water. When the brick gets hot, the water turns to steam; and with all that moisture floating around, the pheasant will stop getting dry.

Take hold of your plucked pheasant, and wash it thoroughly. Peel a pear, and push it into the cavity of the pheasant. This will also help the pheasant to remain moist. Season the pheasant with salt and pepper. Crush some juniper berries, and rub them all over the pheasant. Saute the prepared bird in a pan with some butter and oil, for about six minutes, so that it is lightly browned all over.

Line the bottom of the chicken brick with tin foil, and put in the pheasant with its juices. Replace the top of the chicken brick, and bake in a preheated oven at 240C for an hour.

Now for the juniper butter. Finely chop up some shallots, and some garlic. Melt some butter in a pan, and add the garlic, shallots, and the crushed juniper berries you've got left over from the pheasant. Simmer for about twenty minutes. Take off the heat, and add the juice of two lemons, some chopped chives, and season with salt and pepper.

Serve slices of the cooked pheasant with a small helping of the pear (in effect a stuffing), and the juniper butter sauce.

Guineafowl

I was originally planning to write about pheasant (the season started on October 1st), but having a limited amount of time, I ended up buying some guineafowl breasts from my local supermarket. Guineafowl originally came from Africa, and they're strange looking critters. I've included a photograph of one below, and this is what they look like when they're on you're plate, above.

Like pheasant, guineafowl can be a rather dry meat, and you need to take care not to overcook them, otherwise the flesh can get a bit stringy. So what did I do with the guineafowl I bought? Essentially, I created an upmarket version of chicken n' chips. Yes, guineafowl can taste a bit like chicken- but with more flavour, and certainly it's more gamey in taste. Here's my recipe for Guineafowl in a Cognac and Chive Sauce with Parsnip Chips.

First, I seasoned the guineafowl breasts with salt and pepper. Then I pan-fried them in some oil and butter. The secret is to make sure they are well-browned, but not overcooked. You need to cook them on a medum heat- to sear the outside, but at the same time, ensure that the inside is not overcooked. Then I flambeed them in cognac. Flambe-ing (is that a word?) is always fun. You need to put a generous slug of brandy into the pan, and then tip the pan towards the flame if you've got gas. Woosh. Up to your eyebrows. In effect, you are burning off the alcohol and the fats (as well as your eyebrows) and leaving a subtle taste behind in the pan.

Then I took out the breasts and kept them warm. Into the pan went some stock, and when that was reduced, some single cream. Leave on the heat, let it bubble and reduce some more. You will end up with a thick creamy cognac sauce. Garnish with chopped chives.

The Parsnip Chips were easy. You need to take some parsnips and peel them. Next, slice them into very thin strips or batons (but first taking out the woody core bit in the middle). Par-boil them in water. This means placing them in a pan of cold water, and bringing it to the boil, so that they are only partially cooked. Take them out of the water and pat them dry. Sprinkle them with salt. Next deep fry them in oil. For this I used a wok, which worked perfectly well. When they are only slightly golden in colour, remove them; pat them dry again, and let them cool down.

Finally, finish them off by re-frying them in the hot oil. That way you will end up with perfectly crispy chips. Watch them like a hawk, though, to make sure they don't burn. And I think parsnip chips are infinitely preferable to the ordinary potato version. But then, strangely, I loathe mashed potato- but that's a long story...