by Paul Elliott
Grooved ware pottery from the Neolithic period. (J. Thomas)
Early Iron Pottery
Cook pots were designed for the fire with flat bottoms, deep bodies, and thick walls. The clay was typically mixed with ‘grog’, which may have been sand, crushed shell, chopped straw, or ground-up pottery. This helped the pot to withstand the thermal shock of differential heating and prevented shrinkage when the newly made pot was drying. Cook pots were communal, and when the food within was ready it was ladled out into individual bowls. Most likely every family member had their own wooden or pottery bowl and spoon (either of wood or horn). During the Late Iron Age, an era of very conspicuous consumption, some of the pottery serving bowls were polished and finely made—they were statements of wealth as much as pieces of crockery. Contact with Roman culture brought access to olive oil, wine, and other luxuries, new ways to show off at feast-time.
Cooking with a Clay Pot
If there is one piece of clay pot advice to impart to a beginner, it is: be gentle. We are used to throwing a saucepan onto the stove, turning the heat up full blast, and cooking. The clay pot, no matter how thick-walled and sturdy in appearance, must be warmed slowly. It is the differential heating of the fabric, hot in one area, cold in another, which will cause the pot to crack—with fatal results. While the fire is still in its infancy, the prudent act is place the cook pot (holding a little water) on the edge of the hearth. As the fire builds, the pot can be turned at infrequent intervals in order to warm it through.
When the time comes to bring the pot together with direct heat, it is best to avoid flame. A bed of embers, however, is ideal and the flat-based design of most prehistoric cooking vessels suggests that roundhouse cooks were of the same mind. Adding water to the pot as it warms allows for a little heat transference away from the vulnerable walls of the vessel; I never place empty pottery onto the hearth. If the coals begin to cool, the correct procedure is the quick removal of the pot using a handy pot cloth (the prehistoric equivalent of the oven glove), followed by the shovelling of new coals into position. Finally, the pot is carefully lowered back onto the embers. When cooking begins, the warm water within the pot can be poured away and then immediately replaced with meat or vegetables (as the recipe demands). Stews and soups require water or stock to be added in some quantity, this must be added very slowly, a little bit at a time, to prevent the vessel walls from cracking. Always be aware of the risk to the pot. If a thick stew or pottage is desired, then go easy on the water you are adding. It is easy to add more but difficult to take it back out. Once all of the stock or water is in the pot, the stew can be left to simmer gently. If the food is bubbling furiously, then the heat is far too high and after the pot is temporarily removed, some of the embers can be pushed away, back into the fire. Simmering will take anything from one to two hours, depending on the size of the pot and the temperature of the embers. The fire must be tended and the heat regulated carefully and the pot might also benefit from being turned occasionally.
Other than breaking the pot in the fire, the greatest danger lies in overcooking the food. There is no ‘Gas Mark 6’ or ‘180 degrees’ setting on the hearth and so cooking heat is dependent on eye, on taste, and on experience. Making things doubly difficult is the narrow neck on some prehistoric pots, making it tough to get a good look at the state of the food within. What colour is the meat? Is the stock bubbling? Are those greens limp yet? Some designs, like the Neolithic grooved ware, are relatively wide-mouthed, which nullifies this problem. Still, the roundhouse environment is a dark one, and in such conditions it can be difficult to observe how the food cooks within even straight sided-pots like the grooved ware. These two mysterious variables, the temperature and state of the food, often drive experimental cooks to sit it out and the end result will invariably be an unappetising grey mush. I recommend small samples of the stew be regularly spooned into a bowl for analysis. Check out the meat and the vegetables—take the bowl outside into the sunlight if need be.
When the pot is removed from the fire, either temporarily in order to manage the coal bed, or at the end of cooking, I place it on a piece of flat timber. This absorbs the heat of the earthenware, preventing it from scorching the ground, it will not chip the pot and provides a known, reliable place in the roundhouse environment for the placement of a hot pot. From there the finished stew, soup, or pottage can be ladled out into individual eating bowls. Always serve with bread as it was in prehistory. It should be noted that earthenware vessels absorb some of the flavours from each delicious meal that has gone before, since the fat penetrates deep into the clay fabric. The Roman writer and gourmet Apicius recommended that a new cook pot be employed when preparing many of dishes he describes. Fish, in particular, has the potential to permanently taint a food vessel. I clean the clay pots that I use as soon as they have cooled down of their own accord—the dangers of trying to wash or rinse out a pot that is still warm are obvious. Remember, also, to dry the pot thoroughly; a wet earthenware jar left for too long in a cool place will only attract mould, which will soon spread across the whole jar, inside and out.
Clay Pot Recipes
Springtime Soup
In April or May, a delicious soup can be cooked from the juicy young leaves that are newly emerged from the chill of winter. You may vary the amounts and types of leaves used, but my springtime soup included leaves of dandelion, chive, ground ivy, and hawthorn. Hawthorn leaves are only palatable during the spring—do not pick them in late summer. I added yellow gorse flowers and both the stems, leaves, and flowers of red deadnettle. Both added a dash of colour to the dish. Fry the greens in butter and then add water gradually until the correct consistency is reached for soup. Simmer gently for twenty minutes.
Frumenty
Frumenty is possibly one of the oldest meals known to the prehistoric farmers of Britain and is made up simply of wheat grains soaked in water, which are then cooked in a pot. First, the grains are washed and then put into a clay pot with water to cover them. The pot sits by the fire for twelve hours, and must be turned regularly. During this time, the wheat grains should swell and then burst, and the stewed or ‘creed’ wheat should resemble a thick porridge. At the end of this time, if the wheat has not creed, then try boiling the mixture for five minutes or so. Frumenty has been served up in a variety of ways over the centuries, but for the poor farming family will have been eaten as it was, spooned out of the pot, perhaps with a pinch of salt. Honey, ground hazelnuts, or fresh berries do make a nice addition to frumenty.
Pease Pudding
Like frumenty, pease pudding was a simple and very basic recipe. It was a way to easily turn a dried and stored crop into a substantial meal.
•250 g dried peas
•Sprig of mint
•25 g butter
•Sea salt
•One egg (optional)
Dried peas are taken from storage and soaked in water overnight to soften them. Once drained, the peas are cooked in fresh water with a few mint leaves. Drain them once again and then mash; add a pinch of salt and one beaten egg (if desired). Now the pea mixture is tied into a floured cloth and hung to cook in a cauldron or large cookpot. The pease pudding will absorb flavours from the meat stock that is cooking in the pot. Simmer gently for an hour and then serve with the meat.
Marrow Bones
The marrow bones should come from the centre of a round of beef or from any part of the legs. The open ends of the bones must first be covered with a simple paste of flour and water to prevent the marrow oozing from the bone during cooking. Water is then brought to the boil in a pot and the marrow bones are placed upright in the water. After approximately twenty minutes the bones are removed and the marrow teased out with a knife. The marrow is soft and best served spread onto bread.
Venison Stew
Red deer and roe deer were hunted throughout prehistory, even after Britons settled down to farm the land. A study o
f prehistoric bone remains in Buckinghamshire indicated that hunted animals (mainly red and roe deer) made up around 5 per cent or less of the total.
•500 g venison, cubed
•250 ml of vegetable or meat stock
•100 g of chopped pig nut (or parsnip)
•1 tsp sea salt
•One bunch of chopped chives
•25 g butter
Fry the venison in butter until brown, then add the pig nut (or chopped parsnip if pig nut is unavailable) and the chives. Add salt and then pour in the vegetable stock. I used what left-over stock I had from a batch of springtime soup. Allow the stew to simmer for an hour before serving with bread.
Soay Stew
Mutton refers to meat from sheep that is over two years old (lamb meat, on the other hand, is generally from an animal that has been reared for only five months). Some farmers argue that mutton should be the meat from a wether (a castrated male sheep), since it is believed that castration improves the taste. William Kitchiner in The Cook’s Oracle, from 1817, declared that the finest mutton came from a five-year-old wether.
•500 g lamb or mutton
•4 whole ramson bulbs
•12 juniper berries
•1 tsp sea salt
•1 tsp spelt flour
•One bunch of chives
•50 g pearl barley
•25 g butter
The lamb is diced and then dusted with flour. Next it is fried in butter inside a warmed pot until brown. Add the juniper berries and salt along with the chopped ramson bulbs (or alternatively use a small leek). Cook for a few minutes and then add the grains of pearl barley with enough water to cover the ingredients. Keep the pot simmering gently over a bed of coals for at least two hours, but keep an eye on the stew—add more water if the stew looks like it is drying out.
Wild Boar Stew
The combination of pork, apple, and beer produces a delicious dish that simply tastes ‘right’. One might think beer is wasted in cooking meat, but it produces a wonderful stock. Wheat beer is specified here as it is mentioned as the drink of the Gauls by the ancient writer Athenaeus.
•500 g wild boar or pork loin
•4 crab apples
•100 g peas
•1 tsp sea salt
•One bunch of chives
•25 g butter
•500 ml wheat beer
To cook the wild boar stew you must first soak the peas overnight (if they are dried). Chop the pork and fry in butter within a clay pot that has been warmed by the fire. Add the chopped chives and wheat beer, then top up with enough water to cover the ingredients. Drop in the salt and simmer for around an hour, after which time the chopped apple can be added. Simmer for another hour or so over embers.
Smokey Fish Stew
•200 g bacon
•4 whole ramson bulbs
•250 g of smoked fish
•1 tsp sea salt
•1 litre full fat milk
•One bunch of chives
•Several dandelion leaves
•25 g lard
Smoking food helped to preserve it and this recipe uses two smoked ingredients, fish and bacon. Most of the meals eaten by a prehistoric household will have included dried foods (peas, Celtic beans, pearl barley, etc.) or smoked meats. The bacon is fried in the lard; do not use modern, finely cut streaky bacon, but thicker, knife-cut bacon or gammon. Add the chopped chives and dandelion leaves, then add the chopped fillets of smoked fish. Milk is used to cover the ingredients and can be topped up with a little water if needed. Gently simmer the smoky fish stew for around an hour over a bed of coals, stirring regularly.
Beef and Beer Stew
The Celtic palate appreciated both beef and beer in equal measure. The ancient author Posidonios, quoted by Athenaeus, tells us that: ‘Their food consists of a few loaves of bread, but of large quantities of meat prepared in water or roasted over coals or on spits’ (Athenaeus 4.151). Cattle bones are a common find in domestic middens, which attests to their love of beef. When Julius Caesar defeated the British defenders of Bigbury hill, near Canterbury, for example, his troops discovered a large herd of cattle that had been corralled there.
•500 g beef steak
•150 g field mushrooms
•25 g butter
•1 tsp sea salt
•tsp of juniper berries
•1 tsp spelt flour
•500 ml of beer (use brown ale)
•1 bunch of greens (sea beet, fat hen or garlic mustard)
•50 g honey
The beef is cut into cubes and, after dusting with flour, is lightly fried in butter inside a pot that has been warmed by the fire. Add mushrooms to the pot along with the pinch of salt and a splash of water. Once the mushrooms begin to change colour you can add the juniper berries, greens, and cover the mixture with beer—top up with water if required. The stew is then set to simmer for a couple of hours over hot embers. The writer and researcher Jacqui Wood puts honey into her beef and beer stew; I agree that this addition provides a wonderfully flavourful contrast.
Black Pudding
Despite the lack of hard evidence, it is quite likely that cattle were bled during the winter months. Most of the herd will have been kept in a byre, close to the roundhouse, and so frequent access to the cattle will have been easy. The process provided food that, just like milking, did not mean sacrificing one of the herd. While the Masaai of East Africa mix the blood of their cattle with milk and drink the result, the roundhouse cook will probably have made black pudding instead, a dish that was certainly eaten by the Greeks around 800 BC.
And as when a man before a great blazing fire turns swiftly this way and that a paunch full of fat and blood, and is very eager to have it roasted quickly, so Odysseus tossed from side to side.
Homer, Odyssey, 20
Historically, crofters from Stornoway (on the island of Lewis) made black puddings from sheep that had been slaughtered and then hung in order to collect the animal’s blood. Next the intestines were removed and washed thoroughly in brine. After being turned inside out they were left to soak for a full day. The skins were then rinsed first in cold, and then hot, water, which softened the surfaces and allowed the crofters to then scrape them clean. Oatmeal, or some other cereal, would have been added to the blood along with a cup of flour and some fat from the animal (on Lewis they still use beef suet, which is fat taken from around the kidneys). Heated and mixed to form a porridge-like consistency, the mixture was then fed into the skins. Once prepared, the individual black puddings were left for up to three days before boiling in water for an hour. Some Scottish households stored their black puddings in barrels of oatmeal, in order to keep them cool.
In the roundhouse, black pudding would have been sliced and then either baked on a hot stone next to the fire, or added to a pot of stew.
Celtic Bean and Pork
•250 g bacon or gammon
•200 g Celtic beans
•80 g pignut root
•Bunch of ramson leaves
•1 tsp sea salt
•Butter
Pork and beans have been eaten together for centuries and make a filling and tasty dish. The roundhouse cook would have taken dried Celtic beans from her food store and soaked them overnight. Once the fire is lit the bacon is chopped and then fried in butter within a warmed clay pot. If Celtic or ‘tic’ beans are unavailable then use the modern broad bean, which makes a reasonable substitute. Today tic beans are grown mainly as animal feed, since they require far more processing to make them palatable than other modern beans. Chopped pignut root is then added, along with the ramson leaves. Both have modern substitutes: parsnip can stand in for pignut at a pinch and a few slices of leek provide the hot onion taste that the ramson greens would have given. Add wat
er, just enough to cover the mixture, and season with a sprinkle of sea salt.
Porridge
•300 g oatmeal
•Pinch of sea salt
•1 tbsp. honey
•Handful of blackberries or raspberries
The Scots will tell you that a decent porridge is made with oats, salt, and hot water, with no sugar or milk in sight. They are almost correct. Ancient porridge, such as the pulmentum eaten by Rome’s plebs as well as its legionaries, was a thicker version of gruel that was made of spelt flour mixed with water and a sprinkle of salt, and mixed over the fire to the consistency of porridge. In Roman society, this served the same purpose as gruel, which was a much more watery affair.
Of course, any cereal grain could be used to make porridge—wheat flour, barley flour, even oatmeal. Waking up in the roundhouse, our own breakfast began with porridge, although we turned our noses up at pulmentum and instead decided to cook oatmeal porridge in water. When it was ready to be served up to the bleary-eyed diners, I added a drop of honey to each bowl and a few blackberries. Cooking with milk, despite the added benefits of calcium and energy-giving fats, smacked of luxury. Nevertheless, the oatmeal and summer fruits porridge was delicious. It was made more so being eaten from wooden bowls around a rekindled fire, with shafts of summer sunrise slicing diagonally into the dim interior of the roundhouse.
Warm up a little water in the pot by the fire. When it begins to boil, add the oatmeal and stir. Continue stirring, while adding more and more water—all the while maintaining a porridge-like consistency in the mixture. As it stiffens, add a touch more water. Never leave the pot over the embers, else the porridge will dry quickly and burn on to the bottom and sides of your clay pot—this is a dish that cannot be left to its own devices. When ready (give it fifteen minutes), serve with a dribble of honey and a few berries.
