I know I’m in the minority, but I genuinely love rose water and rose-infused food. My roses have been going wild for the past few weeks and I wanted to capture that early summer flavor. This isn’t based on a historical recipe, but I don’t think it would be out of place in an SCA context.
1 stick (4 ounces) butter
1/3 cup sugar
Petals from 2 small to medium roses
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp rose water
1 cup flour (all-purpose, whole wheat pastry, or bolted heirloom wheat)
Preheat oven to 300F. In a mortar or food processor, grind together the petals and sugar. In a large bowl or stand mixer, cream the rose sugar with the butter until fluffy. Add the salt and rose water and beat well to incorporate. Add the flour and mix thoroughly; I find it helpful to use my hands at this stage. Press dough evenly into a greased 8-inch cake pan, and use a fork or skewer to poke holes all over for venting. Bake 35-45 minutes or until lightly browned on the edges. Slice immediately after removing from oven, then allow to cool in the pan at least 10 minutes before carefully turning out onto a wire rack. Store in an airtight container and eat within a few days.
My Frangipane enthusiasm remains undiminished, and this weekend I decided to play with the flavors a bit. I added a bit of fruit preserves to the bottom of each tart — some quince, some tart cherry — and made the Frangipane with lemon juice and zest. I also went with a very rich modern pastry for the crust, and because I believe in gilding the lily I served them with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. Although it’s not rooted in history, here is the recipe if you’d like to make your own.
12 ounces flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 sticks butter
4 tablespoons water
Preheat oven to 350F. Mix together the dry ingredients, then cut and rub in the butter until mixture is crumbly (looks like breadcrumbs or coarse wet sand). Add the water and mix gently to bring together. Divide into 8 pieces and roll out. Line 8 small (4″) tart pans or ramekins (as pictured here) with the pastry and trim the edges. (Mine slumped — leave a bit of overhang to prevent that.) Prick the bottom of each crust gently all over with a fork, then line each with parchment paper and fill with weights or dry beans. Blind bake for 15-20 minutes, until pastry looks dry all over.
While the pastry blind bakes, prepare the filling:
Optional: 8 teaspoons jam / preserves, set aside
4 ounces sugar
4 ounces softened butter
4 ounces finely ground almonds / almond flour
Juice and zest of one medium lemon
Pinch of salt
Cream together butter and sugar. Add ground almonds and salt and mix well — it should look pale and fluffy. Add the lemon juice and zest and eggs and beat enthusiastically until everything is well incorporated.
Once the crusts have come out of the oven and cooled enough to remove the weights and parchment, spread a teaspoon of jam or preserves in the bottom of each, then top with the almond mixture. Be careful not to overfill (hence splitting the recipe between 8 small tarts). Bake tarts for 30 minutes. Let cool prior to serving.
I am still proofreading and putting the final touches on the cookbook, and I’ve forced myself to stop putting new recipes in it. That doesn’t mean I’m not still testing recipes, though — for my own enjoyment, for future editions, because I sort of have an obsessive personality — and last night I was playing around with another version of Paest Royall, a 1545 pie crust recipe that I think every SCA cook has tried their hand at. I have started looking at post SCA period historical pastry recipes, which include quantities, and it’s been an interesting process. Amelia Simmons’ American Cookery (1796) happens to include a recipe for Royal Paste that I used as a starting point for this experiment. Of course, I needed something to fill the pastry with, so I made a batch of Frangipane with rose water for a more 16th / 17th century flavor profile. (Caveat: I have not thoroughly researched Frangipane, or come across a pre 1600 reference or recipe. Anyone have anything documenting its early history?)
It turned out lovely:
Preheat the oven to 350F.
For the pastry:
1/2 pound flour
1/4 pound butter
2 egg yolks
1 scant teaspoon Kosher salt
Several spoonfuls of water
All ingredients should be at cool room temperature. Mix the salt into the flour, then cut and rub the butter in until the mix resembles wet sand. Incorporate the egg yolks, then add water a spoonful at a time and mix gently until the pastry comes together. Form into a disc and set aside while you prep the filling.
4 oz finely ground almonds
4 oz sugar
4 oz butter, softened/room temperature
2 T rosewater
Cream together first three ingredients, then gently beat in eggs and rosewater until filling is smooth and uniform.
Roll out the pastry thinly and line a tart pan, pressing into the sides of the pan and trimming the edges. Pour in the filling and spread evenly. Bake for 40-45 minutes or until puffed and golden brown on top. Let cool before serving.
One of the tasks I give to my students and apprentices is to keep an updated resume. I have a specific format that I use for these that I really like. After attending a local get together tonight and talking about this with some other folks, it seems like this is a tool that other people might find useful. So, here are my suggestions of what to put in an SCA A&S resume:
This is not a post about how to recreate a complicated medieval meal, or a review of fancy heirloom stone-ground flours, or a story about doing something awesome and inspiring and historical. Rather, this is a post for anyone who is planning food for a vigil and who wants a great, crowd-pleasing spread that can be set up in a field or in a hotel room (so, when you don’t have access to a kitchen) with a minimum of misery while still maximizing the wow-factor. Basically, this is how to prepare vigil food that people will like and that is period-ish while relying almost exclusively on pre-made ingredients from Costco and Trader Joe’s. And now you know my shameful secret: I say I love cooking, but apparently if you ask me to do your vigil food I won’t actually cook a damn thing for you. (Okay, that’s not really true: I’ll probably bake some pies.) If that’s enough self-flagellation on my part, let’s begin.