newly-killed hog, laid in batter; and then,
when all was ready, the bag with all its
savoury burden was put into a kettle.
As we are already on the threshold of legend
and myth, we may linger there a moment
to recall to memory the resemblance between
the description of this piece of handiwork
and that ascribed to good King Arthur, who
lived in days when monarchs were their own
chefs, for the Arthurian dish was also pre-
pared in a bag, and consisted, according to
the ditty, of barley-meal and fat. Soberly
speaking, the two accounts belong, maybe, to
something like the same epoch in the annals
of gastronomy ; and a large pudding was, for
a vast length of time, no doubt, a prevailing
piece de resistance in all frugal British house-
holds. It was the culinary forefather of
toad-in-the-hole, hot-pot, Irish stew, and
of that devil-dreaded Cornish pasty. The
Elizabethan transmitters of these two Api-
cian nuggets possibly antedated the popular
institution of the bag-pudding; but the
ancientest gastronomical records testify to
the happy introduction of the frying-pan
1 86 Diet of the Yeoman
about the era when we were under Alfred’s
fatherly sway. It may have even preceded
the grill, just as the fork lagged behind the
spoon, from which it is a seeming evolution.
That no reader may doubt the fact, that
Tom’s mother made the pudding, and that
Tom held the candle, we refer to the old
edition of this choice piece of chapman’s
ware, where an accurate drawing of Mrs.
Thumb, and the board, and the bowl, and
Tom with the candle, may be inspected.
The prima stamina of the modern fruit-
pudding really appear to be found in the
ancient bag-pudding, of which Tom Thumb
had such excellent reason to be acquainted
with the contents. The mode of construc-
tion was similar, and both were boiled in a
cloth. The material and subsidiary treat-
ment of course differed \ but it is curious
that no other country possesses either the
tart or the pudding, as we understand them,
and as the latter has perhaps been developed
from the dish, of the making of which Tom
Thumb was an eye-witness to his sorrow, so
the covered fruit tart may not improbably
and the Poor .
187
be an outgrowth from the old coffin pasty of
venison or game, with the superaddition of a
dish for the safe custody of the juice.
Another rather prominent factor in the diet
of the poor classes, not only in Scotland but
in the North of England, was oatmeal
variously prepared. One very favourable
and palatable way was by grinding the meal
a second time as fine as flour, boiling it, and
then serving it with hot milk or treacle. There
is something in the nature of this food so
peculiarly satisfying and supporting, that it
seems to have been destined to become the
staple nourishment of a poor population in
a cold and bracing climate. The fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries unquestionably saw a
great advance in the mystery of cookery and
in the diversity of dishes, and the author of
“Piers of Fulham” complains, that men
were no longer satisfied with brawn and pow-
dered beef, which he terms “ store of house,”
but would have venison, wild fowl, and
heronshaw; and men of simple estate, says
he, will have partridges and plovers, when
lords lack. He adds quaintly :
1 88
Diet of the Yeoman
“A mallard of the dunghill is good enough for me,
With pleasant pickle, or it is else poison,
pardy.”
Page 59
Presented as published in 1886. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
newly-killed hog, laid in batter; and then, when all was ready, the bag with all its savoury burden was put into a kettle.
As we are already on the threshold of legend and myth, we may linger there a moment to recall to memory the resemblance between the description of this piece of handiwork and that ascribed to good King Arthur, who lived in days when monarchs were their own chefs, for the Arthurian dish was also prepared in a bag, and consisted, according to the ditty, of barley-meal and fat. Soberly speaking, the two accounts belong, maybe, to something like the same epoch in the annals of gastronomy ; and a large pudding was, for a vast length of time, no doubt, a prevailing piece de resistance in all frugal British households. It was the culinary forefather of toad-in-the-hole, hot-pot, Irish stew, and of that devil-dreaded Cornish pasty. The Elizabethan transmitters of these two Apician nuggets possibly antedated the popular institution of the bag-pudding; but the ancientest gastronomical records testify to the happy introduction of the frying-pan
1 86 Diet of the Yeoman
about the era when we were under Alfred’s fatherly sway. It may have even preceded the grill, just as the fork lagged behind the spoon, from which it is a seeming evolution.
That no reader may doubt the fact, that Tom’s mother made the pudding, and that Tom held the candle, we refer to the old edition of this choice piece of chapman’s ware, where an accurate drawing of Mrs. Thumb, and the board, and the bowl, and Tom with the candle, may be inspected. The prima stamina of the modern fruitpudding really appear to be found in the ancient bag-pudding, of which Tom Thumb had such excellent reason to be acquainted with the contents. The mode of construction was similar, and both were boiled in a cloth. The material and subsidiary treatment of course differed; but it is curious that no other country possesses either the tart or the pudding, as we understand them, and as the latter has perhaps been developed from the dish, of the making of which Tom Thumb was an eye-witness to his sorrow, so the covered fruit tart may not improbably
and the Poor .
be an outgrowth from the old coffin pasty of venison or game, with the superaddition of a dish for the safe custody of the juice.
Another rather prominent factor in the diet of the poor classes, not only in Scotland but in the North of England, was oatmeal variously prepared. One very favourable and palatable way was by grinding the meal a second time as fine as flour, boiling it, and then serving it with hot milk or treacle. There is something in the nature of this food so peculiarly satisfying and supporting, that it seems to have been destined to become the staple nourishment of a poor population in a cold and bracing climate. The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries unquestionably saw a great advance in the mystery of cookery and in the diversity of dishes, and the author of “Piers of Fulham” complains, that men were no longer satisfied with brawn and powdered beef, which he terms “ store of house,” but would have venison, wild fowl, and heronshaw; and men of simple estate, says he, will have partridges and plovers, when lords lack. He adds quaintly :
1 88
Diet of the Yeoman
“A mallard of the dunghill is good enough for me, With pleasant pickle, or it is else poison, pardy.”