shelidonDecember 15, 2023Leave a Comment

This recipe comes from Moira Buxton‘s Medieval Cooking Today, which in turn takes inspiration from the Harleian manuscript collection nr. 4016.

Ingredients (serves 6 people):

• 3 partridges;
• a pinch of ground cloves;
• a pinch of ground mace;
• 1 litre of beef stock;
• 150 ml of red wine, plus at least a glass for drinking;
• 1 tablespoon of whole black peppercorns;
• 2 hard-boiled egg yolks (you can eat the white as a snack while you cook, with that glass of red wine you saved before);
• half a teaspoon of ground ginger;
• a pinch of powdered saffron;
• a pinch of salt;
• 6 slices of toasted bread.
• cranberry jelly (optional).

Recipe:

Stuff the birds with ground cloves and nutmeg, tie their legs together, bring the beef stock to a boil and throw them into the broth, with the peppercorn and the wine. A French light red wine is recommended here, like a Beaujolais.
Lower the heat and skim off the surface foam for the first five minutes. This might or might not happen, depending on how the skin of the bird has been treated in the butchery. If it doesn’t, hold onto your butcher.
Cover with a lid and simmer until the birds are soft: it should take around twenty minutes. When you think they’re done, remove them from the saucepan and cut them lengthwise into halves because only a lunatic cuts them the other way. Do not throw away the cooking liquid and refrain from drinking it.
Place each half on a dish, atop a slice of bread, and store it somewhere warm but not in the heated oven because the plate will mostly likely explode.

Meanwhile, blend in a bowl the squashed egg yolks, the ginger, the saffron, a pinch of salt and a suitable amount of the cooking broth so that it will turn into a sauce that’s not too liquid.
Pour it over the birds and serve. You can accompany this with cranberry jelly.

…and a partridge in a pear tree

First of all, let me tell you that I completely understand if you hate me and you’re thinking: “where the hell am I going to find a fucking partridge?”
I know.
Sorry.

In my defence, partridges are very festive and, for some reasons, it’s the one gift you’ll get on Christmas from your true love. If you’re not British and have no idea what I’m talking about, head here. It’s one of my favourite versions.

According to Greek legend, the first partridge was born from Perdix, the nephew of the famous inventor Daedalus, when he threw him off the sacred hill of Athena in a fit of jealous rage because he had invented the saw. Supposedly mindful of his fall, the bird does not nest on trees and avoids high places. I honestly cannot blame it.

In the Middle-Ages, it became a food of love, at least according to Madeleine Pelner Cosman in her 1983 “A Feast for Aesculapius: Historical Diets for Asthma and Sexual Pleasure”:

“Partridge was superior in arousing dulled passions and increasing the powers of engendering. Gentle to the human stomach, partridge stimulated bodily fluids, raised the spirits, and firmed the muscles.”

Since the partridge will die to protect her young, it has been suggested that at a certain point, this total devotion to love had it connected with Christ, hence the impossible partridge in a pear tree featured in the famous Christmas song.