Category Archives: cooking

Chicken Balmoral

Chicken Balmoral is a modern British classic: a chicken breast stuffed with haggis, wrapped in bacon and then either oven-roasted or pan-fried. It’s served with a rich whisky cream sauce. You can’t stuff a great deal of haggis into a chicken breast, so I find it a great way of using up leftover haggis after a Burns supper. It’s also a great dish to serve up to those uninitiated in the pleasures of the Chieftain of the Pudding Race.

If you want to know more about Robert Burns, the first Burns suppers and the history of this haggis, listen to the first part of my two-part Burns Night specials on The British Food History Podcast:

Despite its name, chicken Balmoral isn’t particularly old; it sounds like it should be Victorian, it being named after Queen Victoria’s beloved Balmoral Castle, nestled in the beautiful Cairngorms. But, no, it is most definitely a 20th-century invention – the earliest mention I could find of a dish called chicken Balmoral is in the 1928 publication A Book of Empire Dinners (published by the Empire Marketing Board of Great Britain), but it is only a mention, not a description.1 It is also conspicuous by its absence from F. Marion McNeill’s The Scot’s Kitchen, which certainly tells us something about its position in traditional Scottish cuisine.2 As Ben Mervis put it in The British Cook Book ‘[it] seems a little too cute – a little too on the nose – to be a truly traditional Scottish dish.’3

Ben came on the podcast to talk about The British Cook Book. Stream it via this embed.

It seems to me that it is a dish created for restaurant service; the use of a prime cut, the fact that most of the prep can be done well ahead of time, and that there is next to no waste, all certainly point to the fact. It does, however, make chicken Balmoral an excellent dish for a dinner party. You won’t be slaving over a hot stove making this meal, that’s for sure.          


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Recipe

Chicken Balmoral is “traditionally” served with seasonal vegetables; however, for my version, I chose to eat it with the classic Burns Night supper companions of mashed neeps and tatties – i.e. mashed swede and potatoes.      

Serves four, but it can be very easily proportioned for more or fewer folk.

For the chicken

3 tbs flavourless cooking oil, lard or bacon fat (or a mixture)

Around 160 g leftover haggis

4 chicken breasts

16 rashers of dry-cured streaky bacon

For the whisky sauce

30g butter

½ onion or the white part of a leek, thinly sliced

3 to 4 tbs whisky

150ml very hot chicken stock

100ml double cream

Salt and pepper

Preheat your oven to 200°C. Add the fats and/or oil to a roasting tin and place on the middle shelf to get really nice and hot.

Lay the chicken breasts smooth side down on a chopping board. Move the tender out of the way (it’s sometimes partially attached and can get in the way). Press a breast down firmly with the palm of your hand, and, using a small, sharp, pointed knife, cut into the thick end of the breast as far as you can without puncturing the breast as it tapers toward the end. Widen the hole slightly – it needs to be about 2 centimetres wide at the mouth. Repeat with the other three breasts.

Divide the haggis into four equal pieces and roll each piece into a sausage shape, thin enough to insert into the chicken. Some haggises are quite crumbly, but don’t worry if they are not pliable enough. Use your forefinger to force the haggis into the cuts in the breasts. You might find it easier to break the haggis into smaller pieces.

Take four rashers of bacon and lay them across your chopping board lengthways, so that they overlap just slightly. Lay the chicken breast perpendicular to the bacon rashers and roll it up so that the join is underneath the chicken breast. Trim away excess bacon. Repeat with the remaining chicken breasts.

By now, the fat or oil will have become very hot indeed. Take the tin out of the oven (careful!) and sit the breasts in the hot fat, thin ends pointing inwards (this ensures they don’t overcook). Place in the oven for the oven for 30 – 35 minutes, turning it down to 180°C after 15 minutes. Baste at least twice whilst they cook. Remove and allow to rest on a plate.

Meanwhile, make the sauce: melt the butter in a saucepan and fry the onion or leek until soft, but not browned (this will take around 8 minutes) before adding three tablespoons of the whisky. Pour the excess fat from the roasting tin and deglaze it with the chicken stock. Scrape all of the nice salty burnt bits with a wooden spoon and cast them into the saucepan. Simmer for a further five minutes before passing through a sieve into a clean saucepan. Add the cream, heat to simmering point and season to taste with salt, pepper and more whisky (if needed).

Serve the chicken with mashed neeps and tatties and pour the sauce into a warm gravy boat.

References

1.         A Book of Empire Dinners. (Empire Marketing Board, 1928).

2.         McNeill, F. M. The Scots Kitchen: Its Lore & Recipes. (Blackie & Son Limited, 1968).

3.         Mervis, B. The British Cook Book. (Phaidon, 2022).

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Filed under Britain, cooking, events, Festivals, food, General, history, Meat, Recipes, Twentieth Century, Uncategorized

Haggis & the First Burns Suppers with Jennie Hood

Welcome to the first of a two-part special all about Burns Night. 

Burns Night, celebrated on Robert Burns’ birthday, 25th January, is a worldwide phenomenon and I wanted to make a couple of episodes focussing upon the night, the haggis, but also the other foods links regarding Scotland’s national poet, Robert Burns. 

The episode is available on all podcast apps, but can also be streamed here:

Burns was born in Alloway, Ayrshire on 25 January 1759 and he died in Dumfries on 21 July 1796 at just 37 years old. 

My guest today is food historian Jennie Hood, who has written an excellent article for the most recent edition of food history journal Petit Propos Culinares, entitled ‘A History of Haggis and the Burns Night Tradition’, so she is the perfect person to speak with on this topic.

Jennie’s experiments in haggis: It shows (clockwise from top left) Richard Bradley’s 1732 hackin, Mrs MacIver’s 1774 haggis, Henry Blaxton’s 1659 liver pudding and a franchemoyle from Liber Cure Cocorum, English c. 1440. Images: Jennie Hood 

Jennie Hood hails from Ayrshire, just like Robert Burns, and we talk about the origin of Burns Night, but we also talk about the medieval origins of the most important food item on the Burns supper plate – the haggis.

Things covered include the first English recipes for haggis, what makes a haggis a haggis (not as easy a thing as you might expect), Burns’s poem Address to a Haggis and what it tells us about haggises in Burns’s day and how the first Burns suppers started and gained such popularity, amongst many other things.

A photo of a manuscript written by Hamilton Paul, recording the first Burns Supper in 1801. From the McKie Collection held by East Ayrshire Museums: https://www.futuremuseum.co.uk/collections/people/key-people/burns/manuscripts/anniversaries-of-burns

Follow Jennie on social media: Threads/Instagram @medievalfoodwithjennie; Bluesky @medievalfoodjennie.bsky.social; Facebook https://www.facebook.com/medievalfoodwithjennie 

Company of St Margaret, Jennie’s late medieval and renaissance re-enactment group

Issue 133 of Petits Propos Culinaires


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This episode was mixed and engineered by Thomas Ntinas of the Delicious Legacy podcast.

Things mentioned in today’s episode

Harlean MS 279

Liber Cure Cocorum

The Good Housewife’s Jewel by Thomas Dawson

The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy by Hannah Glasse (‘Haggas’ recipe p.291)

The Robert Burns World Federation

Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns

Suzanne MacIver’s recipe for haggis

Ivan Day’s recipe for hack pudding

The Philosophy of Puddings by Neil Buttery

BBC Countryfile January 2026 edition

Royal Births, Marriages & Deaths website (Channel 5)

Previous pertinent blog posts

Lamb’s Head with Brain Sauce (from Neil Cooks Grigson)

My review of the year post

Nesselrode Pudding

Turkey & Hazelnut Soup

Lambswool

Previous pertinent podcast episodes

The Philosophy of Puddings with Neil Buttery, Peter Gilchrist & Lindsay Middleton

Neil’s blogs and YouTube channel

‘British Food: a History’ 

The British Food History Channel

‘Neil Cooks Grigson’ 

Neil’s books

Before Mrs Beeton: Elizabeth Raffald, England’s Most Influential Housekeeper

A Dark History of Sugar 

Knead to Know: a History of Baking

The Philosophy of Puddings

Don’t forget, there will be postbag episodes in the future, so if you have any questions or queries about today’s episode, or indeed any episode, or have a question about the history of British food please email me at neil@britishfoodhistory.com, or on twitter and BlueSky @neilbuttery, or Instagram and Threads dr_neil_buttery. My DMs are open.

You can also join the British Food: a History Facebook discussion page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/britishfoodhistory 

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Lambswool

Merry Christmas everyone!

It’s time for my annual Yuletide boozy drink post. This year: lambswool, a drink very much associated with the Wassail on Twelfth Night (the night before Epiphany, 6 January, and the last day of Christmastide). It has been drunk since at least Tudor times – I cannot find any descriptions prior to the late 16th century. It’s a type of mulled ale, and this description by Robert Herrick in his poem Twelfth Night: Or King and Queen (1648) is a very good one:

Next crowne the lowle full
with gentle lamb’s wool;
Adde sugar, nutmeg and ginger;
with a store of ale too;
and thus ye must doe
to make the wassaille a swinger.[1]

What Henrick doesn’t tell us is that there is cooked apple floating on the top which break apart, hence the name lambswool. These apples are, in the early modern period, generally roasted crab apples, so very sour in flavour, though in later recipes such as the lambswool described by Peter Brears in Traditional Food in Yorkshire, made in Otley, West Yorkshire in 1901, dessert apples are used. They were cored and cooked and floated in the drink, then fished out and eaten separately.[2] Spiced cakes and mince pies were also eaten.[3]

Have a fantastic Christmas – all TWELVE days of it!

Many drinks were laced with rum or brandy and often enriched with eggs, cream or both,[4] such as this one here for ‘Royal Lamb’s Wool’, dated 1633: ‘Boil three pints of ale; – beat six eggs, the whites and yolks together; set both to the fire in a pewter pot; add roasted apples, sugar, beaten nutmegs, cloves and ginger; and, being well brewed, drink it while hot.’[5] Before the lambswool was poured into the Wassail cup sliced of well-toasted bread sat at the bottom. With the apple floating on top, this was basically a full meal. Nice and full, it was then passed around, everyone taking a sup from the communal bowl. I prefer to ladle it into separate glasses or mugs – and I am sure my guests would be pleased with this decision.

Lambswool drinking was not restricted to Twelfth Night, or even Christmastide, as this entry from Samuel Pepys’ diary dated the 9th of November 1666 informs us: ‘Being come home [from an evening of dancing], we to cards, till two in the morning, and drinking lamb’s-wool. So to bed.’[6]


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Recipe

I have to admit, I was unsure about the lambswool, but it was delicious. I think that it should come back, and it is certainly much, much nicer than bought mulled wine. Recipes don’t necessarily specify the type of sugar, but I think light brown sugar really complements the maltiness of the beer well.

A note on the beer: trendy IPAs and other craft beers are far too hoppy for this recipe – I think there’s a flavour clash, so make sure you go for a low-hop traditional brown ale. I used Old Speckled Hen (which is available to buy gluten-free, by the way). The best – and, dare I say it – most authentic choice would be an unhopped ale, but I have never come across one! Add cream and eggs if you think it matches your own tastes: I have to admit that as an eating/drinking experience, the creamy texture worked better with the pureed apple than the version without.

I used dessert apples for the wool, but you can use crap apples if you want to be true to the early modern period, or Bramley’s Seedlings, which do have the benefit of breaking down to a nice fluff. I discovered that it’s very difficult to get your apples to float on top, but this is not of great importance. Sam Bilton has an ingenious way of getting her apple puree to float though, and that is to fold a whipped egg white into the cooked apple puree.[7]

Makes 6 to 8 servings

6 small to medium-sized dessert apples

Caster sugar to taste (optional)

2 x 500 ml bottles of brown ale

120 – 140 g soft dark brown sugar

2 cinnamon sticks

8 cloves

1 tsp ground ginger

120 ml dark rum or brandy

4 eggs (optional)

300 ml cream (any kind will do; optional)

To serve: freshly-grated nutmeg

Start by making the apple purée: peel, core and chop the apples and place in a small saucepan with a few tablespoons of water, cover, turn the heat to medium, and cook until soft. If the apples don’t break down naturally, use the back of a wooden spoon. Add caster sugar to taste – if any is needed at all.

Whilst the apples are cooking down, pour the beer into a saucepan, add 120 g of soft dark brown sugar if making the non-creamy/eggy version, or add 140 g if you’re intrigued by it! Snap the cinnamon sticks and chuck those in along with the other spices. Turn the heat to medium and let it all get nice and steaming-hot; you don’t want it to boil, otherwise you’ll lose a lot of the alcohol. Leave for 10 minutes so the spices can infuse, then add the rum or brandy. Let it come back up to heat for another five minutes. If you don’t want to make the custardy version, the lambswool is ready, and it can be ladled out into glasses or mugs and top with a couple of spoons of the warm apple purée and a few raspings of freshly-grated nutmeg.

For the custardy version: after you add the brandy or rum, whisk the eggs and cream in a bowl, take the lambswool off the heat, and pour three or four ladlefuls of it into the cream and egg mixture, whisking all the time. Now whisk this mixture into the lambswool, and stir over a medium-low heat until it thickens. If you want to use a thermometer to help you, you are looking to reach a temperature of 80°C. Pass the whole lot through a sieve and into a clean pan, and serve as above.


Notes

[1] Herrick, Robert. Works of Robert Herrick. vol II. Alfred Pollard, ed., London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891.

[2] Brears, P. (2014) Traditional Food in Yorkshire. Prospect Books.

[3] Brears (2014); Crosby, J. (2023) Apples and Orchards since the Eighteenth Century: Material Innovation and Cultural Tradition. Bloomsbury.

[4] Hole, C. (1976) British Folk Customs. Hutchinson Publishing Ltd.

[5] Though quoted in many places, I could not find the source of this recipe – but the reigning monarch was Charles I

[6] Diary entries from November 1666, The Diary of Samuel Pepys website https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/1666/11/.

[7] Bilton, S. (2025) Much Ado About Cooking: Delicious Shakespearean Feasts for Every Occasion. Hachette UK.

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Filed under Christmas, cooking, events, Festivals, food, Fruit, General, history, Recipes

White Pudding Ice Cream

After the roaring success of my blood ice cream, I decided to have a crack at making a white pudding ice cream too, using the flavours in Gervase Markham’s recipe.

The blood ice cream was great, but I didn’t call it black pudding ice cream, because I left out one important ingredient: oats. The flavour of wholegrain oats is key, so much so that without them, I don’t think I captured the pudding’s true flavour.

I wanted to change this with this ice cream, but the challenge was to capture the flavour of oats without any annoying frozen groats getting in the way. I decided to take pinhead (steel-cut) oats, soak them in milk and then squeeze it out to create an oat-flavoured milk. This worked really well. I added this to the usual milk and cream to make a custard, warmed it up with the spices and found that it naturally thickened to just the right consistency – all without egg yolks! The mixture froze very well and produced a super-smooth final product. As you can imagine, I was very pleased with this outcome.

Just like the blood ice cream, I soaked some dried fruit in sherry – currants and dates this time, as per Markam’s recipe and stirred them through at the soft-scoop stage of the churning process.

I served my white pudding ice cream with sweet black pudding that had been fried in butter and sugar. I then fried a slice of bread in the sugary and buttery juices and popped the black pudding on top with an accompanying scoop of the white pudding ice cream. It was decadent and delicious!

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Filed under Britain, cooking, Desserts, food, General, history, Puddings, Recipes, Uncategorized

Special Postbag Edition #6

It’s time for the now traditional end-of-season postbag episode of The British Food History Podcast, where I (attempt to) answer your questions, read out your comments and mull over your queries.

I’ll be disappearing for a couple of months, unless of course, you are a monthly subscriber, where there will be a bonus episode coming up for you to listen to via the website: Keeping Food Traditions Alive with Tom Parker Bowles, which was recorded live at the Serve it Forth Food History Festival on 18 October.

The British Food History Podcast is available on all podcast platforms. Please subscribe, rate and review. Alternatively, stream the episode via this Spotify embed:


If you can, support the podcast and blogs by becoming a £3 monthly subscriber, and unlock lots of premium content, including bonus blog posts and recipes, access to the Easter eggs and the secret podcast, or treat me to a one-off virtual pint or coffee please click here.


Remember: Fruit Pig are sponsoring the 9th season of the podcast. Visit their website www.fruitpig.co.uk to learn more about them, their journey, to find your local stockist and access their online shop.

This episode was mixed and engineered by Thomas Ntinas of the Delicious Legacy podcast.

Things mentioned in today’s episode

Book your place at the Serve it Forth Spooky Christmas Special on 11th of December

BBC article World black pudding championship throwers take aim

Linny’s Kitchen Facebook page

The Ginger Pig

Billingsgate Market

BBC article about the Denby Dale pie play

The seaside town of Morecombe

Detail of the illustration from The lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe sent in by listener Andrew Smith showing Mr Tumnus’s iced cake.

Books discussed or mentioned in today’s episode

Bilton, S. Fool’s Gold: A History of British Saffron. (Prospect Books, 2022).

Thomas, J. & Schultz, C. How to Mix Drinks, Or, The Bon-Vivant’s Companion. (Dick & Fitzgerald, 1862).

Bilton, S. Much Ado About Cooking: Delicious Shakespearean Feasts for Every Occasion. (Headline, 2025)

Buttery, N. Knead to Know: A History of Baking. (Icon Books, 2024).

Previous pertinent podcast episodes

Black & White Pudding with Matthew Cockin & Grant Harper

Derbyshire Oatcakes with Mark Dawson

Welsh Sheep & Cattle with Carwyn Graves

Housekeepers & Butlers with Peter Brears

Subversive Feasting in Medieval King & Common Tales with Mark Truesdale

Shakespearean Food & Drink with Sam Bilton

Cooking English Food with Nicola Aldren, Simone Blogg and Anthea Craig

Sam Bilton & Neil Buttery Talk Tripe

Previous pertinent blog posts

Blood Ice Cream

Cheese and Leek (or Onion) Pie

Neil’s other blog and YouTube channel

The British Food History Channel

‘Neil Cooks Grigson’

Neil’s books:

Before Mrs Beeton: Elizabeth Raffald, England’s Most Influential Housekeeper

A Dark History of Sugar

Knead to Know: a History of Baking

The Philosophy of Puddings

Don’t forget, there will be postbag episodes in the future, so if you have any questions or queries about today’s episode, or indeed any episode, or have a question about the history of British food please email me at neil@britishfoodhistory.com, or on twitter and BlueSky @neilbuttery, or Instagram and Threads dr_neil_buttery. My DMs are open.

You can also join the British Food: a History Facebook discussion page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/britishfoodhistory

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Blood Ice Cream

Blood ice cream and white pudding

Earlier in the year, the fantastic Fruitpig (sponsors of the ninth season of the podcast) very kindly sent me some fresh pig’s blood so that I could try my hand at making some early modern black puddings, inspired by the recipes of Robert May, Kenelm Digby and Thomas Dawson. I made two versions: a savoury one and another sweetened with sugar and currants – both turned out to be delicious.

Listen to the episode of the podcast with Matthew and Grant aka Fruitpig!

A few years ago I read (I forget where) that blood thickens upon heating just like egg yolks, and I had an idea in the back of my mind that blood ice cream might be possible to make, knowing already that the black puddings of the early modern period were often sweet.

Please that the sweet black puddings tasted good, I set about to see if I could find any British examples of blood ice cream or, at least, something similar. I couldn’t find anything. However, I did discover in the pages of Jennifer McLagan’s excellent offal cookbook Odd Bits, a blood and chocolate ice cream recipe, adapted from an Italian set dessert called sanguinaccio alla Neapolitana: little pots of set chocolate custard, thickened with blood instead of egg yolks.

Encouraged by the fact I knew it could be done, I went about adapting my black pudding recipe into an ice cream. I have a good, basic vanilla ice cream recipe that I’ve been using for years, which in turn is based on my custard recipe, and all I did was swap out the eight egg yolks for 200 ml of pig’s blood. Not convinced that the blood would thicken things sufficiently, I popped in two egg yolks for good measure. The milk and cream were flavoured not with a vanilla pod, but the same aromatics as the black pudding: pepper, cloves, mace and dried mixed herbs. I really wanted to include the currants, but knowing they would freeze hard into bullets, I thought an overnight soak in some sherry would work well –  not unlike modern rum and raisin ice cream. I chose sherry because it’s the closest thing we have to sack, the popular fortified wine of the early modern period, and a common addition to recipes.

Well, I am very pleased to say that it was a great success. It was the richest ice cream I have ever eaten: luxurious, aromatic and with a very slight metallic tang. I ate a scoop with one of my early modern white puddings. What a combination!


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Ingredients

300 ml milk

300 ml cream seeds

½ tsp bl peppercorns

1 tsp fennel

½ tsp cloves

2 blades of mace

1 tsp dried mixed herbs

200 ml fresh blood

2 egg yolks

160 g sugar

50 g currants

a few tablespoons of sweet or medium sherry overnight

Method

Pour the milk and cream into a saucepan. Crack the peppercorns and bruise the remaining spices in a pestle and mortar, and add to the milk and cream along with the dried herbs. Mix well, making sure everything has been submerged, and warm the mixture over a medium-low heat and bring everything to scalding point – i.e. just before the milk and cream boil.

Meanwhile, add the blood, egg yolks and sugar to a mixing bowl and whisk together well.

When the mix and cream mixture reaches scalding point, remove the pan from the heat and whisk in around a quarter of it into the blood mixture. When everything is incorporated, beat in the rest of the cream mixture, and pour the whole thing back into the saucepan.

Now keep whisking or stirring until the temperature reaches 80°C – you can tell this temperature is reached because the mixture thickens noticeably and coats the back of a spoon (check with a difital thermometer, if unsure). Take off the heat and pass the whole thing through a sieve into a clean bowl or tub. Leave to cool and refrigerate overnight. Soak the currants in sherry and leave those to macerate overnight too.

Next day, churn the mixture in an ice cream machine until a very thick soft-scoop consistency. As you wait, strain the currants (keep the sherry and drink it!). When the ice cream is almost ready, add the currants.

Pour the mixture into tubs and store in the freezer. Eaten within 3 months.

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Filed under cooking, Desserts, food, General, Recipes, Uncategorized

Derbyshire Oatcakes with Mark Dawson

My guest today is Mark Dawson, food historian, specialising in the food of the Tudor period, but also food of Derbyshire. We met up at Mark’s home in Derbyshire to talk all things Derbyshire oatcakes.

Mark and I talk about the oatcakes of Britain, doshens and sprittles, the usefulness of probate inventories, oatcakes as penance, and oatcake goblins – amongst many other things.

It’s available on all podcast platforms and YouTube. If you’re not a podcast/YouTube sort of person, listen here:

Those listening to the secret podcast can hear about other Derbyshire foods made from oats; a discussion about why oatcake is better than porridge; and I grill Mark on one very important matter: just what is the difference between a Derbyshire and a Staffordshire oatcake.

Follow Mark on Instagram @drdobba

Mark’s book Lumpy Tums: Derbyshire’s Food & Drink will be published by Amberley in April 2026

Mark’s previous book Plenti and Grase (2009) is published by Prospect Books

Mark Dawson’s Food History Pages

Mark’s SpeakerNet profile

Remember: Fruit Pig are sponsoring the 9th season of the podcast and Grant and Matthew are very kindly giving listeners to the podcast a unique special offer 10% off your order until the end of October 2025 – use the offer code Foodhis in the checkout at their online shop, www.fruitpig.co.uk.


If you can, support the podcast and blogs by becoming a £3 monthly subscriber, and unlock lots of premium content, including bonus blog posts and recipes, access to the easter eggs and the secret podcast, or treat me to a one-off virtual pint or coffee: click here.


This episode was mixed and engineered by Thomas Ntinas of the Delicious Legacy podcast.

Things mentioned in today’s episode

Serve it Forth website

Serve it Forth Eventbrite page

Find out more about Joan Thirsk

General View of the Agriculture and Minerals of Derbyshire by John Farey (1811)

Mark’s research on oatcakes can be found in Farmers, Consumers, Innovators: The World of Joan Thirsk (2016)

Neil’s other blog and YouTube channel

The British Food History Channel

‘Neil Cooks Grigson’

Don’t forget, there will be postbag episodes in the future, so if you have any questions or queries about today’s episode, or indeed any episode, or have a question about the history of British food please email me at neil@britishfoodhistory.com, or leave a comment on the blog.

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Junket

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White Pudding

I recently had a go at making a fresh blood black pudding, taking inspiration from cookery books from the 16th and 17th centuries. The fresh blood was very kindly sent to me by Matthew Cockin and Grant Harper of Fruitpig, Britain’s last craft producer of fresh blood black pudding, who are also sponsoring the ninth season of The British Food History Podcast. Listen to the episode we recorded here:

We also talked about their hog’s pudding – a type of white pudding – and I felt I had to complete the set and make an Early Modern white pudding as well.

We know where we stand with black puddings: we expect them to be made largely of blood, cereal and fat, but what about white puddings? These are more mysterious, I feel. Modern white puddings are made from ground pork, pork fat, breadcrumbs and rusk or oats, plus lashings of white pepper, and are today associated largely with Scotland and Ireland. There used to be a rich diversity of white puddings right across Britain and Ireland, their contents highly variable, the only prerequisite being that the finished product would come out white. In the Early Modern Period, they were lavish ‘puddings of the privileged’[1], and had more in common with French boudin blanc than modern British white puddings. There was plenty of eggs, milk and cream, and the meat used (if any) was suitably pale in colour: Kenelm Digby’s recipe contained the meat of ‘a good fleshly Capon’ as well as streaky bacon,[2] Thomas Dawson’s was made with a calf’s chauldron, i.e. intestines.[3] Some recipes contain no meat at all: rice pudding could be counted as a form of white pudding in this context. Things do begin to get confusing, however, because some white puddings made with pork are called hog’s puddings, but only some. As Peter Brears wrote in an article on white and hog’s puddings:

Read about the history of puddings in my book The Philosophy of Puddings, from British Library Publishing

On studying these recipes, one rather surprising fact becomes particularly obvious; there is no material significance in the various names given to such puddings. Whether called hog’s or white puddings, their ingredients might be identical, or quite disparate, while many contain absolutely no pork whatsoever.[4]

Today, hog’s puddings are associated with Devon and Cornwall. Fruitpig’s hog’s pudding uses a base of bacon and oats. We can muddy the water even further because a hog’s/white pudding if made with pig’s liver could also go by the name of leverage pudding.

Looking pretty smug with my 17th-century puds!

After a great deal of flicking through cookery books, I decided to make Gervase Markham’s white pudding from his classic The English Housewife (first published 1615), mainly because I had most of the ingredients in the house.

As you can see, Markham’s recipe contains no meat (aside from the beef suet and the pudding casings themselves).[5]

I have to say, they were a triumph! They freeze well and are easy to reheat. When it comes to serving them, let them cool for 5 minutes before cutting into them. The best way I have discovered to eat them (so far) is with crispy smoked bacon and golden syrup. Breakfast of champions.


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Recipe

Makes 6 x 375 g (approx.) puddings:

500 g cracked oat groats or pinhead oatmeal (steel-cut oats)

500 ml whole milk, plus 2 tbs for the saffron (and possibly extra, see recipe)

Around 2.5 metres of beef casings

600 ml whipping or double cream

150 g suet

130 g caster sugar

2 whole eggs plus 4 egg yolks

60 g sliced dates

60 g currants

¼ tsp ground black pepper

1/8 tsp ground cloves

¼ tsp ground mace

2 tsp salt

A 2-finger pinch of saffron

The day before you want to make your puddings, place the oats in a bowl or jar and pour over the milk. Cover and refrigerate. Soak your beef casings in fresh water, cover and refrigerate too.

Next day make the pudding mixture: in a large mixing bowl add the milk-soaked oats, cream, suet, sugar, eggs, dates, currants, ground spices and salt. Stir well. Warm up the 2 tbs of milk, add the saffron strands and allow them to infuse and cool, then stir into the mixture.

Now let everything meld together for a couple of hours so that the whole mixture is the consistency of spoonable porridge. If your oats were particularly absorbent, you may need to loosen the mixture with a few tablespoons of extra milk.

Cut the soaked beef casings into 35 cm lengths and tie the ends securely with string. Now it’s time to attach a funnel to the other end of your first length of gut. I used a jam funnel and secured it with more string.

Hold the funnel in one hand and add small ladlefuls of mixture into the gut. It should slip down relatively easily. Keep the funnel raised and try to massage out any large air bubbles. When the gut is around two-thirds to one-quarter full, remove the end tied to the funnel, press out any air and tie with more string. The casings are slippery and so you must make sure that the knots are made at least 2.5 cm/1 inch from the ends. I found 350 g mixture to be a good amount. Now tie the ends together with more string to make that classic pudding shape.

Keep them covered as you get a large pot of water simmering.

Cook the puddings in batches: drop three into the water and let them gently poach for 35 minutes – there should just be the odd bubble and gurgle coming from the cooking water. You must pop any bubbles immediately with a pin, otherwise the puddings will burst open. Turn the puddings over every 7 or 8 minutes to make sure both sides are cooked evenly.

When cooked, fish the puddings out and hang them up to dry for a few hours, then refrigerate.

To cook the puddings, poach them in more water for around 15 minutes, turning occasionally.


[1] Davison, J. (2015). English Sausages. Prospect Books.

[2] Digby, K. (1669). The Closet of Sir Kenelm Digby Opened (1997 reprint) (J. Stevenson & P. Davidson, Eds.). Prospect Books.

[3] Dawson, T. (1596). The Good Housewife’s Jewel (1996 Editi). Southover Press.

[4] Brears, P. (2016). Hog’s Puddings and White Puddings. Petits Propos Culinaires, 106, 69–81.

[5] This recipe is from the 1633 edition: Markham, G. (1633). Country Contentments, or The English Huswife. J. Harison.

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Filed under Britain, cooking, food, General, history, Puddings, Recipes, Seventeenth Century, Uncategorized

A Recipe for Early Modern Black Puddings

For years now, I have wanted to make my own fresh blood black puddings, but fresh blood is so tricky to get hold of in Britain, I thought I would never get the opportunity. Lucky for me then, that Fruit Pig, who are sponsoring the ninth season of The British Food History Podcast, kindly sent me a litre of pig’s blood. When it came to recipes, I very much had my eye on Early Modern black puddings because they seem so outlandish compared to traditional black puddings of today. On one hand, they are very British, containing oatmeal and/or breadcrumbs and plenty of chopped beef suet. On the other, they are reminiscent of a French boudin noir in that there are lashings of cream and egg yolks.

If you haven’t listened to the episode about black and white puddings with Matthew and Grant of Fruit Pig listen here.
Read about the history of puddings in The Philosophy of Puddings

There are lots of unexpected herbs and spices, too. Thomas Dawson uses sheep’s blood, milk-soaked oats, suet and what we might think of as the constituents of a mixed spice today: nutmeg, mace, black pepper, ginger and cinnamon.[1] Sir Kenelm Digby liked to use chicken blood, cream, almond cream, bone marrow, sugar, salt, rosewater and eggs.[2] Robert May gives us some precise pointers as well as several ways of making black puddings. In one recipe he combines blood and cream in a ratio of 2:1. Sometimes he soaks oats in milk, sometimes blood: ‘Steep great oatmeal in eight pints of warm goose blood, sheeps blood, calves, or lambs, or fawns blood’. He uses a whole range of interesting herbs, including thyme, spinach, parsley, sorrel and strawberry leaves, to name but a few. He also adds ‘Sometimes for variety, Sugar, Currans, &c.’[3] I really want to know what sweet black pudding tastes like!

Robert May liked to add currants and sugar to his black puddings ‘for variety’.

Using these descriptions as inspiration, I created the recipe below. There was a certain amount of trial-and-error, and whenever I got stuck, I made sure to gain advice from Regula Ysewijn’s Pride and Pudding, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s The River Cottage Cookbook and Fergus Henderson’s The Complete Nose to Tail.[4]

I learned a great deal making them – the most important lesson being just how skilled one must be to make these sorts of puddings frequently and in large amounts. It made me appreciate even more the hard work of our forebears and Fruit Pig!

I was really surprised with how well the puddings turned out, and I would certainly recommend giving them a go. I made one batch with sugar and currants and one without. You might be surprised to hear that the sweet one was really quite delicious. I fried my savoury puddings and served them with fried eggs atop some sourdough toast. They tasted rich and were a cross between a black pudding and haggis. I’ll let you know how I served the sweet black puddings.

There are just a couple of things I would have done differently: my main issue was that the butcher gave me pigs’ casings which were not suitable for these black puddings – the nubbly pieces of oat tore through them easily, and the skin burst under their own weight at times. I would therefore recommend beef casings or simply baking them in the oven in loaf tins, or maybe even frying up blood pancakes as suggested by Regula Ysewijn![5]

A big thank you to Matthew and Grant of Fruit Pig for supplying me with fresh blood

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Recipe

Makes approximately 12 x 20 cm black puddings if made in pork casings, and 6 x 20 cm puddings if made in beef casings.

600 g pinhead oats

Milk (see recipe)

1 tsp fennel seeds

½ tsp cloves

½ tsp black peppercorns

3 blades of mace

1 ½ tsp dried, mixed herbs

2 tsp salt

900 ml fresh pig’s blood (or reconstituted dried blood)

600 ml double cream

200 g chopped beef suet

2 whole eggs, beaten

140 g currants (optional)

320 g sugar (optional)

Natural pork or beef skins, soaked in water overnight (optional, see recipe)

The day before you want to make your puddings, place the oats in a bowl or large jug and pour in enough milk to just cover them. Place in the fridge overnight. Grind the spices and mix in the dried herbs and salt.

Next day, place all of the ingredients (aside from the casings, if using) in a large mixing bowl. Combine and allow everything to mingle, dissolve and absorb; around an hour – or more if you have the time.[6]

Once everything has had the chance to macerate and absorb, it is time to assemble the puddings. I used my sausage stuffer funnel from the Kitchen Aid and attached a length of pork casing onto it, then secured it with some string and knotted the end. Then I set about filling the casings, a spoon at a time, letting the skins naturally fill and fall into a bowl. Then I tied a link off with some string, making sure the casing wasn’t full and there were no obvious air bubbles. The lengths of the puddings were around 20 cm – though I wasn’t very consistent. In retrospect, I would recommend using beef casings tied to a wide-mouthed jam funnel, much easier to fill and no constant tearing.

Once all of the mixture is used up, get a large pot of water to a good simmer and gingerly plop them in a few at a time. Three was a good number. Keep the water at a gentle simmer and arm yourself with a pin and pop any bubbles that appear in the cooking puds, lest they burst. They will take around 20 minutes to cook, and you must watch them like a hawk, pin poised and ready to pop. You can tell they are done when the liquid that comes out of a freshly-pricked pudding is clear. If using beef casings, they will take 30 to 35 minutes to cook.

Carefully remove the puddings and either hang them up or lay them on a cooling rack to dry for a few hours before placing them in the refrigerator.

You can avoid all of this faff by baking the mixture in large loaf tins sat in a bain-marie for around 1½ hours at 160°C.[7]

The finished black puddings!

Notes

[1] Dawson, T. (1596). The Good Housewife’s Jewel (1996 Edition). Southover Press.

[2] Digby, K. (1669). The Closet of Sir Kenelm Digby Opened (1997 reprint) (J. Stevenson & P. Davidson, Eds.). Prospect Books.

[3] May, R. (2012). The Accomplisht Cook (1660/85) (A. Davidson, M. Bell, & T. Jaine, Eds.; 1685th ed.). Prospect Books.

[4] Fearnley-Whittingstall, H. (2001). The River Cottage Cookbook. Collins; Henderson, F. (2012). The Complete Nose to Tail: A Kind of British Cooking. Bloomsbury; Ysewijn, R. (2015). Pride and Pudding: The History of British Puddings Savoury and Sweet. Murdoch Books.

[5] Ysewijn (2015)

[6] Note: Looking back on these initial stages, it would have been much better to soak the oats in the blood overnight, mix everything together in the morning, let everything meld and mingle for a couple of hours, and then add enough milk to make a mixture of a spoonable porridge consistency. We live and learn.

[7] Note: I haven’t tested this method; these instructions have been extrapolated from the Fergus Henderson recipe for blood cake in Henderson (2012).

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Filed under Britain, cooking, food, General, history, Meat, Puddings, Recipes