No pictures, I am afraid.

I was working on a boar dish, but the meat was off, and was discarded.

We made To Boyle a Cony with a Pudding in HIs Belly, at the home of some friends.

It wound up being a lot like but we used raw yolks, and made the dish with the meat pressed into a terrine with the meat folded about it, and cooked in the vessel.

It was far more delightful with the raw yolk, though unmolding would have worked better had we been less hungry, and waited for it to cool.

The breadcrumb is quite valuable in this instance for managing the fat and juices from being baked inside a clay baker. We cooked to an internal temp of 150, which almost stewed the meat, but the filling was in no way overcooked.

I look forward to eating more of this book.

two small slices of a custard served in a ceramic bowl. They have a sugar crust on top, and a breadcrumb crust below.

from The Neapolitan recipe collection


Tartara Julatica, 133

This is one of those times when we are grateful to the translators but still wish they were working from the mindset of cooks rather than linguists.

The hardbound book I work from, translated and crafted by Terence Scully, is one of the most strangely organised messes I have dealt with. It isn’t as awkward as the Opera of Sent Sovi, but it’s up there.

The translators give a section with the original language, then a section with commentary on the language, and only then a section translated to English.

This recipe has a couple of oddities in it’s manuscript of origin. The commentary, rather than being on something helpful like the size of a Jug in Italy, is all conjecture about whether the sidenote about “Serve this very hot to Catherina Fasanica” is for a girlfriend or whether the allusion to pheasants has to do with “fancy ladies”.

The jug thing. It took a while to dig that up. My gut was to use about a pint of milk, but that was based on my experience, not to be trusted quite yet. I searched on the term “bucale” and got back the standardised work “boccale.”

From there, with a bit of digging, I eventually got to a wonderful web page of standard weights and measures, which had several iterations of “Boccale” from mostly Northern Italy, as well as other sites with surviving vessels of the type, and their dimensions.

This isn’t a math blog by any measure, but I have settled on the “bucale” as being a viable quart analog, and used that. It worked. If at some point elsewhere in the book a quart doesn’t work, I will amend.

In the end, we got a very greasy flan, with a tiny note of tang from the truly minute amount of cheese, and a slight zing from the massive quantity of ginger.

The crust vanished, as we assumed it would, and the sugar lost its gloss after about 20 minutes.

To make this GF, use the instructions in the original to use a dusting of cheese as the pan release.

The quantities here are pretty well defined in the original. Remembering the period weight of a pound as being 12 oz, it worked out as follows.


20 servings.

20 eggs

1 pint milk

1 oz parmesano dolce, the young cheese, if you can get it

6 oz sugar

6 oz unsalted butter, at room temp

3 TBS ginger powder (really!)


1 oz butter

3 oz breadcrumbs, or as needed to coat your vessel, or for GF, an ounce of grated cheese

To Finish

3 TBS sugar (you probably won’t use it all)

Rosewater, or if that’s not to your taste, Orange Flower Water

(be careful to use the confectionary type, not the cosmetic kind)

9×13 pan (or similar, it puffs up almost an inch)

( crack eggs as individuals, then put in your blender, for in case of duds)

Preheat the oven to about 250, lower is fine.

Put the eggs, milk, cheese, ginger, 6 oz sugar, and 6 oz butter in the blender, mixer, processor, or under the whisk.

Make it fluffy.

Rub the separate ounce of butter into your pan, then drop the breadcrumbs (cheese for GF) in. Roll it around so they stick, empty out the extra.

put the baker onto a larger baking sheet for ease of handling.

Pour the egg mixture into the coated baking vessel,

Let stand for a moment, and tap the sides, to allow air bubbles to rise and pop, for a finer appearance at service.

Place in oven,

close the door.

Leave, go grocery shopping.

It took three hours to cook.

Three hours.

Immediately upon removal, sprinkle with the reserved sugar til you think it is too much, then a little more.

Mist or sprinkle with scented water, serve as soon as possible.

About 2″ x 2″ is likely quite sufficient as a portion, on average.




I can see why it had to be served hot, it’s so very rich.

It was too rich when it was hot, and it is not so amazing the second day. There was a ¼” layer of butter in the bottom of the pan within 5 minutes of cutting.

This fancy custard is quite stable enough to be in the ovens for a very long time, making it an appropriate dessert or breakfast offering at a meal with unstable serving times.

Serve with fruit and a sharp beverage such as a lemonade to balance the richness.

Scully, Terence. The Neapolitan Recipe Collection: (New York, Pierpont Morgan Library, MS Bühler, 19) : A Critical Edition and English Translation. Ann Arbor, Mich.: U of Michigan, 2000. 180. Print.

I am cooking out of Neapolitan so much lately that I am uncomfortable posting the English translation, which I did not write. Please refer to for the English for this dish.

The book, which is out of print, is worth seeking out if possible, it has a lot more information.

Advance warning. This dish is about the sauce. My iteration of this sauce is not successful, but it is informative. I present this dish as the first in a probable series, following an unfamiliar cooking paradigm through iterations until I believe I find my way to a successful, plausible result.

This experiment is flawed. Do not consider it a viable dish in this form, please.

Here we have a braised meat dish, supplemented with fat, served with a sauce thickened with eggs and livers, then spiced.

The author calls for goat, I have venison. It’s similar in size, and in lean-ness, as well as, in this case, gaminess. I believe this to be an adequate substitution.

This is a forequarter on-bone, and challenging to cut up. Because I have a vessel of adequate size, and the time to dedicate to the braise, I am comfortable cooking it mostly whole.

My fat is home cured salt-fat. If you wish to know more about salt fat, I highly recommend the Jas Townsend and Son video “Preparing Salt Pork – 18th Century Cooking Series S1E5.”

Though this company’s videos are based on 18th C usage, it is relevant.

The sauce relies on a concept that is quite common in Medieval cookery, but not one I had run into modernly. I’m still trying to make culinary sense of it, and expect to revisit this idea many times until I am content with my results. It calls for a combination of egg yolks, livers, and bread crumbs for thickening.

Modernly, sauces and soups thickened with egg call for a raw yolk to be tempered by adding warm liquid gently and slowly, then adding the warmed mixture back to the pot. Several other recipes in this book specify cooked yolks, as do recipes in many other contemporary books. When I have used this technique in the past, I have been dismayed with the graininess that seems to be a reliable result.

Though I am fond of liver, and am comfortable cooking and eating it in many iterations, thickening with liver is a bit of a stretch. In cooking for groups, I have avoided potentially unwelcome foodstuffs, but for home, it’s about faith to the intent of a dish. I have to figure this out.

A few comments in different books from similar time frames imply that the livers to be used should be cooked. Handling is also much easier with it cooked, so I parcooked my chicken livers for 10 minutes in the oven while braising the venison.

I am familiar with the concept of thickening with blood, though the idea does not appeal to me. Apparently, thickening with raw liver is not unlike thickening with blood, raw livers are ground up and added with a careful hand. Next time, I will work with raw, for comparison. (see note at the end)

Thickening with breadcrumbs is fairly straightforward, though not as simple as using flour or starch.

I find that a long, low temperature simmer is best for breadcrumbs to do their jobs well, and often the texture ends up lumpy no matter what one does. Sieving is good, to a point.

It seems that each of these agents needs similar, but distinct handling, and each is distinctly temperamental.

The liver flavor dissipated, the egg flavor blended, the stock flavor faded, and I wish I had had more of the herbs. All we could taste was the fat.

My spices were chosen based on the flavors I expected from the meat, and from among those which had specific mention within the book. I used cloves, cinnamon, grains of paradise, and a modicum of sugar to balance the bitterness in the liver. I won’t mess with these proportions til we have the sauce fixed.

Prepare Spices;

1.5 tsp Grains of Paradise

1 tsp whole Cloves

½ tsp Cinnamon (Canel)

½ tsp Sugar

Crushed together in the mortar and pestle.


There was excess. The clove may be a bit much for beef, but for such earthy game, it was appropriate.

Cook Meat;

1 quarter of goat, or equivalent. About 4 lbs, cut into 8 pieces if possible.

(I used a quarter deer, whole.)

½ gallon water

½ lbs salt-fat

½ cup verjus, or substitution.

1 Tbs salt

Bake in an oven at 300* for 3 hours with a lid on, turn all the meat at 90 minutes


Prepare Sauce.

I started with 6 hard eggs, which gave me 80(ish) grams of yolks, and keyed my measurements from there.

80 g hard egg yolk

80 g par-cooked liver

80 g raw onion

2 g salt

1 g fresh mint

5 g fresh flat-leaf parsley

40 g dry bread crumbs

pulse til aggregated


When doing something unknown, and without backing reference materials, I start with equal amounts, if possible, of the main players, so I can get a sense of what to increase or reduce. This is harder when one isn’t certain even of the form the ingredient should be presented in.

All items were pulsed to cohesion in the processor. It isn’t the same result as pounding, but it is expedient.

I wound up with a dry pate. If I had sauted the onion in advance and adjusted the seasoning, this would be a familiar dish all on its own.

When the meat had cooked through, I removed some broth to a smaller pot, and added my egg yolk mixture, bringing it to a simmer.

I used

3 c broth

6 Tbs above mixture

simmer, whisk if needed.


I was unwilling to use too much, making the flavor too pronounced.

The sauce did not thicken notably. We only used about a half cup of the resulting sauce at dinner.
It did set up a little, and thickened over the next half hour, then broke and became thin.

I served about 8 ox of meat with 2 oz of the sauce, garnished with my spices.

The added fat was a problem for our palates. Even with the verjus and spices, it left us feeling a bit greasy, and uninterested in second helpings.

This recipe will be revisited til I get something I believe is plausible.

Note on cooking chicken livers

In using chicken livers, if you have never done so before, selection and picking over is a huge part of success. Look for any shade of yellow or green, and discard those portions. Cutting off segments is fine, if only a small part is affected. Remove blood spots, and lay the meat flat in the pan.

I hate the cleanup, so I first line my pan with foil, then a disc of parchment, so the meat can cook well but my cleanup will be minimal and least stressful.

To par cook them, I put the pan in the oven while the main pot is braising, for about 15 minutes, then allow them to cool. I do not season them for this simple cooking, though a little salt would go well. Broiling works well, a toaster oven is a good choice for this step.

We had vermicelli again. Yes, we have pasta that rarely.

This time, I did it on purpose, not with leftovers.

The pasta was Strascinati, a thick curl of dough somewhat related to orrechietti. I also had the choice of  rocetti, which were suggested by my pasta monger, and will use those soon for something.


The cheese was a gorgeous Parmesan Dolce, a short-cured cheese, about the density of Jarlsberg, albeit without holes. It is mild and sweet in flavor.

We had some beautiful chicken broth with a thick fat layer on it in the fridge. I put a kilo of the dry pasta into a quart of broth supplemented with about a cup of water, in which a large pinch of saffron had bloomed.

This simmered on the stove for about 10 minutes to allow me to stir the pasta so it would not stick, then I put it in the oven at 200* for an hour.

When I pulled it out, it had cooked too long, and become a casserole. The pasta had begun to break down, all of the liquid was absorbed.


I grated about 2 oz of the cheese into each bowl and served 6 oz of the pasta on top of the cheese, the heat from the pasta melted it nicely, allowing it to get folded in.

I used a little cinnamon, some cumin, salt, pepper, and sugar as the spices. Ginger would go well, if you enjoy it.

The leftover pasta was packed without cheese.

To reheat, we added a good amount of grated cheese, folded them together, and baked as a casserole in a pan. It came out of the pan crusty and warm, very comforting on the first wintry night of the year.

a whole roast chicken, displaying the color and coverage of the spice blend

To Make a Cow, a Calf or a Stag Look Alive. First kill the cow or calf normally, then skin it beginning at the hooves -but keep the hooves and the horns attached to the hide; when skinned, stretch the hide; then get cumin, fennel, cloves, pepper and salt, all ground up to a powder, and sprinkle it over the inside of the hide; then cut away the shin-bone downward from the knee, and remove the tripe through the flank; if you wish, you can roast capons, pheasants or other creatures and put them into the cow’s body. If you want to bake it in the oven, lay it on a grill; if you want to roast it over the fire, get a piece of wood —that is, a pole like a spit – insert it, lard it well and roast it slowly so as not to bum it. Then make iron bars large enough to hold it standing up; when it is cooked, set up the bar on a large plank and bind it [i.e., the animal] so that it stands on its feet; then dress it in its hide as if it were alive; if the meat has shrunk anywhere because of the cooking, replace it with bay- laurel, sage, rosemary and myrtle; draw the hide back [in place] and sew it so the iron cannot be seen, and give it a posture as if it were alive.

The same can be done with a deer, a sow and a chicken, and with any other animal you wish. Note that preparing this sort of animal requires a cook who is neither foolish nor simple-minded, but rather he must be quite clever. And note, my lord, that if your cook is not skillful he will never prepare anything good that is good, no matter how hard he tries.


When a recipe isn’t a recipe, sometimes it’s a food decorating guide.

This food based entertainment is intended to display the decorative and structural engineering skills of the professional kitchen. Within that, however, there’s a clear admonition that it still has to taste good and be properly prepared.

The whole cattl, brought in upright, stuffed with other food items, is Dionysian legend in some ways. It’s the kind of thing one can imagine being carted in to any over-the-top bacchanalia, unruly revelers roaring as it is carved open to display the bounty inside.

It’s a simple roast, and it’s as complex or as simple as the cook wants to make it. There aren’t too many modern circumstances in which it is suitable to do a whole roast ox, which would weigh 600 lbs, 400 of which are meat, and feed between 500 and 1000 people, depending on what else is served.

The cooking instructions are wide open. Roast it by whatever means are available. Find an oven large enough for a food item the size of a farm tractor, cook it through without ruining it. That makes roasting a turkey evenly look like amateur hour.

The seasoning is simple and flexible. It calls for cumin and fennel, and suggests a supplement of bay, sage, rosemary and myrtle more for structural repair than for flavor.

My fennel is a blend of seeds, flowers and stems, crushed together. If you have seeds and if you aren’t a huge fan of fennel, you may wish to blend up the spices and fold a small amount into ground meat or an egg, which you can cook as a flavor sample, as one does in sausage making.

5 small bowls of spices

fennel is bottom left in the yellow bowl

I have a little oven, two diners, and no need to make dinner look like it could be walking. Chicken it is.

1 chicken

15 cloves, whole

2 tsp cumin

1 tsp fennel

1 tsp salt

½ tsp pepper

Optional, several bay leaves, rosemary, myrtle leaves, sage

Crush the cloves

Add salt, crush again to be certain there are no chunks

Fold in other seasonings, crush if whole.
If uncertain of flavors, fold a pinch of the seasoning in with a pinch of raw ground meat and fry, or fry an egg, sprinkle some spice on top, flip the egg, and sample. Adjust to your own tastes.

Rub the seasoning on the chicken, roast in an oven or on a spit, as you prefer. If you wish to use the sage, rosemary, bay and myrtle, tuck them in the cavity.

Serve with some crusty bread and a nice pile of roast root vegetables.

The fennel and cumin based seasoning blends into something greater than the sum of its parts. It’s truly excellent. We both dislike anise flavors, but this works very well.

It didn’t look alive, it looked like a normal roast spiced chicken. And that’s just fine.

If you choose to use a pork butt, make triple the seasoning blend and slash the skin, as it will become too crisp to cut through easily.

a brown bowl with a single portion of a cheese risotto, next to a small cup of red wine

Riso Alla Italiana

Piglia una pignata he mettice brodo grasso he magro he fa bulliare; he poi piglia lo riso bene nettato he piu volte lavato cum aqua tepida, he metello dentro he fa bulire menando cum lo cughiaro alcuna volta che non se apichi alla pignata, poi, quando serra cotto, piglia ove he caso gratato, sbatuto ogni cosa insieme, cum uno pocho di pipere; poi fa le scutelle

 Rice the Italian Way

 Put fat broth and lean in a pot, boil it

Get clean rice, rinse it well in tepid water

Put the rice in, and boil it. Stir so it does not stick.
When it is cooked, add eggs and grated cheese, beat it all together, add pepper, and serve in bowls.

(there may be spelling and transcription errors, my computer is having unrest related to the spellings included)



Medieval style cooking makes a whole lot of broth. Poaching most meats, and separately, a lot of veg, makes a lot of liquor, broth, stock, and aspic. It also consumes a lot of broth. Fat broth, lean broth, lenten broth, almond milk made in broth, it does get used.

It’s kind of an enriched risotto. I chose a medium grain rice, as I find short grain rice generally wants more tending than just a “couple of turns of the spoon” to keep it from locking up. The starches behave quite differently between the two types of rice. If you have the time and attention to give a short grain rice, please do try it. It can’t easily go wrong.

The note to rinse the rice was a happy one. Some modern rices are packaged to be starchy, others are chalky. Rinsing clears the grains of dust, and starts it plumping. It also gives me a few moments to more easily find any stones or not-food that may have found its way into the bag. I am always happier to do so.


My broth was some fat beef broth that resulted from a recent dish, and some chicken broth which was in the freezer. I left the fat on the beef broth, specifically because it called for “fat.” This dish relies on tasty broth. While I used meat broths, a quality vegetable broth would go very well here. I would strongly suggest adding some (maybe 2 Tbs) butter or oil in that case, as the rice benefits from a bit of oil for texture. I also have had excellent luck with a specific vegan bouillon cube, Rapunzel. (not saying other brands are bad, just that this one, I find to be good.)

After cooking the rice fully, I took it off the heat, as my dinner got delayed an hour. When my dinner companion arrived, I beat the egg and cheese together well, then folded them into the rice, and stirred while reheating. Then I got clever and put it in a low oven. This worked perfectly well, and the resulting dish was lush, rich without being over the top. In fact, I was glad to let the rice cool before adding the egg, as it did not clump or scramble in the dish.


If you are cooking for immunocompromised people, it may be wise to use pasteurised eggs. The eggs are cooked but cannot be checked for done-ness.

The salt in the cheese was sufficient for our preferences, we added none during cooking or at the table.
This dish is far less fiddly than risotto, and can be made from simple cooked rice into the enriched dish reasonably easily, but it is a small-batch dish, as the seasonings are unlikely to scale up well. It’s classic comfort food.


For two as a main, four as a side;

1 ½ cups medium grain rice

2 ½ cups broth, strained

2-3 TBS fat from broth, or mild fat such as chicken or unsalted butter

3 eggs

5 oz parmesan, asiago, or other hard Italian type “storing” cheese, grated or shredded (it will melt)

not from the can, just plain cheese.

¼ up to 1 tsp ground black pepper, to taste

no salt

Using a stockpot that is easy to fully scrape, warm the broth and fat.

Rinse the rice in water til it runs clear. I do this in a bowl with the rice in a strainer, and pick over the rice for purity as I go.

Cook the rice til it is perfect, to your taste. Be prepared to add more liquid, as rice is thirsty and somewhat unpredictable, about 20-25 minutes.

Beat the eggs, then add the cheese and pepper to the egg mixture. Beat well together, til almost fluffy.

Fold the egg mixture into the rice and beat thoroughly together. If you are concerned about the eggs scrambling, remove from heat and allow to cool briefly.

Heat gently til cheese is fully melted. The egg won’t be visible to see that they are cooked.

Taste for salt and pepper, adjust, and serve. It’s lovely with a dense piece of grilled fish, or alongside a seasonal salad.

two slices of beef pot roast in a brown bowl, with several cubes of cooked turnip and a pile of cooked, shredded beet greens about the size of a peach.

Of Turnips

Togli rape bullite colle foglie, e polle a cocere con carne di bue, e pepe, e cruoco. E quando sono cotte, le poni in scudelle per la comune famiglia.

Turnips (rape).
[32] Take turnips (rape) boiled with their leaves, and set them to cook with beef, and pepper, and saffron.  And when they are cooked, put them on plates for the common family.

It has been so very long.

I broke my knee quite spectacularly. It’s been well over a year and a half, and now, at last, I can cook and show again.

I have missed this tremendously. Thank you for waiting.

In autumn, today, just as through history, beef becomes affordable. Herds are thinned of their non-breeding stock, non-milkers, and excess numbers, so the feed stores put away all summer will be sufficient.

At the same time, normally, root vegetables are being prepared for storage as human feed, and are at their very best.

Not having been able to garden at all has left me in the perfectly ordinary position of having to purchase vegetables, so I was unable to get turnips with their greens attached, and in fact, was unable to get really decent ones. These are acceptable.


I got beets for another dish, and am using their greens here, supplemented with a little chive for some sharp bite.

I selected a shallow ceramic vessel with a good lid to cook this in, to allow the items to fit closely.

The order in which the instructions are written suggest boiling the turnips, then adding them to a vessel with the beef, rather than cooking them together.

In not instructing to add the beef to the boiling pot, it’s not instructing me to boil. In telling me to cook the turnip with the beef, I cannot roast, as I cannot skewer turnips, I could fry, but that is not specified, and likely would be. Other dishes in the book call for what appears to be adding beef to moist, cooked items and “set to cook” which usually means near coals.

There is no guidance to add liquid, so I did not add liquid.

Adding seasonings to the vegetables after placing them with the meat brings me back to thinking about the cookery of vegetables in large pots, and keeping them separate. I often consider whether it is more likely to cook many items in one pot, separated by perhaps a sack or by binding, or whether each item in a larger kitchen would have its own pot, own place by the fire, even if just boiling.

I cook tonight’s greens separately, then add more water to cook the roots. While I believe the greens are intended to cook while still attached to the roots, therefore for a decent while, these are beet greens which are more delicate, and I prefer them this way. They were chiffonade cut.


I cut the roots small (fork size) to cook, also for personal preference. I pulled out (most of) the greens, and missed a little. They will be in the oven for some time cooking with the beef, so whole turnips would work just fine if that is your preference.


The beef has no instruction or modifiers. Not what part, not rich or lean, nor large or hewn to pieces. I went large. It was on sale. It’s a nice chuck roast. My proportions of meat to vegetables in the pot are entirely inverse to those of pretty much any propriety, but we want leftover meat for other meals.

This is to be served with a crusty loaf, sliced thinly. The broth will reappear soon, in another dish.

The results; The vessel, vegetables, and meat combined together to cause enough liquid in the dish to comfortably braise it in the pot. Upon chilling, this became a dense aspic.


The meat became a lovely pot roast. The turnips picked up the flavors of the meat nicely, the beef adopted a little of the horseradishy bite of the turnip.

I did not use enough pepper, though the salt balance worked out well for hot service. I think it will need more for cold use. The saffron was utterly lost.

Original text is held at

The translation work by Ariane Helou at

is solidly reliable (so far) and I am happy to suggest others may find great value at her site.

Savory Apple Onion Pie


4 medium Apples
1 large or 2 medium onions (about 1 cup sliced)
2 tbsp butter
¼ tsp each ginger, anise, saffron
½ tsp cinnamon
about 10 Mission Figs or 5 larger ones, chopped
about 2 tbsp raisins or currants (or a mixture)
1 to 2 tsp fresh chopped parsley or fresh (not frozen) chopped spinach
¼ cup dry red wine or good port

Make a pie crust.

Peel and core two apples. Place in a plastic bag and crush or pound them with a rolling pin. Add a few drops of wine to prevent browning. Set aside.

Cut onion into thick slices. Saute in the butter until they are soft and translucent, but not brown. Add the spices. Note: to use saffron, mix it with a little salt and grind in a mortar.

Cut two remaining apples into thick slices or chunks. Mix with all of the remaining ingredients including the cooked onions and the pounded apples.

Roll out pie dough. You can cook in a pie pan, or you can make two large squares or rectangles or you can make it into 6 or 8 pasty shells in whatever shape you like (free forms need to be baked on a cookie sheet or flat pan).

Place filling on bottom crust. Be careful not to overfill the pie. Wet the edge with water or egg white. Add the top crust, seal carefully. Make a decorative edge if you want. Paint the pastry with egg white or with saffron mixed with water to make it pretty.

Bake for 25-35 minutes until pastry is done. Let it cool for 10-15 minutes before serving, or eat it cold.

This recipe was found in the AS XXIX Arts and Sciences Issue of Pikestaff. It is based on a recipe in Taillevent recipe and was originally written up by Lady Dante de Felice.

Hello.  My name is John Marshall ate Forde.

cheese bag

I am a cook both in and outside of the SCA, and the apprentice brother of Maestra Asa, who has invited me to share some of my thoughts on food with her readers.  You can find more of my writing at Flour Yeast Salt (just add water) and more about me in the SCA at John Marshall.

As part of a dish I’m working on for River Wars that we’re calling Medieval Risotto , I’m going to need Chicken Stock, lots of Chicken Stock.

On Friday, Weis Markets had a meat sale and was offering whole chickens for $0.77 a pound.  So I stocked up.

I cut four chickens in half, loaded them into my two biggest stock pots and cooked them with carrots, onions (unpeeled), celery, bay leaf, parsley and peppercorns and covered it all with water.  I brought both pots up to a simmer and let them go for about two hours.

After the two hours were up, I strained the stock, then reduced it down to under two gallons of liquid.  Once the stock was nicely reduced, I loaded it into quart mason jars and put them into a pressure canner.

After loading up the pot, two inches of hot (around 180 degrees) water was added and the lid was clamped on.

I put the flame up to high and per the instructions in the Ball Blue Book, brought the pot up to a boil, let steam vent for 10 minutes and then put on the weight and brought the pressure up to 10 pounds.

Once the pressure had settled down, I processed the jars for 25 minutes.

As a side note, it’s very important when canning to follow the recipes exactly, in order to insure food safety.

When the time was  up, I turned off the heat and let the pressure drop to zero.  5 minutes later, I carefully removed the weight, unclamped the lid and let the opened pot sit for another 10 minutes.  After that, I removed the very hot jars and let them cool overnight.

Shelf stable and awaiting the next step…

I injured myself, and have been working on rehab. No parts missing, but still, it’s meant a lot of bed-rest for the past many weeks.

Thanks for your patience.


In the meantime, I would like to introduce John Marshall, of  flouryeastsalt . He will be posting some thoughts here while I finish up healing.

John is a talented cook, and a very fine bread baker. I like cooking with him a lot, he’s got an easy way in a kitchen that makes him a pleasure to work with.

Please keep the comments coming!