John Saturnall's Feast

John

Saturnall's

    Feast

From
The Book of John Saturnall
,
with the
Particulars
of that famous
Cook's
most
Privy Arts
,
including the
Receipts
for his notorious
Feast
.
Printed in the Year of Our Lord, Sixteen Hundred and Eighty-one

ow Saturnus created the first Garden and when, this humble Cook does not pretend to know. Nor the Name writ over its Gates, be it Paradise or Eden. But every green Thing grew in that ancient Plantation. Palm Trees gave Dates and Honey flowed from the Hives. Grapes swelled on the Vine and every Creature thrived. There the first Men and Women sat together in Amity and no Man was Master or Slave. At Saturnus's Table did every Adam serve his Eve and in his Garden they did exchange their Affections. For there they kept the Saturnall Feast.

Now Saturnus's Gardens are overgrown. Our brokeback Age has forgotten the Dishes that graced the old God's chestnut-wood Tables. In these new-restored Times, Inkhorn Cooks prate of their Inventions and Alchemical Cooks turn Cod Roes into Peas. My own rude Dishes stumble after such Dainties like the Mule that limps behind the Packhorse Train, braying at his Betters. Yet as one who marched through the late Wars falls exhausted into the succeeding Peace, I set my last Table here.

For this late-born Adam would plant a new Garden in these Pages and serve up Words for Fruits. Here would he offer Receipts for his Dishes, enough to make the old God's Boards groan again. Now let my own Feast begin as that Original did when the first Men and Women did fill their Cups. Let the Saturnall Feast begin with Spiced wine.

To prepare that ancient
Hippocras
which is vulgarly known as
Spiced Wine

From the first Garden's Fruits was this ancient Cup prepared, Dates and Honey and Grapes and more, as I shall tell. In a great Cauldron pour a Quart of White Wine and set it over a low fire until the Wine shivers. Add to it eight Quarts of Virgin Honey, not pressed from the Comb but sieved. If the Decoction boils, settle it with cold Wine. Leave to cool then heat again and skim. This will be done a Second Time and a Third until the King's Face on a Penny Coin may be seen plain on the Bottom.

Shuck the Flesh of Dates and soften them to a Paste with Wine. Roast the Stones before a Fire and give them to the Mixture. Add to it the Sweet Leaf called Folium, Ground Pepper as much as a Woman at Prayer might hold between her Palms and a Pinch of Saffron from the Crocus Flowers. Pour on these just above two Gallons of Wine or until the Liquor's Thickness will bear an Egg that you might see its Shell swimming above to the size of a Hazelnut Shell. Next tie up Cloves and Mace in a Lawn-bag or a Hippocras Sack, as more learned Cooks do term it. Let it steep in the Liquor . . .

T
HE PACKHORSES CREPT DOWN
the valley. Swept by waves of fine grey rain, the distant beasts lurched under pack-chests and sacks. At their head, a tall figure leaned into the drizzle as if pulling them away from the dark village above. Standing beside the wooden bridge at the bottom, a long-faced young man peered out from under his hat's dripping brim and grinned.

Water seeped through the seams in Benjamin Martin's boots. Rain soaked his cloak. In the pack at his feet sat the load which he had contracted to deliver to the Manor. He had been on the road for almost a week. This morning the whole Vale had still lain ahead of his blistered feet. Then he had spied the packhorse train.

Ben's grin stretched his face like the yawn of a surly horse. He flexed his aching shoulders.

Behind the driver came a piebald, then a bay, then two dark brown ponies. But Ben's gaze was fixed on the rear. A mule trailed behind the others. A mule that appeared to carry nothing more than a pile of rain-soaked rags. Even an unladen beast had to eat, Ben told himself. The driver would be glad of his business. He glanced up the slope again to the village.