Hot Caudle, anyone? (Part One)

Image: Taking Caudle via Wikimedia.

(Reading time, approx. 20 minutes)

I’ve been able to sit at my computer over the last week or so after having prostate surgery. Yes, ouch! A surprising amount of that time has been spent trying to clarify what a caudel, our rather archaic ‘caudle’, was in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in England.

The word caudel derives from Old French chaudel via chaudeau (‘hot water’),[1] which might at first make you think that we are talking of some kind of hot drink. Well, it’s more complex than that, as we shall see.

I’m not, here, going to reveal all my research into the various types of caudles. Rather, I will focus on the history of a particular one, Caudel Ferry. Trust me, this is plenty of food history to indulge in. The name signifies a heated or hot caudle since ferry derives from Old French ferré (itself a variant of ferreit) which may allude to the traditional practice of heating wine with hot irons (fer = iron).^[2]

The rationale behind my focus on this caudle is, in part, because it’s a dish I’ve made in the past. Also, Caudel Ferry was evidently very popular during the late medieval period, judging by the number of versions of the recipe that appear across surviving cookery texts. However, I must stress that this longevity is not about a favourite dish surviving unchanged through centuries – far from it! It is this intriguing history, then, that I wish to explore with you.

For all those lovely monthly subscribers who’ve been supporting my work, I’m also redeveloping my original Caudle Ferry recipe, and the plan is to make this available to you at the end of Part Two.

I would have liked to have produced a YouTube video for this updated recipe. Unfortunately, I’ve been feeling very fatigued after surgery; it’s taken more out of me than I imagined it would. And as a proper video for even a simple recipe takes hours to set up and shoot, and days to edit, I’m not quite up to that level of work yet. Please bear with me.

The medieval history of Caudel Ferry

To identify where Caudel Ferry recipes are found, I consulted Constance B. Hieatt’s Concordance of English Recipes: Thirteenth through Fifteenth Centuries and her ‘Supplement to the Concordance of English Recipes’ (details in the bibliography). There are a remarkable twenty recipes that appear in Hieatt’s studies. Not all are, what we might call, true caudles, as we shall see, but the vast majority are. I will treat them chronologically, according to the dates of the manuscripts given by Hieatt in her concordance tables.[3]

Just a note on images of manuscripts. Unfortunately, due to the ongoing access issues for manuscripts, caused by last year’s cyber-attack at the British Library, I’m unable to show you, or direct you to, any British Library images showing the original manuscript recipes.

The earliest recipe, c.1320

The first recipe,[4] if we may actually call it such, is found in the British Library Royal collection – to be precise, MS Royal 12.C.xii. It is written in Anglo-Norman, the dialect of Old French that evolved in England after the Norman Conquest (which began in 1066). It reads as follows (the text is taken from the edition by Hieatt & Jones):

Caudel ferree. Vyn, amydoun, reysins sant pepyns a mettre leynz, sucre pur abatre la force de le vyn.[5]

My translation: Hot caudel. Wine, wheat starch, raisins without pips to put therein, sugar in order to abate the strength of the wine.

As you see, this is more an ingredients list than a recipe method. We may deduce, nevertheless, that the wine is thickened with the wheat starch. Presumably, this is done by heating the two ingredients in a pan, otherwise you would have an unpleasant raw taste from the starch and the caudle would not properly thicken.

Seedless raisins are added – these disappear from all later versions – and a certain amount of sugar is also added to counter the ‘force’ of the wine, probably showing, here, that there was a certain acidity or sharpness to the young wines that were often imported into England from France at this time.^[6]

I should emphasise at this point that we don’t know how thick this caudle was meant to be. I will remind ourselves, however, that caudel derives from Old French chaudeau, which means ‘hot water’. Should it then have been like a not-too-thick soup? Perhaps.

This recipe gets translated into Middle English, pretty much word-for-word, within a decade or so, and appears as Kaudel ferre in the text known as Diuersa cibaria (the text is from the edition by Hieatt & Butler):

Kaudel ferre. Wyn, amnidoun, reysyns wiþoute stones to don þrin, sucre vort abaten þe streinþe of þe wyn.[7]

My translation: Hot caudle. Wine; wheat starch; raisins without stones [seeds], to put therein; sugar, to abate the strength of the wine.

Fourme of Cury, c.1390

Next on our Caudel Ferry trail is the well-known cookery treatise of Richard II (r. 1377-99), Fourme of Cury (c.1390).

I have to mention that Hieatt gives another version of Caudel Ferry that is slightly earlier than the Fourme of Cury one, produced below. She lists a dish called Sandale, from the collection Diuersa servicia (c.1381), under the ‘Caudle Ferry’ heading in her Concordance. This Sandale is a dish of ground cooked capon and pork in broth and almond cream, and is coloured with saffron and sanders (a red food colourant) that are first ground with eggs – possibly raw eggs. The dish is spiced with various spices.[8]

I don’t quite understand Hieatt’s reasoning, here, as the dish is not named Caudel Ferry in the manuscript. Moreover, it bears no resemblance to the more typical Caudel Ferry recipes in her lists. However, it might be said to resemble a couple of the odder versions of Caudel Ferry that have survived. I will focus on these further on in this post, and put aside Sandale for now.

Onwards, now, to Richard II’s cookery treatise, Fourme of Cury (‘Method of Cooking’). The text, below, is from my working edition based on the earliest and best version found in the John Rylands Library in Manchester (English MS 7); and the translation is my own:

Caudel ferry (41)

Tak flour of payndemayn and gode wyne & drawe it togyder; do þerto a grete quantite of suger cypre or hony claryfied; & do þerto safroun; boyle hit & whan it is yboyled alye it vp with ȝolkes of ayroun & do þerto salt & messe hit forth, and lay þeron suger and poudour gynger.

Hot caudle

Take flour of paindemain and good wine and blend it together; add to this a great quantity of Cyprus sugar or clarified honey; and add to this saffron; boil it and when it is boiled mix it up with egg yolks; and add salt to this and serve it forth; and layer upon sugar and ginger powder.

The most obvious differences between this and the previous Caudel Ferry are that it is blatantly sweet, and that egg yolks are used. The ‘great quantity’ of Cyprus sugar (fine quality, white sugar produced on the Mediterranean island of Cyprus),[9] or honey, suggests Richard II’s master cook wished for a noticeably sweet caudle, though it should be acknowledged that ‘great quantity’ is a relative and inexact term. The relative ratios of sugar between the two recipes are in reality unknowable. Did using sugar to abate the force of the wine in the Anglo-Norman recipe actually mean one had to add a significant amount of sugar? Perhaps.

The new choice to use egg yolks is very interesting. Evidently, yolks were added to further enrich and thicken the caudle. The very fine wheat flour used to make paindemain loaf – a superior white bread – was the initial thickener, working in the same way as the wheat starch in the Anglo-Norman recipe. Egg yolks, added after the wine and flour mixture had been boiled, would give a silkier texture, as well as supplement the golden hue engendered by saffron – another new ingredient.

If you have used egg yolks in a sauce (this is done quite commonly in medieval cookery), you understand the care needed to avoid scrambling them. If the liquid into which the yolks are combined is too hot, the yolks split or curdle. Various methods of avoiding this are described in medieval culinary literature, including some of the later versions of Caudel Ferry, as we shall see. Here, however, in Fourme of Cury, this culinary knowledge is presumed.

Ancient Cookery, c.1425

In the British Library manuscript Arundel 334, which contains a culinary collection that was given the name Recipes in Ancient Cookery by the 1790 editor of the text, there are two quite different recipes with the heading Caudel Ferres.

Here’s the first (the text for both recipes is based on the digitised scan of the 1790 edition provided by Welcome Collection):

Caudel Ferres.

Take vernage, or other swete wyne, and take ȝolkes of eyren beten, and in the betynge do away the scome, and then streyne hom, and put al togedur in a pot, ande put therto sugre ynogh, and colour hit with saffron, and stere hit wel, and take bred a lytel of payne de mayne steped in the self wyne, and streyne and put hit in the same pot, and stere hit wel, ande make the caudel stondynge, and at the first boyle do hit from the fire, and dresse hit up in leches in disshes, and strewe sugre theron, and serve hit forthe.

My translation:

Hot caudle(s).

Take Vernaccia, or other sweet wine, and take yolks of eggs beaten; and in this beating, do away with the froth [literally, ‘scum’], and then strain them [the yolks], and put everything together in a pot. And put into this enough sugar, and colour it with saffron, and stir it well. And take a little paindemain bread, steeped in the same wine, and strain it and put it in the same pot, and stir it well. And make the caudle standing-thick. And as it comes to the boil, take it from the fire. And arrange it in slices in [serving] dishes, and strew sugar on it, and serve it forth.

The detail in this version of the Caudel Ferry recipe is amplified when we compare it to the earlier versions. The yolks are prepared with a meticulousness that many cooks today would find absurd. I can testify how difficult it is to pass yolks through a strainer, but it does perhaps give a smidgeon more velvetiness to the caudle. It’s noteworthy, too, that the pandemain is pre-soaked and strained before being added to the pot, a refining technique that avoids any lumps of bread emerging in one’s caudle. Oh, the horror!

There are two things about this version of Caudel Ferry that strike me with some considerable force: first, it is very sweet; and, second, it is very thick.

Not only is ‘enough’ sugar added whilst the caudle is cooking in the pot, it is also dredged on top when it’s served. It is the choice of wine, however, that really ramps up the sweetness. Vernaccia – known to the medieval English as Vernage – was a luxurious and sweet Italian wine produced from late-harvested, semi-dried grapes.[10] For a modern comparison, think of the sweet pudding, or dessert, wines that are widely available today, such as late harvest Riesling, Hungarian Tokaji, and those Aussie dessert semillon wines that are just liquid raisins in a glass (I have a bottle ready to experiment with in making my own Caudel Ferry).

The thickness of the caudel – make sure it is standing – means this is really a kind of sliceable custard. I suggest it was probably left to cool and firm up before being dressed to serve. But then it wouldn’t really be a hot caudle? Oh, the vagaries of interpretation!

On to the second of the recipes found in Ancient Cookery. This was, at first reading, rather garbled, what with its chopped-up chicken and beef broth. This is one of the odder versions I alluded to earlier. However, with some careful re-reading, I’ve arrived at what was essentially a fairly thick, chicken (or rabbit) stew-cum-caudle, enriched with a savoury egg yolk mix.

Let’s read it, and please note that the translation involves a level of interpretation, indicated by the text in square brackets:

Caudel Ferres.

Take chekyns and choppe hom, and cast hom in brothe of beef, and cast therto clowes, maces, pynes, and reisynges of corance, and a lytel wyne and saffron; for x mees, take the ȝolkes of 40 eyren beten and streyned; and take saunders and canel drawen, and put in the same pot; and then take half a quartron of pouder of ginger, and bete hit with the ȝolkes; and in the settyng doune put hit into the same pot, and stere hit wel togeder, and make hit rennynge and sumqwat standynge; and dresse hit, and serve hit forthe. Or elles take conynges instede of chekyns, and do on the same wyse.

My translation:

Hot caudle

Take chickens and chop them, and throw them into beef broth; and throw in some cloves, mace, pinenuts, and raisins of Corinth, and a little wine and saffron. [This is cooked on the fire.]

For 10 messes [servings possibly of two people each], take the yolks of 40 eggs, beaten and strained. And take sanders [a red food colouring] and cinnamon [or, cassia] drawn [into an emulsion or paste], and put this into the same pot [where the egg yolks are]. And then take half a quarter of an ounce of ginger powder, and beat it with the yolks.

And in the setting down [of the cooking pot from the fire] put it [the egg yolk mixture] into the same pot [as the cooked chicken pieces], and stir it well together, and make it somewhere between runny and thick. And dress it and serve it forth. Or else, take rabbits instead of chickens, and do it in the same way.

I think what this Caudel Ferry recipe abundantly demonstrates is how a medieval name given to a dish is no guarantee that future dishes bearing that name will remain the same. In fact, as we see here, this Caudel Ferry has significantly morphed. It is still an egg yolk-enriched caudle of sorts, but it has become more like a chicken soup.

One way of perhaps explaining this is that caudles are associated in medieval literature – both culinary and otherwise – with feeding and comforting the sick, something I highlight in my book. For example, the French works Le Menagier de Paris and the Viandier of Guillaume Tirel offer ‘Flemish caudle’ – white wine (possibly sweet) thickened with egg yolks – as one of their dishes ‘pour malades’ (‘for the sick’).^[11]

As time passed, anything that was a warming, nurturing, thickened and enriched liquid may have been thought of as a caudle. Here, then, next to each other in the same collection of recipes, we might possibly have two caudles to nourish the infirm, one very sweet custard affair, and one, in essence, a chicken soup.

Harleian ‘cookery-book’, c.1435

The next incarnation of Caudel Ferry is found in another British Library manuscript, Harley MS 279, in its section ‘Potage Dyuers’ (‘various pottages’). If you want to see a couple of snippets from the next section of the manuscript, you can do so in a British Library blog post, one that has survived the cyber-attack, here.

The text is from the edition by Thomas Austin, in his Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books (p. 15, no. 54):

Cawdelle Ferry. Take ȝolkys of eyroun Raw, y-tryid fro the whyte; þan take gode wyne, and warme it on þe potte on a fayre Fyre, an caste þer-on ȝolkys, and stere it wyl, but let it nowt boyle tylle it be þikke; and caste þer-to Sugre, Safroun, & Salt, Maces, Gelofres, an Galyngale y-grounde smal, & flowre of Canelle; & whan þow dressyst yn, caste blanke pouder þer-on.

Hot caudle. Take yolks of raw eggs, separated from the whites. Then take good wine and warm it in the pot on a fair fire, and put therein the yolks, and stir it well – but avoid boiling it whilst it becomes thick. And throw therein sugar, saffron, and salt, mace, cloves, and galingale ground small, and cassia/cinnamon flour [or, possibly, ground cassia/cinnamon buds]; and when you present it, throw blanch powder [a mixture of white sugar and dried ginger, ground very finely] onto it.

The most significant thing in this version of our hot caudle is that there is no starchy thickener – no wheat starch, fine wheat flour, or processed fine bread. The caudle is nevertheless thickened somewhat. The gentle heating of egg yolks causes this to happen. But this is not the standing-thick caudle of some of the previous versions. It’s rather more like a modern sabayon (or, zabaglione), hence a softly-set custard: see this recipe.

The other thing that stands out to me is the range of spices. One would have to be a skilled cook in order to balance all those different spices. I confess I would be tempted to drop the galyngale – at least. What do you think?

I think it is reasonable to surmise that the sweetness of this dish is obtained more from the dredging atop of blanch powder than from the sugar that is added to the pot whilst cooking. I say this because sugar is listed alongside all the other spices and seasoning – there’s no mention of a ‘great quantity’ – and this tends to indicate that the sugar was to be used judiciously, as a spice, to balance or compliment the other spices.

Still in the same cookery collection, we find the following recipe in which the Caudel Ferry is to be ‘departyd with a blamanger’, that is, served forth alongside a blancmange (not the stuff we children of the seventies were served at school) in order to create a contrast of colours – white against yellow (or approximations of these colours). I think this may have been the recipe that Hieatt had in mind when she considered Sandale to be a Caudel Ferry. The text is based on Austin’s edition (p. 31, no. 139):

Caudel Ferry departyd with a blamanger. Take Fleysshe of Capoun, or of Porke, & hakke hem smal, & do it in a mortere an bray it wyl, & temper it vppe with capoun broþe þat it be wyl chargeaunt; þan nym mylke of Almaundys, take ȝolkys of eyroun, & Safroun, & melle hem to-gederys þat it be ȝelow, & do þer-to pouder Canelle, & styke þer-on Clowis, Maces, & Quybibis, & serue forth.

My translation:

Hot caudle parti-coloured with blancmange.

Take meat of capon, or of pork, and hack them small, and put it in a mortar and pound it well. And temper it up with capon broth so that it is thickened.

Then take almond milk, take egg yolks and saffron, and beat them together so that it is yellow. And add thereto cassia [or, cinnamon] powder, and stick thereon cloves, mace, and cubebs; and serve it forth.

Frankly, the method in this recipe is poorly explained. It’s incomplete. It’s a mess. How does one thicken pounded meat with broth? Wouldn’t it loosen it? And are we meant to understand that the egg yolks remain raw? Surely, they were to be cooked at least to a soft custard.

I believe what we are meant to arrive at is a white(ish), thickened, capon blancmange – there is normally a thickening agent in a medieval blancmange, often rice flour; this seems to have been forgotten – served alongside a savoury, golden-hued, softly set, hot caudle, made in the same way as the previous one, but with almond milk substituting for wine.

I don’t think this version of Caudel Ferry moves us that much further along the hot caudle spectrum, but it is interesting to observe the removal of wine and the ongoing fascination with warming spices.

Another Harleian ‘cookery book’, c.1445

Another British Library manuscript from the Harley collection provides us with the next Caudel Ferry recipe: MS Harley 4016. It is very similar in its method to the first of the Harley 279 versions. Of particular note is the repeated caution against over-cooking the egg yolk and wine mixture.

The text is based, with a few amendments, on the edition by Austin (p. 91):

Caudelle fferry. Take rawe yolkes of eyren and trie hem, and bake hem; and take good wyne, and warme hit ouer the fire in a potte. And cast thereto the yolkes, and stere hit welle, butte lete hit not boyle til hit thikke; and then caste there-to sugur and salt, and serue hit forthe as mortrews.

My translation:

Hot caudle. Take raw egg yolks and separate them [from the whites] and beat them. And take good wine and warm it over the fire in a pot; and throw into this the yolks and stir it well; but avoid boiling whilst it thickens. And then throw into this sugar and salt. And serve it forth as mortrews [another pottage].

I haven’t been able to check the original manuscript, but ‘bake hem’ (‘bake them’) referring to the egg yolks, must be either an original error or Austin has misread the word in the manuscript. Without doubt, this should read ‘bete hem’ (‘beat them’).

I think we should note the choice of ‘warme it’ when referring to the wine in the pot over the fire. This was also in the Harley 279 recipe. It’s important if you wish to replicate this that you don’t add yolks to wine that has been boiled. They will likely scramble. We should also note that using this method of gently heating the eggs and wine – and not using starch of any form – results in a soft-set custard, not a thick, sliceable one.

The relevance of serving this version ‘as mortrews’ is unclear. It could mean something as simple as ‘serve as a pottage’. It certainly seems unlikely to mean that the soft-set caudle and mortrews were comparable dishes, as mortrews was typically a particularly thick pottage, and contained meat of some sort.

It is possible that the idea was to serve the hot caudle and mortrews together, as we saw with Caudel Ferry and blancmange in the previous recipe, in order to create a colour contrast. Mortrews, like blancmange, could be made ‘white’; we see an example of this, ‘Whyte Mortrewes’, in Harley 279 (Austin, p. 19, no 69). But the problem is that the present hot caudle isn’t coloured with saffron to make it yellow. Perhaps this was an oversight in the recording of the recipe. Or, perhaps, the intended contrast was one of texture.

One final observation on this version of Caudel Ferry: spices have disappeared altogether. Only sugar and salt are used.

Liber cure cocorum, c.1460

It’s time for some poetry! Not quite Chaucer, admittedly, but it rhymes.

The anonymous poem Liber cure cocorum is found in another British Library manuscript, MS Sloane 1986.[12] Its version of Caudel Ferry is somewhat confusing, forgetting, as it does, to tell us to cook the dish. That’s doggerel for you!

The text is taken from the edition by Richard Morris (p. 16):

Kaudel Ferry.

Take almondes unblanchyd, so have þou cele,

And wasshe hom fayre and grynd hom wele;

Temper hom up with wyne so clene,

And drauȝe hom þorowgh a canvas shene;

In pot þou coloure hit with safron,

And lye hit up with Amydone,

Or with floure of ryse so fre;

Ryȝt thykke loke þou þat be;

Seson hit with sugur grete plenté,

Florysshe hit with maces, I tel þe.

My interpretative translation:

Hot caudle. Take unblanched almonds and wash them clean and grind them well. Temper them up with wine and draw them through a canvas sieve. Colour it with saffron and mix it up with wheat starch or with rice flour. Make sure it is very thick. Season it with a great amount of sugar. Flourish it with mace.

In essence, this is really a thickened almond milk, the almost ubiquitous ingredient in medieval broths, sauces, and pottages. Here, wine is used as the liquid part of the almond milk – often water or broth is used – and it is combined with the pulverised almond kernels and left to steep – though it doesn’t say this – before sieving the mix in order to obtain the almond milk.

The process of thickening with either wheat starch or rice flour surely must have been done over heat to cook out the raw floury taste – and the sharpness of the alcohol needs to be cooked out, too.

Whatever the precise method, this is definitely in the realm of stodgy pottage. Saffron gives some colour. Sugar sweetens it. Mace adds spice – thank the cookery gods. I must admit, to me, without the silky egg yolks, this is Caudel Ferry without soul. Suitable for when I’ve lost all my teeth and tastebuds.

End of Part One

In Part Two of ‘Hot caudle, anyone?’ we will take a look at the remaining recipes across the fifteenth century, including a very detailed, multi-method Caudel Ferry. I will also be providing a new recipe of my own version. I promise it will taste exceptional!

I had better go and practice, then.

If you would like to support my independent research and creative work, please head over to the Buy me a coffee tab.

Select Bibliography

Anon. (ed), A Collection of Ordinances and Regulations for the Government of the Royal Household, Made in Divers Reigns. From King Edward III to King William and Queen Mary. Also Receipts in Ancient Cookery (Society of Antiquaries, 1790).

Austin, Thomas (ed.), Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books, Early English Text Society, Original Series 91(Trübner & Co., 1888).

Brereton, Georgine E. & Janet M. Ferrier (eds.), Le Menagier de Paris (Clarendon Press, 1981).

Greco, Gina L. & Christine M. Rose (trans.), The Good Wife’s Guide (Le Ménagier de Paris): A Medieval Household Book (Cornell University Press, 2009), Kindle edition.

Hieatt, Constance B., ‘Supplement to the Concordance of English Recipes: Thirteenth Through Fifteenth Centuries’, in Constance B. Hieatt (ed. & trans), Cocatrice and Lampray Hay: Late Fifteenth-Century Recipes from Corpus Christi College Oxford (Prospect Books, 2012), pp. 145-172.

Hieatt, Constance B., & Sharon Butler (eds.), Curye on Inglysch: English Culinary Manuscripts of the Fourteenth Century (Including the Forme of Cury), Early English Text Society, Special Series 8 (Oxford University Press, 1985).

Hieatt, Constance B. & Robin F. Jones, ‘Two Anglo-Norman Culinary Collections Edited from British Library Manuscripts Additional 32085 and Royal 12.C.xii’, Speculum 61.4 (1986), pp. 859-882.

Hieatt, Constance B. Hieatt & Terry Nutter with Johnna H. Holloway, Concordance of English Recipes: Thirteenth through Fifteenth Centuries (Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2006).

Hindley, Alan, Frederick W. Langley, and Brian J. Levy (eds.), Old French-English Dictionary (Cambridge University Press, 2000).

Johnson, Hugh, From Noah to Now: The Story of Wine, New Edition (Académie du Vin Library/Simon McMurtie, 2020), Kindle edition.  

Morris, Richard, Liber cure cocorum. Copied and Edited from the Sloane MS. 1986 (Philological Society/A. Asher & Co., 1862).

Ouerfelli, Mohamed, ‘La production du sucre en Méditerranée médiévale’, Rives Méditerranéennes 53 (2016), pp. 41-59, open access [accessed 04 May, 2024].

Susan Rose, The Wine Trade in Medieval Europe 1000-1500 (Bloomsbury, 2011).

Scully, Terrence (ed. & trans.), The Viandier of Taillevent: An Edition of All Extant Manuscripts (University of Ottawa Press, 1988).

My thanks to Elise Fleming for proofreading.

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[1] See the Old French Viandier, edited by Scully, pp. 162-63, no. 92, and his translation at p. 290: ‘Chaudeau flament’, ‘Flemish caudel’. The earliest version of Viandier, mid-thirteenth-century, has Chaudeau in the dish’s name; this becomes Chaudel in a later, fifteenth-century version. We derive caudel (and modern caudle) from chaudel. Ultimately, however, the etymology is probably Latin caldellum, which is defined in the Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources as ‘hot spiced drink, caudle’.

[2] See Old French-English Dictionary, ferré and ferreit, ‘mulled wine, wine heated with hot irons’; Middle English Dictionary online, ferrī. See also Hieatt & Jones, p. 871, n. 5.1.

[3] Hieatt offers some alternative dates in the introduction to her Concordance; as she observes, the dates are approximate (p. xii), and there is room for divergence, and debate.

[4] Hieatt gives 1320 in her concordance table (p.18) but ‘late thirteenth century’ in her introduction (p. xiii).

[5] Hieatt & Jones, p. 866. Oddly, Hieatt and Jones translate the name as ‘Mulled wine thickened with egg’ (p. 877); this is not a mulled wine, however, as there are no aromatic spices used; and eggs do not appear in this recipe, as they note, in fact, on p. 871.

[6] See Rose, p. 61.

[7] Hieatt & Butler, p. 45.

[8] See Hieatt & Butler, p. 69, no. 34.

[9] See Ouerfelli, open access at https://doi.org/10.4000/rives.5147 [accessed 04 May, 2024]; on Cyprus, see paras. 15-22.

[10] For more on Vernaccia, see Johnson, pp. 229-30, and Rose, pp. 101-02.

[11] See Brereton & Ferrier edition of Le Menagier, p. 265, no. 303; for the translation, Greco & Rose, p. 326; Scully, pp. 159; 162-63, no. 92; and for the composite translation, pp. 290.

[12] Hieatt gives 1460 in her Concordance table (p. 18), but ‘from about 1440’ in her introduction (p. xiv).