A Fabulous Horse Bread by Gervase Markham, 1607

The big author for horse breads was Gervase Markham (ca 1568-1637 ). Markham is the horse trainer who perfected the type of breads fed to race horses as part of a structured exercise program for race horses, thus establishing horse training on a modern basis. The custom at the time was for men to agree amongst themselves to a cross country race three months in advance and then to begin a training regime. Markham, beginning in the 1590s, developed a strict system of physical training coupled with diet. His system is conceptually similar to training programs today. Today’s race horses are not fed carefully formulated breads, but they are fed carefully formulated pelletized feed. Prior to Markham — and, of course, there were hold outs for a while — a big part of the training regime was feeding horses breads filled medicinal herbs, as were fighting cocks, in the magical belief that the herbs would give them the qualities they needed to win the race.

The horse breads formulated by Markham for race horses included breads made with wheat ground on the best grindstones and bolted through the finest bolting cloths, as for manchet and other fine white breads. The only difference between his more refined horse breads and the breads eaten by the owners of race horses is that the horse breads incorporated at least some bean flour. As flour made from fava beans, the bean of choice for a high status horse, is hard to make and not possible to buy, I make my Markham horse breads with chickpea flour. If you mill your own grain I think you will find that you can mill chickpeas.

The bread that I am suggesting for the seminar on Thursday, November 5, is the bread that was given to the horses on race day. It is a bread in the tradition of lightly enriched French breads that the English called “French bread.” There were three breads formulated for the training period. The horse started out on a bread that was 3:1, bean to wheat, then graduated to a bread that was 2:2, and finally to a bread that was 1:3, bean to wheat and that has been enriched with egg white, ale, and milk. This is the bread fed to the horses during the last fortnight of the training period.

The first two breads were mixed and worked the same way this one is, but the were not enriched with egg, ale, and milk. They were just made with water.

The Last Bread (fed to the horse during the last fortnight training before the race) from Gervase Markham’s Cavelarice (1607) 

Take three Pecks of fine Wheat, and put one Peck of clean Beans, grind them to powder on the black stones, and bolt them though the finest Bolter you can get; then knead it up with very sweet Ale Barm, and new strong Ale, and the Barm beaten together, and also the Whites of at least twenty Eggs, in any wise no water at all, but instead thereof some small quantity of new milk. Then work it up, and labor it with all painfulness that may be, tread it, break it, and after cover it warm, and let it lye a pretty space in the Trough to swell: then after knead it over again, and mold it up into big Loaves, and so bake them well, and them soak soundly; after they are drawn from the Oven, turn the bottoms upward and let them cool.

Gervase Markham writes about the “black stones” in the portion of the text that he contributed to the 1616 edition of the Maison Rustique. The black stones are the best quality basalt French grinding stones. The “finest Bolter” means the finest bolting cloth or sieve. This would have been around 300 microns. It produces white flour that will weight 1 pound per US quart, which in Markham’s period was called a “wine quart.” The bread is yeasted — ale barm — and uses ale and milk for the liquid. No water. It is a stiff dough. So stiff it cannot be kneaded by hand. “Labor it with all painfulness”! The bread is first worked under foot — sandwich the dough between two pieces of cloth and work it with your feet — and it was then worked in a brake. If you have a hand crank pasta machine you could use that in lieu of a brake. I also sometimes use a long thin rolling pin to work over the dough in the manner of a brake. As you see, no expense or effort is spared making this bread! It is again kneaded after the bulk fermentation. Though, this second time, I just give it a cursory knead being a lazy person from the 21st century.

At the seminar on Thursday, will be comparing this recipe with Markham’s 1615 recipe for Brown Bread. His Brown Bread was intended for the “hinde servants” — the landless farm laborers — and was, in his estimation, the coarsest bread for “man’s use.” The work you put into this horse bread will give you a visceral sense of the difference between this high status bread for a high status horse and the low status bread Markham formulated for low status people.

Because of the amount of work this bread requires, you may want to have made the dough before the seminar so that you are doing the first or second working of the dough during the workshop part of the seminar.

75% white flour, if homemade, use a 300 micron screen

25% chickpea flour, if homemade, use a 300 micron screen

4% egg whites

1.5% yeast

1.5% salt (optional) No salt in the original recipe but if you are eating it and prefer salted bread, then add salt.

45% to 48% is the range of hydration I am suggesting at this time. Please report your experiences in the comments. The dough has to be stiff so it won’t stick to the cloth when you are working it with your feet. If you vary the hydration from what I have recommended, then please note what you have done so you can share with the group at the seminar. As Markham says to use “a little milk” I would keep the milk ratio low.

For 500g total flour.

375g white flour

125g bean flour

225g – 240g liquid. The recipe for this bread calls for mostly ale, with some milk, but no water. Use your judgement. I also make this bread with water, only, which is the liquid used for most of Markham’s horse breads. You could also use milk, or a mix of milk and water. This a really good bread! If you don’t have ale on hand, then don’t stress it. The heart of the recipe is in the flour ratios, the flour refinement, and the way the dough is worked.

20g egg whites (about ½ egg white)

7.5g salt (optional – was not in recipe for the horses, but we like salted bread)

7.5g yeast

Mix all of the ingredients, and then either follow the instructions for working the dough with feet and a brake that are described, above, or work in a mixer with a dough hook. After the first kneading, let the dough rest, covered, in a warm place. When it has risen, knead it again, but only for a short amount of time. Then, form into a loaf. Let that proof until it increases in size around by about 50% and then bake in an oven at 195C or 385F for around 1 hour. You may score the bread if you like. A big cut around the waist would be consistent with the way manchets were scored. The crust should be crisp. It was often chipped off before serving to the horse.

The Miller’s Thumb

Drawing of a wheat seed.
This is a drawing I made to illustrate grain in terms of structures millers pay attention to.

Stone milling is the art of grinding grain into a meal, and then through sifting and re-grinding (and re-sifting), refining the product into the quality flour one wants for the finished product. While sifting determines the final quality of flour, the ratios of what is produced (and thus profit) depends heavily on the precision with which the miller creates the feedstock to be sifted. Millers were constantly feeling the flour that came out of the mill. Millers did this so much they deformed their thumbs — thus there is a fish that is called the Millers Thumb, the European Bullhead (Cottus gobo). Judging by an image of the fish, the miller’s thumb was widened at the fleshy pad — presumably with a thick callous.

The British artist, John Constable’s father was a miller. Following is, apparently, Constable himself, explaining how millers use their thumb. This is from Cassell’s Popular Natural History, Volume II, 1854, p. 103.

The father of the late John Constable, Esq., it.A., was a miller, and our eminent English painter described to Mr. Yarrell this singular form of the human thumb.

“It is well known,” he says, “that all the science and tact of a miller is directed so to regulate the machinery of his mill, that the meal produced shall be of the most valuable description that the operation of grinding will permit, when performed under the most advantageous circumstances. His profit or his loss, even his fortune or his ruin, depend upon the exact adjustment of all the various parts of the machinery in operation. The miller’s ear is constantly directed to the note made by the runningstone in its circular course over the bed-stone, the exact parallelism of their two surfaces, indicated by a particular sound, being a matter of the first consequenoe; and his hand is as constantly placed under the meal-spout, to ascertain by actual contact tho character and qualities of the meal produced.

The thumb, by a particular movement, spreads the sample over the fingers; the thumb is the gauge of the value of the produce, and hence has arisen the sayings of ‘Worth a miller’s tlmnib,’ and ‘An honest miller hath a golden thumb,’ in reference to the amount of the profit that is the reward of his skill. By this incessant action of the miller’s thumb, a peculiarity in its form is produced, which is said to resemble exactly the shape of the head of the fish constantly found in the mill-stream, and is obtained for it the name of the Miller’s Thumb, which occurs in the comedy of ‘Wit at Several Weapons,’ by Beaumont and Fletcher, and also in Merrett’s ‘Pinax.’

Making Pine Bark Bread

In most of Europe, bread made from bark was a famine food. It was more regularly eaten Europe’s far North. The “bark” in bark bread is actually the cambium layer that grows under the bark. Pine was a common tree to use for bark breads. The cambium layer is pealed from the tree, dried, and ground into a flour. If used alone then it makes a cake — an unleavened bread — and if mixed with flour — rye would be a good choice in keeping with the breads of the Northern Europe — it bakes into a loaf bread.

I have never done this. The author of this video suggests tasting the cambium before stripping the tree to be sure it has a good taste. Taste is apparently  variable.

If you have made bark bread, please leave your report in the comment section, below.

Important American Rye Bread Blog

I would like to call your attention to Stanley Ginsberg’s rye bread blog, The Rye Baker. The recipes in the site are varied. The geographic region unusually large — from the Alps to the Baltics — and the recipe notation is impeccable.

Stanley has a book, forthcoming as of this writing — The Rye Baker: Classic Breads from Europe and America.

Stanley’s interest in rye began with what in America we call “Jewish rye.” It is a wheat/rye mix, usually yeasted, with caraway seeds. It is far more wheat than rye — a bread that would be unrecognizable in the countryside of Northern Europe where the people who created this bread in America came from. Judging by the recipes posted on Stanley’s blog, his book will be hugely informative.

Zadock Steele, starving, eats too much bread.

Zadock Steele  was captured by Mohawk Indians allied with the British in a raid in Vermont in 1780. It was called the Royalton raid. Zadock was transferred to British custody and eventually escapes. Starving, he and a companion are taken in by a “poor widow”.  In this short scene he  describes over eating what she calls  “wheat bread”and that we can understand as a good-quality white bread.  One of the forms of control the British exercised over their captives was under feeding  so he and his companion approach this bread with avarice. Despite the text’s stiff language one can feel the loss of control, the impulse to gorge. Continue reading “Zadock Steele, starving, eats too much bread.”

Yeasted Bread and Good Health

Warner's Safe Yesat Advertisement
A yeast advertisement that focuses on very old ideas associating poor digestion and ill health with dense bread.

A wonderful massively interesting trade card for Warner’s Safe Yeast circa 1885-1890. To this day, companies sell products by creating fear and then offering a solution. This ad falls squarely in the fear mongering tradition. It would not have seemed so absurd to people in its own time.

For hundreds of  years dense bread was thought to be indigestible. Its indigestibility had been  mentioned in health manuals going back to the 1500s. The poor  were often afflicted with gastrointestinal illnesses and for various reasons, their breads were also often dense. In the 1880s the germ theory of disease was still reasonably recent and so the bad water and unsanitary conditions that were in fact responsible for the gastrointestinal ill health of the poor was not yet fully appreciated by popular culture. Thus, in folk culture, dense bread made you sick. That is the back story. Commercial yeast reliably yields a lighter bread, one with a more open crumb, than breads leavened with homemade yeasts or sourdough cultures. Given an unscientific understanding of stomach cramps well made yeasted bread could be imagined to prevent them.

But there was a rub. Commercial yeast cost money; many American cookbooks included recipes for home yeast cultures, and had since the early decades of the century. Homemade yeast was a well established part of American home baking, which was itself at this point in our culinary history an established part of the home economy. Waste not want not. Why buy yeast if you could make your own? A simple answer to that would be that yeast is quasi-medicinal in its effects. Who would turn their backs on the health of their family? Affluent households had long been buying commercial yeast by the 1880s. This ad is not addressed to them.

Lest you think I exaggerate the nineteenth-century fear of heavy bread. Here is Catherine Beecher on heavy bread published in her 1848 cookbook, Miss Beecher’s Domestic Receipt Book.

Perhaps it may be thought that all this is a great drudgery, but it is worse drudgery to have sickly children, and a peevish husband, made so by having all the nerves of their stomachs rasped with sour, or heavy bread.

Similar sentiments were expressed into the early twentieth century, if with less animus toward the put upon baker.

Flatbread with Olive Oil

Flatbread baking in a wood fired oven.
Flatbread baking in a wood fired oven.

I was at an event the other night at the California Academy of Sciences. Cocktail party talk. In that context I was asked what I am so often asked, “What is your favorite bread.” It sounds flip, but it is true. My favorite bread is the most recent one I’ve made.

In the case of the bread you see baking here it was, in fact, delicious, not just theoretically so because it was the most recent bread. It is a yeasted white dough on the salty side brushed with olive oil. My standard recipe for pizza and flat breads is 100% flour, 60% water, 1% to 1.5% salt, and if I am in a hurry, as I was the night I made this bread, 1.4% standard dried yeast. Always, when in a hurry, I use warm water so that the dough moves along. This doesn’t make the most complex dough, but it does make a dough that is light and sweet and lets the taste of something as simple as a brushing with olive oil rise to the top.

Spit Roast Bread — The Kneaded Loaf of 1823

Today, as part of my work on the glossary section of the history of bread I’m writing for UC Press, I have been researching the British Northern dialect term knodden cake, and its Standard English parallel, kneaded cake. I’m still working on the words and can today only say that I think they were enriched breads made by kneading fat, usually butter or lard, into dough removed from the day’s batch. In the course of this research I came across this fabulous text that I’d like to share with you. It combines my move of the hearth fire with my love of bread. This is an excerpt from a story The Fairy Miller of Croga publshed in The London Magazine in 1823. It is in part written in a Scottish dialect. It is a rare reference to a spit roasted cake and the only one I am aware of being described in a poor person’s household. But what also makes this passage incredibly rich in historic detail is the fairy’s attraction to the “new-meal” bread, a rare literary reference to the period preference for fresh flour.

So as the sun was setting I baked a cake, and put it over the embers.

Except for roasting very large animals, like goats, pigs, and oxen, spit roasting takes place just in front of embers, not over them. I would thus not take the over ember description as literally true — at least if Barbara Macurdo is burning wood.
But what also makes this passage incredibly rich in historic detail is the fairy’s attraction to the “new-meal” bread, a rare literary reference to the period preference for fresh flour. Fresh flour, particularly if it still has some bran in it, is much sweeter tasting than flour that has been stored and has oxidized.

And kindly loved I our goodman; never thought of another,though I was in my prime when lost him;—and I made it a point to have a kind look, and something comfortable and warm for him when he came home at even. So as the sun was setting I baked a cake, and put it over the embers,—for weel he loved a kneaded cake, and aue brander’d brown ;—I never knead a cake now but I think of him. So the cake was on the embers, and’ a sweet smell it made;—for the meal was white and warm from, the millee, and I sat beside it to watch and turn it. As I sat I thought I heard a foot on the floor, and looking o’er my shoulder who saw I but a wee wee womanie! A wee wee womanie, and snodly was she clad, ami fair was her face; ami without halt or cure hoc close came, she to my side. I think I see her yet. and hear her words, ‘Barbara Macmurdo,’ said the wee wee womanie, using my maiden name, ‘I live nigh thy house, —I live on the same bread, and drink of the same water. But water waxes scant, and bread is far from sure; and those who gather earth’s sweetest fruits for me are now in Guiana and Araby, seeking spice, and cloves, and myrrh, and will not be with me; sooner than morning. The smell of thy new-meal cake is sweet, and we felt it underground, and my little babes love it. Therefore give me some, and when the next meller is ground in Croga mill I will repay thee. Give and prosper– refuse and pine.’

You can find the entire store here: http://books.google.com/books?id=aewRAAAAYAAJ

Bread in Italy circa 1894

I was searching Google Books for information on military bread ovens in the 19th century, a process my girlfriend refers to as “wooden cowing,” and came across this sketch regarding bread in Italy circa 1894. It was written by Olive May Eager, a minor American writer who lived in Italy and seems to have supported herself, at least in part, by selling short pieces on Italian culture to American magazines. The piece I include here was published in the May 1894 issue of the journal, The Roller Mill. She published in a  wide array of magazines including, for example, the children’s magazine, Saint Nicolas,and the Journal of Hygiene and Herald of Health,where she has an excellent essay on the chestnut cuisine of the Apennine. Continue reading “Bread in Italy circa 1894”