This sweet wee entry in the category “Do you think because you are virtuous that there shall be no more cakes and ale” is explained thusly:
Sugar Cone
A detail from “…the art in which sugar is made” by Jan van der Straet. You can see the sugar cones drying on the table, and the empty moulds on the floor
Many, many years ago, in London, I found myself intrigued by a number of things I saw in museums; one of which was reproduction sugar cones and a couple of original moulds. Having not really had the chance to explore this particular fascination, I asked myself some of questions: “did they use sugar in 16th century cooking?”, “what did period sugar look like?” and “ was it actually transported or sold in cones?”
A little light research (in period recipe books I have on hand) indicated that yes, sugar was used in late 16thc cooking. Some more research suggested it could be purchased in a variety of forms and degrees of refinement.
Construction: I mixed brown sugar, caster sugar, and demerara sugar together until I got the sort of colour indicated in my notes from the museums I visited in 2003. I then sprinkled in a few drops of water, (just enough for the sugar to hold together when pressure was applied) and mixed it through. A small amount of the sugar mixture was transferred to a lightly oiled mould and pounded into shape with the end of a chopstick. I roughed up the surface of the moulded sugar before adding more and pounding that into the mould. This was repeated until the mould was full. After drying for a couple of days, the sugar cone was tipped out and allowed to fully air dry.
Verdict: In this form, the sugar is a bit shattery to use, but fun to make and it looks sufficiently different from modern sugar to not look out of place in a period style spice box. As I don’t have any sugar nippers, I have to shave or grate off any sugar I want to use. This difference also serves to remind me that sugar was an expensive “spice” in the 16th century, and should be used sparingly. The fact this sugar cone causes that change in my mindset while cooking is particularly pleasing.
Another entry from Maestra Isabel Maria under the category “Do you think because you are virtuous that there shall be no more cakes and ale?” She describes her ongoing spice box project:
“As I like to “play house” at Canterbury Faire, (rather than consider myself as going “on campaign” or “on pilgrimage” etc) I am trying to make sure all the items I regularly use are persona-appropriate so that I no longer need to hide items away in my tent. One thing that annoyed me last year were modern cardboard spice boxes sitting on my work surface. So, with regard to keeping valuable spices secure and yet convenient for use, I once again asked “what did they use in period?”, which lead to, what I assume is a wee spice box (below right), shown in the 1570 Scappi manuscript.
Although I have been unable to find an equivalent in a Spanish resource, making do with an item from a neighbouring area (Italy), with which Spain had significant commerce, seemed reasonable. My Version: Collation of this project began with the careful shopping for a suitable box and bottles. The box is one for transporting essential oils, so had the small compartments already fixed in place. I chose corked bottles of brown glass, because they were available, affordable and, most importantly, fit in the box compartments. (That the darker colour would help reduce the amount of light reaching the expensive spices is a bonus.) As for the spices contained in the box, I have chosen only those spices used in the specific 16th century English and Spanish recipes I like to cook, namely:
Anise
Black pepper
Carraway
Cinnamon quills
Cloves
Ginger
Mace
Nutmeg (and grater)
Salt
Saffron
Sugar cone
I still have some empty spots for other spices that I acquire as my repertoire of recipes increases, or for mysterious spices like grains of paradise, long pepper and galingale etc.
Verdict: First used on the spiced water project where it proved convenient, although I’m looking forward to see how it works at Canterbury Faire. I suspect I will need to find a way to label the bottles for ease of use, probably on the top of the cork lid since I don’t want to have to lift each bottle out to see what is in it, once it gets a little empty. Similarly, I’m not overly happy with the plain corks securing each bottle as they seem a little… unfinished compared to the period illustration.”
Resources
“The Opera of Bartolomeo Scappi (1570): L’arte Et Prudenza D’un Maestro Cuoco”
“English Huswif’s Jewel” by Thomas Dawson (1596)
“Libre del Guisados” by Roberto de Nola (a Spanish edition of Libre del Coch), published in 1529 , translated by Lady Brighid ni Chiarain
A delicious entry from Mistress katherine kerr under the heading of “Do you think because you are virtuous, that there shall be no more cakes and ale?” She says:
“Soul Cakes, Soul Cakes, please good Mistress a Soul cake
For that it lies near the Feast of All Souls Day and for that said day is the Natal Day of the lovely Lady Vigdis, know that the November Monthly Tourney on the iiid day of said month shall be graced by Soul Cakes for the sustance of all. And further, the aforementioned month occasioning the Feast Day of St Catherine upon the xxvth day, there will be Cattern Cakes for my saint’s name’s sake. For those not approving of the old saints, then it is a day in especial honour of lace-makers and the Queen.
I wanted to encourage activities at the barony’s monthly tourneys which didn’t revolve around the fighting. Everyone likes cakes so….
Soulmass cakes were traditionally baked at the beginning of November to celebrate All Hallows E’en and All Souls’ Day. The small cakes are filled with spices and mixed fruit, and usually have a cross marked on them. I used a recipe redacted from that of Lady Elinor Fettiplace (1604).
Cattern cakes are similar but have caraway seed and currants for flavouring. They are associated with St Katherine of Alexandria or, in England, with Queen Katherine of Aragon, who was said to have destroyed her lace to give employment to the local women. This is remembered in the following rhyme:
Queen Katherine loved to deck with lace The royal robes she wore; But though she loved to wear her lace, She loved the lace-folk more. So now for good Queen Katherine’s sake Put bones and sticks away, And keep the yearly festival And sing on ‘Kattern Day
In France, unmarried women over the age of 25 were called “Catherinettes”. They consoled each other on their unwed state, singing:
A husband, St. Catherine! A handsome one, St. Catherine! A rich one, St. Catherine! A nice one, St. Catherine! And soon, St. Catherine!
As form of consolation prize, their friends would make them yellow or green hats, so they might demonstrate their faith and wisdom, respectively.
There are vague references to earlier St Catherine’s Day celebrations when women dressed up in male attire and indulged in “unfettered merry-making, including amorous (or violent) advances to passing men” !
The cakes got eaten before I thought about taking photos — didn’t notice any ladies in men’s clothing though….
This project, completed at Golden Flight, is entered under the category of “Do you think because you are virtuous, that there shall be no more cakes and ale?” (Food and drink your persona would have known.) Baronessa Isabel Maria has this to say about it:
“It is nice to have food and drink appropriate to ones persona when attending an event. To that end, I was looking for an easy to make (or perhaps even convenient to buy) drink that it suitable for daytime tourneys, evening feasts or multi-day camping events. So the question became “what did they drink in sixteenth century Spain?”
According to Daily Life in Spain in the Golden Age (Marcelin Defourneaux) there was “a great demand for iced drinks – orange juice, [and] strawberry water…” even in the summer months. In contrast he also quotes the Countess d’Aulnoy as saying “women never drink [wine].” With that in mind, I went looking for a flavoured water or juice recipe in 16th century Spanish cooking manuals or recipe books. While I did not find such a book from exactly my period, there was one from earlier that met all my requirements.
Recipe: Clarea de Aqua To one azumbre of water, four ounces of honey; you must cast in the same spices as for the other clarea; you must give it a boil with the honey over the fire, and hen it is off the fire you must cast in the spices.
Spices for Clarea 3 parts cinnamon, 2 parts cloves, 1 part ginger Libre del Coch (1529, Roberto de Nola translated by Lady Brighid ni Chiarain)
I used the above translation of the original Catalan recipe and considered the advice of several others who have made this drink, but adjusted the spice proportions to suit my tastes.
My redaction: Take 2 litres of water and add 170g honey. Boil for 3 or so minutes and take the scum off the water. Throw in ¼ teaspoon of roughly broken cloves, ½ teaspoon of roughly bashed cinnamon stick, a tiny fraction of a pinch of ginger. Let steep until lukewarm, strain through 2 layers of thick linen, bottle and refrigerate.
Due to the honey used, there was a slight chemical aftertaste. However, the addition of a tablespoon of white sugar eliminated the “tang” without substantially affecting the sweetness of the clary. Verdict: This proved to be a light and refreshing non-alcoholic beverage, that was very pleasant to drink when chilled while watching the tourney and room temperature during the feast. It is also fairly quick and easy to make, with ingredients regularly in my pantry, meaning it is the sort of thing that can be made the evening before (or indeed morning of) an event.”
My mother Caterina Mocenigo was from a well-regarded Venetian family, and her wedding cassone houses a number of lovely items once hers. She wore this headware in honour of the Queen of Cyprus, whose funeral procession was one of the largest ever seen in La Serenissima.
I wanted to make a small head roll and veil, but I wasn’t inspired until I saw a Bellini painting (ca 1500) of Caterina Cornaro, Queen of Cyprus. Rather than a plain roll, Caterina sports a black, white and gold one, variously described as brocade or damask or embroidered. The roll is securely shoved down over a closely fitted cap made up of what looks to me like alternating bands of lace, or possibly lacis in net. (Partridge, in the Art of Renaissance Venice, pg 96, describes it as damask, so take your pick!) A coronet crowns the whole ensemble. Underneath it all are two very fine gossamer black veils. I liked the idea of a decorated roll, and of multiple parts to the headwear allowing different looks. Another, unattributed, painting of Caterina appears to show a similar roll (or possibly a cap?) worn much further back on her head with a different veil beneath. (One thing I learned when researching this was the assertion that women wore their ears covered by veils to maintain chastity, this being the route the Holy Ghost took to impregnate the Blessed Virgin Mary!) My head roll is in Sir Radbot’s colours, being part of a consort ensemble of a black coat, tabbed bodice and Venetian brocade skirt. The black ribbon and pearl earrings I’m wearing are modeled off the ones worn by the Lady with Squirrel by Montemezzano. The roll bears one of our favour pins at centre. The remaining decorations came from long-stashed stuff; the wool was scored at one of Southron Gaard’s beggar markets. The accompanying veil is silk chiffon, chosen for its sheerness and drape. The edges were stabilised with starch; Master William de Wyk demonstrated how to extract starch by heavily kneading a flour and water dough, then washing the starch out of it; that makes a clearer solution than the common approach of boiling cornflour and water. Ironing a starch-dampened edge onto brown paper made it a lot easier to cut a straight line and to press a fold into this most uncooperative fabric. Caterina Cornaro paintings: https://theconversation.com/hidden-women-of-history-caterina-cornaro-the-last-queen-of-cyprus-108495 Another Bellini depiction of Caterina (far left) wearing the same roll: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Miracolo_della_reliquia_della_Croce_al_ponte_di_San_Lorenzo_di_Gentile_Bellini,_dettaglio_(4).JPG
This entry is presented for the categories Child’s Play: Out of Your Comfort Zone (Embroidery), One Metre Material Project (linen and lace), Give What You Get, and Togs, Togs, Undies.
Meisterin Christian says:
I have been interested in the lovely late 16thC linen shirts with silk insert embroidery stitches, but alas this is too late for the clothes I wear in the SCA. I decided to make one for my goddaughter for 2017 Midwinter Coronation, both as a gift to her and also as an experiment to learn more about these shirts and their construction. I was also looking for a project to take with me on a 4WD camping trip at Easter. (What I should have taken was the Skjoldehamn hood (although I hadn’t even thought about making it at that point), as trying to hand sew a white linen shirt outdoors in crepuscular light and a windy, wet, muddy environment was not ideal.)
I worked from several extant women’s smocks and boys shirts in Janet Arnold’s Patterns of Fashion 4, and a girl’s smock pattern in the Tudor Tailor. As the child was only 2 years old I had to scale down the extant patterns in size, but still leave room for growth as the event was some months away. There was always a chance that her growth would not be linear and the smock would either swamp her or be too small (I had backup plans for either scenario). Also chances were, that given the pace of growth for toddlers and the number of SCA events each year, she might also only be able to wear the smock once.
The extant shirts and smocks are made of white tabby woven linen in various thread counts. I made this shirt from less than 1 metre of such linen; offcuts from one of my own smocks. I imagine that women in period, who we know often made shirts and smocks for their family (even if tailors or servants made their other clothes), would have used remnants in the same way for their children.
Each pattern piece in the original was hemmed first, with narrow (~3mm) hems and then the pieces were sewn together with the coloured silk in a decorative stitch. Due to the light and mud (see above) the hems done in the field weren’t always 3 mm, but once back in the real world the later hems were nice and tiny. There is no reference in Janet Arnold to the stitch used to hem the originals so I used a simple whip stitch with a white linen hand sewing thread; these stitches are essentially invisible in the completed piece.
Due to the less than optimal sewing conditions outdoors, the many small pattern pieces, and the danger of losing pins in the muddy grass, I loosely slip-stitched the hemmed pieces together before stitching the pieces together permanently with the insertion stitches. Given the child is generally energetic, it seemed a little reinforcement to the slightly fragile embroidery stitches might be a good idea. It’s entirely possible that this could have been done in period; the tacking stitches are also virtually invisible in the completed garment.
For the insertion stitches (that join the garment pieces together) I decided not to use silk because of the cost (since the child might only wear the shirt once) and because a toddler’s clothes are likely to need some serious laundering. I substituted DMC embroidery thread, which I was assured would be colour fast even in nappy-soaking chemicals (so far, so good). Having surveyed the silk colours of extant garments in Janet Arnold, I tended to a crimson, and with the help of the child’s mother and other godmothers selected a colour we all liked. Late period embroidery is definitely outside my comfort zone. Having looked at the embroidery on various extant garments, and searched for information on period techniques, I experimented with a few until I found stitches that I liked. Some of the extant shirts also have decorative embroidery on parts of the garments other than the seams (e.g. sleeves), and/ or also alongside the insertion work on the seams. Given the child may only wear the shirt once or twice, I decided the additional work was probably not warranted.
The remnants I had were not enough to cut the sleeves in one piece so I had to piece them. I’m sure this would not be uncommon in period for economic reasons. Initially I planned to put the additional seam at the back of the sleeve where it would not be obvious, but then I decided to make a feature of it by putting it at the front and embroidering the seam which would add interest if the shift was worn with an open front sleeve. I started my embroidery here. I decided I really liked the alternating triple stitch buttonhole stitch so I played around with the stitch until I found a technique that produced the right look and was easy to maintain in a steady stitching rhythm. I sewed a couple of inches and decided that it was too large a scale for such small garment, so unpicked it and went to double stitches. Once I’d sewn the whole seam I realised it was really red and overwhelming, and then recalled a shirt that had a white linen thread stitched over the insertion silk embroidery on one shirt, and for which I’d thought – why would you do that? Why use practical white linen thread decoratively on top of red silk? Now I wonder if the embroiderer thought as I did that there was too much red in that stitch, and it needed more contrast from the white. The stitch was also (comparatively) very slow and used a lot of thread, so I decided it wasn’t going to work for the whole shirt. I decided to change to a single alternating stitch for the rest of the shirt. Its not clear if different insertion stitches were used in different parts of the same shirt, but it is clear that decorative embroidery used a variety of stitches on the same garment, so I went with the change. It also made more of a feature of the centre front sleeve seams. After some experimentation I chose a pretty standard looking insertion stitch (essentially an alternating blanket stitch with another stitch into the intersection to “knot it off”).
The body and sleeves were gathered into a collar and cuffs to make the smock more comfortable for the wearer. For the same reason I choose to attach a flat band of lace to the collar and cuffs. I briefly contemplated making the lace, but since the child might only wear this once, that seemed unwise. Ties at the cuffs and collar in the original garment were inserted through sewn eyelets, but I figured a toddler would have those out and lost within minutes, so instead I sewed soft tape ties on as neck and wrist closures.
More entries from Baroness Agnes – the herbal contents of a medieval medical chest for the category For Science! and a simple Renaissance style dress made as a gift for a relative newcomer for Give What You Get.
About the herbs, she says:
The beginnings of the contents of Agnes’s medical chest. Pictured are mint, lemon balm, sage, plantain, rosemary, catmint and cleavers. These were located, identity confirmed, harvested, dried and stored. Eventually they’ll get nicer jars and a chest to live in, but the herbs are the central aspect.
About the dress she says:
A simple renaissance style dress for [a friend] who wanted to come to Faire. Unfortunately she never made it, so there’s no photo of the relative newcomer in the dress, but I still made the dress, and she’ll still wear it one day.
Baroness Agnes brings two articles of headwear – a French Hood for category The Neck Best Thing and a St Birgitta’s Cap for category One Metre Material Project
She says about the hood:
A french hood to compliment Agnes’ Tudor garb. It’s wired fake-buckram covered in brocade, with glass pearl accents to create the look. It perches on the head rather than being an encompassing hat, so I shall make another eventually.
And about the cap:
A super-useful hat to hold the hair away that can be found through Europe 13th to 16th C. This one specifically is a commission for katherine kerr. Linen, with manufactured lace because I’m no embroiderer. This is being entered in the A&S championship.
Dona Isabel Maria presents a Spanish underskirt for the category Togs Togs Undies!
She says: Over the last few years, the number of Spanish costuming resources has exploded as people translate portions of wills from both Spain and the New World. One of the more interesting wills mentioned a manteo that was described as “not put on over the head”. This has been interpreted as a wrap skirt and, of course, I had to test this interpretation. I decided to make it as an underskirt as part of a middle/lower class capsule wardrobe for camping events.
Materials & Equipment: 3m linen, cotton thread (1 spool), beeswax, scissors, tape measure, preferred hand sewing needle, both editions of Juan de Alcega’s pattern books. As I intended this as a working garment, I followed period imagery and chose to make it just below ankle length. As this was a test piece, I also chose to make it from linen and forgo the lining mentioned in the few, partially translated wills I can access. In order to make more efficient use of my fabric (and time) I decided to alter the piecing shown in Alcega’s cutting diagrams. (This does not seem to be against his general philosophy.) After a few calculations, the fabric was cut and hand sewing commenced using a combination of running and whip stitches. The piecing is done with a flat felled seam and the hem is a simple double turn under, both worked in running stitch (it just worked beautifully with the linen). The waist is bound in a narrow strip of linen (finished with whip stitch) that extends to form ties to fasten the skirt.Verdict: Flattering, comfortable and now a workhorse garment.
Meisterin Christian presents a pair of linen hose for the categories One Metre Material Project; Hitting Below The Knee; Togs, Togs, Undies. Possibly also Remake, Reuse, Refashion, Reconsider, and a dress based on a portrait of Katharina von Bura for the categories Remake, Reuse, Refashion, Reconsider and Counting (on) Sheep, and finally a haube for The Neck Best Thing.
About the hose, she says: I first made woollen hose some years ago, and then after a particularly hot and wet Canterbury Faire one year I decided I needed some linen hose to either wear alone, or as a lining layer for woollen hose. However my pattern had disappeared. Having torn apart my sewing room, I gave up on the project. Last year I decided it was time to make some more hose, and after failing to find the pattern yet again, made a new one. Which I then promptly lost. While looking for some beads for another A&S challenge project I found last year’s pattern. So, using a (less than a metre) scrap of the same linen I used for my child’s shirt project in this Challenge, I whipped up these linen hose. Pictured as worn below (the foot-selfie makes my feet look alarmingly small).
Hose made from woven linen fabric are recorded in 16th C sources and at least one extant example survive. These may have been worn as lining for woollen hose (so that the woollen hose can be worn repeatedly without washing while the lining pair could be cleaned frequently), and/or they were probably worn alone in warmer weather. The hose were cut on the bias in order to stretch and conform around the feet and legs. Garters are worn to hold the hose up. The seams here are stitched in linen thread, overcast stitch for strength, with the seam allowances flat felled on inside for comfort.
About the dress and haube she says:
For Yule 2017 I decided that as this winter event included outdoor activities I really needed to wear something warm (and made of more practical fabrics than say silk or brocade). It was not cold enough for my really heavy woollen dress, and too cold for my light woollen dress with the slashed sleeves; ideally I needed something in between. It occurred to me that I had an unfinished green woollen dress in the naughty corner (that’s where annoying, frustrating, or uncooperative A&S projects are sent until they learn to behave) which I had started years ago and not finished because a) I didn’t have much use for warm clothing at that point, and b) the woollen fabric was somewhat annoying to sew). This seemed like a prime opportunity to get a new dress and also knock off a couple more A&S Challenge categories in the process.
Of course this all occurred to me the night before the event, which is not the ideal time to decide you need a new dress. After some excavation I recovered the dress and found that there was only about 30 mins work (tidying the lacing rings and waist fastenings), and a brustfleck (the brocade breast-band), needed to make the dress wearable. Since it was the night before the event, and I’m not completely crazy, I found an brustfleck from another old dress and covered it in a scrap of brocade from my stash, and after a couple of hours work I had a new, never-been-worn dress. And to add to the fun, I also quickly cobbled together a haube (the hairnet/snood type thingy Katharina is wearing in the portrait) from a (purchased) black hairnet and a gold headband I had begun for another haube project. I didn’t get any photos of the dress at the event, so the photo below is of the dress on a dressmakers form.
This dress is based on the 1526 portrait by Lucas Cranach of Katharine von Bura (below). Katharina von Bura was the wife of Martin Luther (he of the 95 theses). The size, shape and placement of guards (black trim / bands) on the bottom of the skirt and the back of the dress are conjectured from dresses in other portraits of the period.
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