The Companion to the Fiery Cross, a Breath of Snow and Ashes, an Echo in the Bone, and Written in My Own Heart's Blood

by Diana Gabaldon

  Outlander: From the very beginning, comfrey makes an appearance, as Claire and Mrs. Fitz tend to Jamie’s shoulder in the early chapters of Outlander. A definite “must have” for the castle clinic.

  Foxglove (Poison)

  Digitalis purpurea (L); Lus-nam-bansith (G)—fairy woman’s plant (pronounced ban-SHEE).

  Parts used: Leaves and roots.

  The common name foxglove is said to derive from a corruption of “folk’s glove”—as in “fairy folk.”

  There are many associations with this plant and the fairies in the Highlands and farther afield.

  When the settlers arrived in America from Scotland, this is one of the plants they introduced.

  Traditional use: For “dropsy,” a condition we now understand as edema resulting from cardiac failure. As a “drawing ointment” on boils or swellings. For the skin complaint we now know as “rosacea.”

  Modern use: In 1785, one of the most important breakthroughs in medical history was made when glycosides were extracted from foxgloves, which enabled the treatment of heart failure by allowing the heart muscles to work more efficiently. This reduces the workload on the heart and also on the kidneys. It is now only available in drug form, as the plant is very poisonous.

  Outlander: Claire makes an extract of dried leaves for Alex Randall for his cough and heart palpitations in Drums of Autumn.

  St. John’s Wort

  Hypericum perforatum (L); achlasan Chaluimchille (G)—the “armpit package” of Columba.

  An important plant of the Highlands in both folklore and medicine. Carried to ward away the evil eye. St. Columba is said to have cured a boy with melancholy by placing it under his armpit.

  Parts used: Herb tops, flowers.

  Traditional use: For wounds, as a sedative, and for shock.

  Modern use: The chemical composition of Hypericum perforatum has been well studied. The documented pharmacological effects include antidepressant, anxiolytic (against anxiety), antiviral, and antibacterial. Used in treatment of depression, anxiety, and sleep disorders; modern clinical studies have shown it to be as effective as antidepressants in treating mild to moderate depression.

  Caution! Since St. John’s wort can interact with some medications and antidepressant drugs, it’s best to consult with a physician or herbalist.

  Outlander: Mrs. Fitz adds it to the mix to stop the bleeding effect of willow tea. She comments on the best time to harvest it, at the full moon. Claire also later suggests it for headaches.

  Bogbean

  Menyanthes trifoliata (L); Lui’-nan-tri-beann (G)—“three-leaved plant,” also milsean monaidh (“sweet plant of the hill”).

  Parts used: Leaves, stem, and roots.

  Traditional use: A potent tonic, drunk in springtime for that reason; sometimes pulped for the juice and stored in stone jars for winter. Teaspoon doses of the mix were used for coughs, and the leaves were applied to wounds and boils to “draw pus.” The roots were eaten in convalescence and also used in place of hops to make beer. Also taken for “weak stomachs” and for pain after jaundice, and was said to “open the tubes” in asthmatic conditions.

  Modern use: Today there are still places in the western isles that use bogbean as a tonic in spring, and it is now used by practitioners in treating arthritic and rheumatic conditions, perhaps due to its cleansing action, which helps clear the joints of problematic “waste products.”

  Outlander: Bogbean was used as a febrifuge at the abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupre.

  Garlic (Wild)

  Allium ursinum (L); Creamh (G).

  Parts used: Aerial parts and bulbs.

  Traditional use: On the Isle of Skye, it is recorded that wild garlic was not only used in cooking as a “pot herb” but as a “blood strengthener” and to treat kidney stones all over the Highlands, as well as being used topically in poultices, to draw pus. There is a Gaelic saying that “a cure for everyone is garlic in May butter and a drink with that the milk of white goats,” indicating the prolific use of garlic in Highland medicine.

  Modern use: Science has now extensively researched the properties of garlic and found it to be highly antibiotic, as are many of the alliums. On top of this, it lowers cholesterol, blood pressure, and also blood sugar levels, making it beneficial in treating some heart conditions, high blood pressure, diabetes, and also infections. A remedy from the tenth century containing wild garlic, or a relative, is currently showing promising signs of a breakthrough in antibiotic solutions against new superbugs such as MRSA.

  Outlander: Garlic is mentioned many times, for wound-cleaning mixes and in culinary ways. It is also worn in a silver pomander locket to ward off illness. This is indeed something that was done in many places at the time of the Plague!

  Marsh Mallow

  Althea officinalis (L); fochas or leamhad (G)—meaning “itch” or “insipid.”

  Parts used: Roots.

  Traditional use: It’s recorded as being used as an herb for lung complaints in the eighteenth century, although it wasn’t a common wild plant in Scotland and was most likely cultivated. The abundance of mucilage the plant bestows made it useful in treating inflammation and irritation internally and as an emollient externally. The Gaelic names probably refer to its use for itching.

  Modern use: The mucilage content is still used in similar ways today, as a soothing remedy for coughs and catarrh and also for the digestive tract, as well as an emollient topical application for skin complaints and irritation.

  Outlander: Grannie MacNab tells Claire it is good for a cough, and it is mentioned as one of the herbs Geillis used to treat her husband’s persistent flatulence.

  Yarrow

  Achillea millefolium (L); Lus chosgadh na fola (G)—meaning “the plant that stops the bleeding.”

  Parts used: Aerial parts.

  Traditional use: As the name suggests, yarrow was used both internally and externally to stop bleeding. An ointment was used to heal and dry wounds, and the juice applied to the nose can stop a nosebleed, although the way of administering this treatment was previously to place a rolled-up leaf inside the nostril. Yarrow flowers were also drunk in a tea to calm a fever. It was one of the plants used on the battlefields of World War II and most likely in many battles before then. In fact, its spear-like leaf led it to be considered a “warrior’s plant” in many early cultures, in the same way as pine. Yarrow, likes so many wildflowers, was believed by young girls to hold the power of divination of a future lover. They placed it under their pillows to dream of the “one they would marry.”

  Modern use: Yarrow is still used today in the treatment of fevers, often combined with elderflower and peppermint, and is also used as a strengthening tonic and for circulatory issues such as varicose veins.

  Outlander: Claire uses yarrow as a disinfectant and febrifuge in Outlander, and Mrs. Fitz uses it in the garden as a companion plant to “keep the bugs away.”

  ANCIENT BIOTICS

  Probably one of the most important remedies that would have been necessary in the eighteenth century, anywhere in the world, was a topical antibiotic. In times before antiseptic was widely available, the slightest injury or wound could become infected easily. Simple wounds that would seem insignificant in today’s medically advanced times could have proved fatal back then.

  A Gaelic favorite (on top of bathing with wild garlic) was an ointment of St. John’s wort (Hypericum perforatum), goldenrod (Solidago virgaurea), and germander speedwell (Veronica chamaedrys). The herbs were finely chopped and added to salted butter. The salt was to act as a preservative, but, inevitably in those days, products like this would degrade quickly, and so small batches were made when necessary. Animal fat lasted longer, so hogsgreese (pig fat) was often used as a base for ointments, sometimes with powdered resin added for medicinal properties and also as a preservative.

  With the refinement of modern chemistry, ointments were found that had a longer-lasting shelf life, using a combination of oils and wax. Beeswax was used traditionally;
however, emulsifying oil was often substituted.

  Of course, these days, with the access we have to ingredients from all over the world, it isn’t really necessary to go around smeared in and smelling of pig fat. It is also possible to make an ointment that doesn’t require beeswax, and with the bees increasingly threatened, perhaps it is advisable to put as little demand as possible on current populations.

  Here’s a recipe from traditional Highland medicine, which I’ve adapted for modern use:

  Daisy Salve

  The daisy (day’s eye) got its name because its flowers open with the sunrise.

  The common small daisy, Bellis perennis, was widely used in the Highlands for bumps, bruises, and sprains, much as arnica ointment is used in warmer climes. Of course, arnica is also known as the “mountain daisy” and is in the same family as the humble daisy, so it’s not surprising they have similar uses, as is often the case with herbs in the same plant family.

  Daisy ointment was applied to wounds, injuries, and aching or swollen joints. It is safe to use unless you have an allergy to the daisy family. You should also avoid contact with broken skin.

  You will need:

  60 g coconut oil

  30 g shea butter (or cocoa butter)

  Around 100–200 g fresh daisies (about a good dessert bowl’s worth)

  12 drops essential oil (optional; try lavender or chamomile)

  2 x 60 g ointment jars with lids (make sure they are sterilized)

  Bain-marie (or double boiler)

  Labels

  Here’s how to do it:

  Boil water in a deep pan. Place a Pyrex or glass bowl above it—without touching the water and so that the steam can’t escape. We’re making our own bain-marie here.

  Now add the coconut oil, and stir until it melts. Add the cocoa butter or shea butter, until it has completely melted. Next, fill the bowl with enough flowers that the oil completely covers them. It doesn’t matter how much—you can add more if it isn’t strong enough, and it is unlikely to be too strong. So start with a good few handfuls. They will begin to reduce down in size and you can add more if necessary.

  Cover the bowl with a large pot lid, and leave on heat until the flowers begin to crisp. This can be 1–2 hours.

  (If the flowers seem to shrink, you can add more.)

  Pay attention! Check back to see if your oil needs more flowers, and give it a stir frequently to get an even exposure to heat. You also don’t want to “cook” the petals—so look closely for them becoming crisp and remove from heat when this happens. Otherwise, you get a “greasy fries” smell to your ointment—not so good.

  Remove from heat. Strain, add drops of essential oil, stir, and store in sterile jars. Let it cool and then place in the refrigerator; this will help the salve set.

  If you feel it is not strong enough in color (green) or smell, you can allow it to cool and repeat the process again—using more flowers and the first infusion. If the salve has not set enough, you can melt it again and add a little more cocoa butter or shea.

  Label the jars with date and the name DAISY SALVE.

  Slàinte leat!

  * * *

  THERESA CARLE-SANDERS

  Author’s Note: While Theresa Carle-Sanders isn’t associated with the TV show, she’s one of the Very Interesting People who have taken inspiration from Outlander and brought their own special skills to an interesting ancillary project—in this case, Theresa’s new cookbook, Outlander Kitchen, with recipes inspired by and/or based on descriptions of the cookery and food in the books. I therefore took advantage of her knowledge of historical cookery and asked her to write this entertaining and informative essay—hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did!

  THE DIET AND COOKERY OF EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY HIGHLANDERS

  “The food was either terribly bad or terribly good,” Claire had said, describing her adventures in the past. “That’s because there’s no way of keeping things; anything you eat has either been salted or preserved in lard, if it isn’t half rancid—or else it’s fresh off the hoof or out of the garden, in which case it can be bloody marvelous.”

  —DRUMS OF AUTUMN

  rior to the Clearances that forced tens of thousands from the land and left it as one of the least densely populated areas in all of Europe, the Scottish Highlands were home to a much larger population, mostly tenant farmers living in small collective groups of crofts called townships. These townships typically housed a hundred people, often extended family, who grew, raised, foraged, and, if near the water, fished to survive amongst the north’s unforgiving landscape with its short growing season, harsh climate, and poor soil.

  The typical diet of a Highland Scot through the first half of the eighteenth century varied widely, according to their place in the economic and social structure. The tables of the great halls in castles such as Leoch and the dining rooms of manor houses like Lallybroch were laden with venison and wild boar, beef and lamb, fowl and songbirds.

  They had imported delicacies in their storerooms: dried fruit, citrus peel, expensive spices like pepper, cloves, and cinnamon. Sugar, still a very expensive commodity in the early eighteenth century, was used to make sumptuous desserts and puddings. They drank beer brewed on their estates, as well as whisky—uisge beatha, or the water of life, malted and distilled onsite—and enjoyed fine wines from Europe’s best grape-producing regions.

  The cook in a wealthy kitchen turned a bountiful combination of locally grown produce and ingredients from afar into a tasty and nourishing assortment of dishes distinct from those in the rest of the British Isles. Scotland’s near-four-hundred-year Auld Alliance with France against the English left a lasting influence on Scottish culture, including her cuisine. Terms such as the French escalope became the Scot’s collop, for a slice of meat, and a boiling fowl, Hetoudeau, became Howtowdie, a dish of boiled chicken with spinach and poached eggs.

  The diet of the poorer classes, including the crofter, was a much leaner, plain, and monotonous one. Bannocks, oatcakes, porridge, and vegetable pottages, very occasionally enriched with a small piece of meat or a bone, made up the bulk of a farmer’s diet. Meat was expensive and eaten rarely. Farmers grew crops of oats, barley, and pease (peas) at a subsistence level and raised animals, especially cattle, primarily for their by-products, such as milk, butter, and cheese. Wheat for leavened bread wouldn’t grow on the poor, unimproved soil, and there was no oven in a farmer’s croft in which to bake it.

  Kitchen gardens, or kailyards, supplemented farmers’ families’ diets with year-round crops of kale, leeks, and other vegetables hardy enough to survive the ruthless winters. Kale’s historical popularity as a mainstay of Scottish cooking owes much to the simple fact that it can survive a Highland winter. So ubiquitous was kale that its name became metonymically associated with everything food, from the family vegetable plot to the dinner bell:

  But hark! The kail-bell rings, and I

  Maun gae link aff the pot;

  Come see, ye hash, how sair I sweat

  To stegh your guts, ye sot.

  (Watty and Madge, David Herd’s Collection of Scottish Songs, Volume ii, p. 199)1

  Mustard, spinach, carrots, and cabbage from the garden provided welcome variety in a crofter’s diet from summer through early winter. The hardest time of year was undoubtedly after the failing of the previous winter’s kale crop in early spring, through until the first harvests in early summer, when food stores were near bare and the last of the kale had gone to seed. Foraged wild vegetables such as nettles, sorrel, and garlic filled in the food gap and provided much-needed nourishment to fuel the plowing and planting activities of spring. Wild berries in summer were a rare sweet treat.

  The first recorded example of potatoes being grown in Scotland is 1701, but it wasn’t until the last quarter of the century that they found their way into the average family’s vegetable plot. Turnips were introduced at about the same time, adding diversity and substance to the Highland diet. Both vegetables also stored well, improvi
ng food security.

  Near the shores, most men split their time between the fields and the sea. These fishermen–farmers had the most varied, nutrient-rich diet of the Highland’s working poor, thanks to plentiful fish and seafood. They used seaweed to fertilize their gardens and made salt to season and preserve their food, as well as to barter with it with the inland population.

  Across the Highlands, food for the workingman was required to be easily transportable and resistant to spoilage. Men would commonly carry a small bag of oatmeal in their sporran, which could quickly be made into a basic porridge or oatcake while in the fields or away from home. This type of food-to-go is thought to account for the origins of haggis, but it’s important to note that the first printed reference to that eminently Scottish dish is in an English cookbook, although it most likely extends back much further, to the Viking occupation of Britain.

  Crofts were sturdy, small, windowless homes built to shelter their inhabitants from the ruthless conditions in the Highlands. Just inside the single door used by both humans and animals was a sunken room with a cobbled floor, where the animals, mostly cattle and chickens, were kept, along with the farmer’s cas-chrom, or foot plow, and his wife’s milk churn.

  Up a step from the byre was the croft’s center section, which served as the family’s living room, dining room, kitchen, and bedroom. The floor was packed dirt, and the walls were made of thickly cut turf or clay and wattle. The roof was thatched in whatever was available—heather, broom, bracken, straw, or rushes.

  The peat fire in the center of the living area burned day and night to provide light and warmth. The family sat around the fire on low wooden stools, where the smoke was not as thick, and if there was fish, they were hung above the fire to smoke. An opening in the roof was offset from the fire to allow smoke to escape, but the walls and roof were covered with black ash from the fire. The walls were scraped of ash, which was collected along with the blackened thatching to use as fertilizer in the fields; this may explain why their oat crops grew so well on the substandard soil.