A Feast of Ice and Fire: The Official Game of Thrones Companion Cookbook
Page 1
Copyright © 2012 by Chelsea Monroe-Cassel and Sariann Lehrer
Introduction copyright © 2012 by George R. R. Martin
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of the Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Some of the recipes contained in this work were originally published on the authors’ blog, The Inn at the Crossroads, www.innatthecrossroads.com.
Photographs col1.1, 1.4, 1.10, 1.12, 2.9, 2.12, 2.15, 3.10, 4.11, 4.12, 4.15, 4.20, and 4.25 are by Kristin Teig and styled by Beth Wickwire, copyright © Kristin Teig. Used courtesy of Kristin Teig.
All other photographs by Chelsea Monroe-Cassel and Sariann Lehrer.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Monroe-Cassel, Chelsea.
A feast of ice and fire : the official companion cookbook / Chelsea
Monroe-Cassel and Sariann Lehrer.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
eISBN: 978-0-345-53554-2
1. Cooking, International. 2. Cooking, Medieval. 3. Martin, George R. R. Game of thrones. I. Lehrer, Sariann. II. Title.
TX725.A1M646 2012
641.59—dc23 2012009324
www.bantamdell.com
Book design by Virginia Norey
v3.1
For Brent, for everything.
—CMC
And for all the cooks, chefs,
and powerful women who
inspired us along the way.
—SDL
Contents
Dedication
Introduction
About This Book
Stocking a Medieval Kitchen
The Basics
Pastry Dough, Sauces, Etc.
Summary of Cuisine by Region
Recipes by Region:
The Wall
The North
The South
King’s Landing
Dorne
Across the Narrow Sea
Feasting in Style
Index
Menus
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Introduction
Come closer now. No, closer than that. I have a confession to make, an embarrassing confession, and I don’t want everyone to hear. Another step, yes … lean close, and I’ll whisper the sad truth in your ear:
I can’t cook.
There ’tis, my shameful secret. All the paragraphs and pages that I’ve devoted to food in my books and stories over the years, all my loving and detailed descriptions of dishes both ordinary and exotic, all those fictional feasts that made your mouth water … I never actually cooked a single one of them. They were made of words. Big meaty nouns, crisp fresh verbs, a nice seasoning of adjectives and adverbs. Words. The stuff that dreams are made of … very tasty dreams, fat free and calorie free, but with no nutritive value.
Writing I’m good at. Cooking, not so much.
Well, okay, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not bad at breakfast, so long as “breakfast” means frying up some thick-sliced bacon and scrambling a mess of eggs with onions, cheese, and just enough Italian seasoning. But when I want pancakes or eggs Benedict or (best) a breakfast burrito smothered in green chile, I head out to my favorite breakfast place (Tecolote Café in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for those who are keeping score). Like all red-blooded American males, come summertime, I have been known to stack up some charcoal briquets, douse them with lighter fluid, and char steaks, dogs, and burgers over the resultant blaze. Indoors, well … I can boil corn on the cob, I can steam veggies (when I must), and I do make a mean cheese-stuffed meat loaf. That’s about the extent of it, though. That meat loaf represents the apex of my personal culinary achievement. When my wife broils a steak, it comes out charred on the outside and red on the inside. I broil the same steak in the same broiler, and it turns a uniform shade of pale gray throughout.
Fortunately, I am much better at eating food than cooking it (as a glance at my waistline will tell you, sad to say). Food is one of life’s great pleasures, and I am all in favor of pleasure. Reading is another of those things that help make life worth living, and when one can combine reading and food, well …
Which is why my novels are so full of food—a trend that did not begin with A Song of Ice and Fire, I should note. A decade before I began writing A Game of Thrones, I recall, I attended the British version of the famous Milford Writers’ Workshop and submitted a short story for critique. One of the other writers there called it “food porn.” But then again, he was British, from the land of boiled beef and mushy peas. I have always suspected that the British Empire was largely a result of Englishmen spreading out across the world looking for something good to eat.
It is true that I spend a lot of words in my books describing the meals my characters are eating. More than most writers, I suspect. This does draw a certain amount of criticism from those readers and reviewers who like a brisker pace. “Do we really need all that detailed description of food?” these critics will ask. “What does it matter how many courses were served, whether the capons were nicely crisped, what sort of sauce the wild boar was cooked in?” Whether it is a seventy-seven-course wedding banquet or some outlaws sharing salt beef and apples around a campfire, these critics don’t want to hear about it unless it advances the plot.
I bet they eat fast food while they’re typing too.
I have a different outlook on these matters. I write to tell a story, and telling a story is not at all the same as advancing the plot. If the plot was all that mattered, none of us would need to read novels at all. The CliffsNotes would suffice. All you’ll miss is … well, everything.
For me, the journey is what matters, not how quickly one can get to the final destination. When I read, as when I travel, I want to see the sights, smell the flowers, and, yes, taste the food. My goal as a writer has always been to create an immersive vicarious experience for my readers. When a reader puts down one of my novels, I want him to remember the events of the book as if he had lived them. And the way to do that is with sensory detail.
Sights, sounds, scents—those are the things that make a scene come alive. Battle, bedroom, or banquet table, it makes no matter; the same techniques apply. That’s why I spend so much time and effort describing the food my characters eat: what it is, how it’s prepared, what it looks like, what it smells like, what it tastes like. It grounds the scenes, gives them texture, makes them vivid and visceral and memorable. Sense impressions reach us on much deeper and more primal levels than intellectual discourse can ever hope to.
And the meals I describe do other things as well. World building is part of what gives epic fantasy its appeal, and food is part of that. You can learn a lot about a world and culture from what they eat (and what they won’t eat). All you really need to know about hobbits can be learned from “nice crispy bacon” and “second breakfasts.” And orcs … well, no one is likely to be doing The Orc Cookbook anytime soon.
The same is as true for individuals as for societies. There’s a lot of characterization going on in those not-so-gratuitous feast scenes of mine. Oh, and sometimes that plot does advance as well.
Those are the side dishes, though. The main course here, the reason why I include such scenes in my fiction, is for the scenes themselves. I like writing about food, and my readers—most o
f them, anyway—seem to like reading about it. Judging by the number of readers who write to say that my feast scenes make their mouths water, I must be doing something right.
Unlike my world of Westeros or the real-life middle ages, the twenty-first century is a golden age, at least where food is concerned. Ours is an age of plenty, where foods of all types are readily available at any season, and even the most exotic spices can be purchased at the nearest grocery store, at prices that do not require you to mortgage your castle. Even better, for those of us who love to eat but cannot cook, this wonderful world of ours is full of people who will cook for us.
Enter Sariann and Chelsea.
At this late date, I can’t possibly recall the first person to suggest we publish a cookbook with all the recipes from my novels. The first such suggestion probably came in not long after the publication of A Game of Thrones in 1996. Dozens of other readers have made the same suggestion in the decades since. Most of them were just tossing out the notion as a joke, to be sure—“You write so much about food, you ought to do a cookbook, ha ha.” And even those who treated the idea seriously made the mistake of saying, “You ought to write a cookbook.” Given my prowess in the kitchen, the chances of that happening were about equal to the chances of me writing an auto repair manual or a guide to computer programming.
Sariann and Chelsea were different. They did not just write to me and suggest that a cookbook would be a nifty idea, no. They actually began to cook some of the meals described in A Song of Ice and Fire, hunting up recipes in crumbling books of medieval cookery and pairing each with a more contemporary version made with modern, twenty-first-century techniques and ingredients.
They called their blog the Inn at the Crossroads, after a certain namesake establishment in the novels where various dire events take place. Among other things, the innkeep is hanged, and her corpse strung up outside the door to twist in the wind. A fate, I devoutly hope, that will not befall Sariann and Chelsea. Their food is much, much better than what is served at the original inn.
How do I know that? you may ask. Have I cooked any of these dishes, in either their medieval or modern versions? Well, no. I told you, I can’t cook. I have eaten many of these dishes, however, and that’s the important thing. When A Dance with Dragons, the most recent novel in the series, came out last July, I kicked off my book tour in Boston, and Sariann and Chelsea themselves showed up with a basket of lemon cakes, meat pies, and other goodies to keep me from feeling peckish during the signing. And thereafter, as I made my way from coast to coast, in a dozen different cities, confederates of theirs and readers of their blog turned up at most every signing, with more baskets and more dishes, each more toothsome than the last. And every basket featured lemon cakes. Sansa would have loved them.
Now that I am back home again, working on the next book, the baskets have stopped, alas. But fear not; we have this book instead, so you can cook your own versions of the favorite dishes of the Seven Kingdoms and the more exotic lands beyond. Those of you who cook can, anyway. And, hell, maybe even I will give a few of these recipes a try, assuming I can find a good source for dragon peppers.…
Eat hearty, my friends. Winter is coming.
George R. R. Martin
Santa Fe
January 21, 2012
About This Book
For many fans of the bestselling series A Song of Ice and Fire, reading these books is an immersive experience. Set in a quasi-medieval world, full of political intrigue, mayhem, and just a touch of magic, one defining quality of these books is George R. R. Martin’s incredible attention to detail. He paints intimate portraits of his characters, embroidered with poignant descriptions of the landscapes they inhabit, the clothes they wear, and—our primary concern for this project—the foods they eat. It is a rare Martin reader who has never felt a pang of desire at the descriptions of dishes that are familiar enough to make the mouth water and exotic enough to stimulate the imagination.
Having often felt that stirring hunger as we read, we were eager to try our hands at turning fiction into an edible reality. It only took a few meals before we realized that we were really on to something. We launched our food blog, Inn at the Crossroads, shortly after and were delighted at how quickly it attracted an enthusiastic fan base. Just a few months after launching the blog, we were given the incredible opportunity to create this cookbook.
One needn’t be a chef to enjoy the delicious fare of Westeros. Through our recipes, we aim to enable fans, regardless of how much or how little they know about cooking, to connect with their favorite fantasy series in a whole new way.
This cookbook is designed to take readers on a culinary journey through George R. R. Martin’s world—beginning at the Wall, then gradually moving southward to King’s Landing and Dorne, before taking ship across the narrow sea to feast with the Dothraki and in the Free Cities.
We can’t tell you how much we’ve enjoyed our culinary adventures, but we can try to show you. So we hope that you will join us in your own kitchens for a feast unlike any you have prepared before: a feast of ice and fire.
Welcome to the Inn!
Chelsea & Sariann
A Feast of Ice and Fire
Stocking a Medieval Kitchen
While researching recipes for this cookbook, we found that our modern pantry was often insufficiently stocked with some of the quirkier ingredients called for in medieval, Roman, and Elizabethan cookbooks. Palates and preferences have changed through the centuries, usually with one taste replacing another. In this vein, we were able to satisfactorily replace the more scarce ingredients with those readily available in today’s shops.
The key to successful cooking, whether in a medieval kitchen or a modern one, is innovation, so don’t despair if you cannot find the exact meats or spices called for in a particular recipe. Rather, take a step back and look at the dish as a whole. Get a feel for the dish, based on where it is served, and go from there. To help you get started, we offer a few easy substitutions below.
Easier substitutions for meats:
Aurochs (a now extinct bovine species): beef or bison
Goat: lamb
Pigeon: duck or other dark meat poultry
Quail: game hens
Some wonderful and underappreciated herbs and spices, many of which can be found in specialty food stores or online:
Savory: Similar to thyme, but more subtle. May be directly substituted for thyme.
Grains of Paradise: Often included in mulled wine, this was a precursor to black pepper. Many medieval recipes call for grains of paradise, which, while peppery, has a more complex set of flavors than modern pepper. If unavailable, substitute slightly less black pepper.
Aleppo Pepper: Gives a wonderful rounded heat without a painful bite. Substitute paprika if unavailable.
Galangal: Related to ginger, this spice has a sweeter, subtler taste. The ground variety is the most versatile, and other forms should be ground likewise before using. Ground ginger is an acceptable substitute.
Sandalwood: A powdered form of red sandalwood was used primarily as a red dye in historical cooking. Sandalwood has a very mild spice flavor. Modern food coloring may be substituted.
Saffron: Imparts a yellow-orange hue to foods and a sweet, haylike scent and taste. Modern food coloring may be substituted for color.
Long Pepper: More unique and much stronger than black pepper, so it needs to be used carefully. If unavailable, simply substitute black pepper in equal portions.
Kitchen items that make period cooking easier:
A deep pie plate, preferably earthenware (Earthenware distributes heat evenly and steadily, unlike metal and glass.)
A proper pudding mold or basin (Absent from most American kitchens.)
A heavy, ovenproof saucepan
A chef’s knife (One can never say enough about the wonders of a single sharp knife.)
The Basics
Poudre Douce
Poudre Forte
Medieval Black Pepper
Sauce
Elizabethan Butter Sauce
Medieval Sauce for Fish
Roux
Medieval Pastry Dough
Medieval Sweet Dough
Lemon Pastry Dough
Poudre Douce
Poudre Douce, or “Sweet Powder,” was a common medieval spice mix. Equally useful for flavoring savory main courses and sweet desserts, it was also used to season mulled wine, or hippocras. We’ve replaced the cassia flowers with extra cinnamon, although if ground cassia is available, two teaspoons may be used in place of half of the regular cinnamon.
Take four ounces of very fine cinnamon, two ounces of fine cassia flowers, an ounce of selected Mecca ginger, an ounce of grains of paradise, and a sixth [of an ounce] of nutmeg and galingale combined. Crush them all together. Take a good half ounce of this powder and eight ounces of sugar (which thus makes Sweet Powder) … —LE VIANDIER DE TAILLEVENT, 14TH CENTURY
4½ teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon grains of paradise
Pinch of nutmeg
Pinch of galangal
1 cup sugar
Combine all the ingredients and store in a small airtight jar.
Poudre Forte
Poudre Forte, or “Strong Powder,” was another of the commonly used spice mixes in the Middle Ages. The scents are reminiscent of holiday baking—clovey, but with a lovely bite to it.
Powder-fort … seems to be a mixture likewise of the warmer spices, pepper, ginger, &c. pulverized. —THE FORME OF CURY, 14TH CENTURY
1 teaspoon ground black pepper