by Paul Elliott
Grilled Fish in Cages
As on any modern barbeque, fish can be grilled quickly over a wood fire. If small, the fish can simply be skewered lengthways with a single green branch and then propped over the fire, but a more efficient method is to bind it within a cage of pliable branches. The cage is simply made using three parallel lengths of willow with two or three cross-beams then lashed on using strips of willow bark. After the fish is laid on to the cross beams, additional lengths of willow are woven in to trap it within the cage. At the Ryedale roundhouse we leaned the fish cages against the firedog and there our gutted mackerel cooked nicely.
In the Ashes
As anyone familiar with good barbeque practice will know, cooking does not rely on flame, but on heat. The embers and ashes that remain after a wood fire has burnt down will retain enough heat with which to continue cooking. Embers are the glowing coals of burnt wood and are hot enough to grill clay-baked food and steaks directly, while ash is the powdery residue left once carbon is burnt off. An ash bed in the hearth can be used to bake eggs and ash cakes.
Steak in Embers
Beef steak, like other thick cuts of meat, can be cooked directly on a bed of embers. The embers should be flattened ready to receive the steak, and should not be glowing red—let them cool a little (they will quickly fade to black). The steak will require turning once or twice with a knife or sharp stick. Inevitably hot coals will stick to the underside of the steak, but these can be quickly cleaned off using a clean stick or a knife, before placing it back onto the embers.
Roast Egg
Eggs are a perfect dish for an ash bed, primarily because each egg comes with its own miniature cook pot—the shell. Our own experiments have included quail, hen, duck, and goose eggs—all with fairly tasty results. Of course, in a manner similar to roasting chestnuts, the roast egg must first have its shell pierced (at the top) to prevent an unsightly explosion later on. It took a number of attempts to perfect the roast egg. As it sits in the ashes (and especially in the dark of a roundhouse) it is difficult to judge the point at which the egg is done. The brilliance of the roast egg is that it requires neither pot nor boiling water. The handy ‘pot cloth’ that is kept beside any prehistoric fire for turning pots, lifting metal handles, or revolving hot iron spits, is the perfect tool for plucking well-done eggs from the ashes.
Ash Cake
American pioneers and Australian stockmen alike baked bread in the ashes of their camp fires. Thousands of years before, Babylonian soldiers boasted of their rough and ready existence, and their reliance on these ‘flat loaves in ashes’, as recorded in the Epic of Erra [1.57]:
For real men, going off to war,
It’s a feast! …
The best bread from the city [leavened and raised]
Cannot match the bread baked under ashes!
The sweetest beer
Cannot match the water from a flask!
This field expedient form of baking was popular with both soldiers and nomads in the ancient world and, in the Roman era, ash cakes were known as panis focacius. The Latin term focus meant ‘hearth’—these were loaves baked in the ashes of the hearth, a tradition that survived the fall of the Roman Empire. Today, aficionados of Italian cookery can enjoy the modern descendant of the panis focacius, the flat bread we know as focaccia.
The beauty of baking in the ashes was its simplicity; no cook pots or portable ovens were needed and the only ingredients were flour, water, and salt. Once the dough is made it is placed directly into the ashes; because of this, hardwoods are probably best used since they do not contain the resins present in most softwoods—resins that can pass their flavour onto the bread. A 1946 edition of the Sydney Morning Herald related the Australian bushman’s method for cooking ash cakes, known nationally as ‘dampers’ after the practice of damping down the fire with a spade-full of ash:
Take 1 lb of flour, water and a pinch of salt. Mix it into a stiff dough and knead for at least one hour, not continuously, but the longer it is kneaded the better the damper. Press with the hands into a flat cake and cook it in at least a foot of hot ashes.
I have not followed these instructions exactly, but they do indicate how simple the procedure is. Take spelt flour and a pinch of salt and then add water until it has the texture you need—if too sticky then add flour, if too dry then add water, then knead for ten minutes. Place the dough carefully onto a flattened area of hot ashes and then cover the damper with a shovelful of ashes. Baking time varies with the size of the damper, but to check it, brush away the topmost ashes; a quick finger flick will ring hollow if done. Continue brushing off the ashes (use a leafy twig or handful of grasses) and then use a shovel or short plank of wood to lift the damper out of the hearth. With a knife winkle out any embers or pieces of charcoal that are still adhering to the base of the crust. It doesn’t look very appetising, but slice the damper and you will (hopefully) reveal a moist and well-baked bread.
Oysters in Shells
Oysters were popular with the Romans after the invasion, but these shellfish were also eaten by the prehistoric Britons. They are extremely easy to cook in the embers; simply arrange them, rounded side facing down, on a very shallow bed of coals. Not much heat is required to successfully cook these shellfish. After the shells open, they are edible, although most diners will want to wait a little longer (unless they like their oysters rare). Do not wait too long, however, since the oysters will continue to cook and while they cook they will shrink and eventually dry out altogether. Lift the oysters out of the embers and then use a knife to prise off the top shell. Using the knife once again, slide the blade underneath the meat and lift it from the oyster shell. Eat while hot.
Clay-Baked Food
Several types of food can be cooked within the embers of a fire, as long as the food is protected against the fierce heat and contamination from the ash. Coating the item in clay is a wonderful way to cook and it is not simply a ‘needs must’ method of last resort cookery. Clay baking brings with it the unique advantage of ‘locking in’ the food’s juices and flavours—they simply cannot escape. Misshapen and poorly fired lumps of clay are common finds on prehistoric sites and clay baking is one of the most plausible interpretations for them.
I have carried out several clay-bake experiments with great success. Clay from the cliffs at Speeton, on the North Yorkshire coast, was used for the purpose. Thin sheets of clay are prepared and then, one by one, wrapped around the item to be cooked. The sheets of clay are joined together both by smoothing and the addition of extra pieces of clay, until the entire item is covered. Any areas of thin clay should be strengthened and the finished product placed on a piece of wood to dry next to the fire. Remember to turn it once or twice so that the clay coating dries evenly. Once dry, the clay-baked food can be placed into the hearth; ashes and embers must then be piled both around and on top of it.
When the food is ready (again this will depend on what is being cooked, but half an hour to forty-five minutes should suffice for most dishes) the clay casing is removed from the fire and placed back on its wooden tray. I use an iron hammer (or simple Neolithic-style hammer stone) to crack open the clay and reveal the food within. Alternatively, crack the casing with the hammer and then tease the clay away with a knife. Quickly, the cooked meat within is revealed and can be placed onto a serving plate. Just be careful to remove any pieces of baked clay still adhering. Whether cooking fish, lamb, or poultry, the meat should be full of flavour since the clay casing has prevented juices from either boiling or leaking away. Clay baking is best suited to small pieces of meat rather than large joints, which are instead dealt with using an earth oven (described in Chapter 11).
Our first experiments with clay baking fish were not entirely successful. Armed with half-a-dozen trout one weekend in 2008, we proposed to try a couple of different cooking methods. My colleague, Jamie, and I went about it in two different ways; although we ha
d conducted only the barest of research, we really did want to experiment and see what we could come up with on our own. I carefully and completely coated two gutted trout in fresh clay. These I laid out in the sun for a couple of hours in order to dry out. We had decided that the clay would need to be placed onto the fire as dry as possible to allow the heat to pass through to the fish within. Jamie also wanted to experiment with a method of cooking using direct heat; he wanted to spit roast the fish.
We prepared our fire and then spread out the coals. My two ready prepared trout-in-clay went onto the coals and I piled additional embers on top of them. We decided to wait around half an hour before cracking open the clay jackets. Meanwhile, Jamie skewered his trout with two green stakes, feeding each sharpened stick in and out along the length of the fish. It didn’t look solid. We realised quite quickly that many more sticks would really be needed to support the weight of the fish. It was too late to fashion more skewers from greenwood, however, so we persevered with the technique. As the fish cooked on the skewers, the inevitable happened, the flesh became soft, the head drooped and most of the trout fell into the fire. In our defence we had predicted this turn of events, so it was not a shock. Our remaining trout was placed directly onto a low bed of embers. Could this simple method deliver us a well-cooked fish? The naked trout began to cook instantly, but as soon as we began to move it, the fish became too badly fouled with ashes to open and eat—we abandoned that one too.
Feeling a bit like the first men to discover fire, fumbling and failing with different methods of cooking our fish, we turned to the two trout that we had coated in clay jackets. How would these fare? It was time to take my clay-covered trout out of the fire and to do this I used a sturdy stick and a thin batten of wood as a tray. Both clay-baked fish came out of the fire well and were ready to crack open. The back of an axe made short work of the fire-hardened clay and as I gently peeled chunks of it away, we were amazed to find that it brought the fish skin with it, revealing pink, perfectly cooked, trout meat. However, although the meat was well-cooked on top, it was a little raw underneath. The second clay-baked fish that Jamie opened must have been well-covered with embers because it was perfectly cooked throughout. Both fish tasted delicious and were extremely juicy—we surmised that the baked clay had sealed in the juices during cooking.
Trout in Clay:
The whole fish, gutted, but with tail and head intact, can be used. Stuff the trout with butter and chopped ramson bulbs (or spring onions) and sprinkle with salt. Coat with clay and leave to dry next to the fire before baking in the embers for half an hour. As the fired clay comes away it will pull the skin of the fish with it, revealing within the juicy pink flesh and cooked ramsons within. This dish has been a sure-fire success every time.
Wild Bird in Clay:
Just as the baked clay takes fish skin away with it, the feathers of a wild bird will come away just the same. Hunters throughout prehistory may have used this speedy cooking technique, particularly since it does away with cook pots and pans, requiring instead only a few handfuls of river clay. The bird could have been gutted, cooked, and eaten easily on the trail. Bones of teal, swan, goose, widgeon, woodcock, and plover have all been discovered at prehistoric sites in Britain and a number of seabird species, including puffin, guillemot, and gannet have been found within wheelhouses on the Hebridean island of North Uist.
Stuffed Heart in Clay:
A stuffing made of bread crumbs, mushrooms, mint leaves, and crushed hazelnuts is seasoned with a little sea salt. A lamb’s heart is prepared; first remove any unwanted gristle and then with thumb and forefinger push into the openings to expand the chambers inside. This done, fill with the stuffing and then coat with clay. Be warned, the hearts do not take long to bake and are easily burnt. Surprisingly, the heart resembles lamb meat in both texture and flavour. A very tasty dish.
Under the Fire
One extremely simple cooking technique involves building a fire directly over the food. This requires no utensils, no water, and no cook pot. For mobile groups, like Mesolithic hunter-gatherers, this type of cooking is extremely attractive. During the Vietnam War, the Viet Cong guerrillas who found themselves out on long-range patrols would carry with them a ration of dried rice. To cook it they would wrap the rice in cloth and soak it in water. When swollen, the fighters were then able to bury it just under the surface of the ground. A fire was lit above it and the heat, radiating downwards, would cook the rice. This ingenuity may have been shared by the Mesolithic Britons who had no cook pots and needed to cook their food while on the trail or the beach, or while out foraging. Obviously most foods would be burnt beyond recognition if cooked in this way, but some, like nuts and shellfish, are actually protected by their own fireproof case.
Hazelnuts in Shells
Evidence from many prehistoric sites across northern Europe suggests that hazelnuts were often cooked in this manner. When replicating the technique I dug a shallow, bowl-shaped hollow and spread a layer of beach sand on to it. Next, thirty or forty hazelnuts were scattered into the pit and gently pressed into the sand.
After covering the nuts with soil a fire was built above the depression and left to burn slowly for around an hour. Once the fire had died down it was raked away and the soil dug up to reveal charred hazelnuts. The most challenging part of the exercise was digging all of the nuts out of the sand without leaving any behind. All the nuts had softened in their shells and carried with them a mild toasted flavour. Cooked this way, the hazelnuts proved to be extremely edible and they were soon consumed by everyone who had helped in the enterprise.
Mussels in Shells
Fried or boiled mussels are familiar to us today, but it is simpler and more evocative of the Mesolithic age to bake them beneath a fierce, but fast-burning brushwood fire. Since the mussels are best cooked while they are standing upright, the first step is to place a small stone at the centre of the cooking area. Lean one mussel up against it, with the pointed end sticking upward. Continue to lean mussels around this stone and then around the first layer of mussels, continue stacking the mussels in a concentric manner, all leaning in toward that central stone.
Once this elaborate sculpture of marine dominoes is complete, gently place brushwood on top. Use fast-burning twigs, or even pine needles, which are dry and flammable and which fall down between the shells. Light the fuel and let the fire burn itself out (it should only take a few minutes). Dig out all the mussels and eat all those whose shells have opened. There may have been some cooler spots in the fire where a cluster of shells failed to open, in this case gather them together and immediately repeat the process. Any that fail to open during this second baking should be discarded.
Limpets in Shells
I cooked limpets on my local beach and found them to be edible, though with the sea-salt chewiness of calamari. Limpets, unlike hand-gathered mussels, are almost always safe to eat. Collecting these ‘fruits of the sea’ can be troublesome however; limpets, as the name suggest, remain stubbornly attached to the rock. The best technique to use is to find a pebble on the shoreline that is long and thin, but that still carries some weight. I suppose a stout piece of wood will serve just as well. Creeping up on the stationary limpets, try to swing the stone briskly sideways to knock them clean off the stone.
Once a dozen or so have been collected, sit them together on a flat rock with their protective shells facing upwards, as nature intended. A few large handfuls of brushwood are then piled on top of the limpets and ignited, burning for around ten minutes. It is a simple matter to then sweep the ashes away and lift the shells off of the cooked limpets. The meat of each shellfish will remain behind and does not look particularly appetising, topped as it is with a black blister. This must be plucked off and discarded. The small disc of meat that is left can be eaten. Baked limpet is certainly not a gourmet food, but for hunter-gatherers, or agriculturalists that are perhaps faced with a poor harvest, they are easy
to gather, plentiful, and nutritious.
8
Dairy Foods
From milk is also made butter, among barbarian tribes accounted the choicest food, one that distinguishes the richer from the lower orders.
Pliny, Natural History, 28.35
The tribes of northern Europe, the Celts and the Germans, were noted by writers like Tacitus, Pliny, and Julius Caesar as milk producers. In this they were rather unusual in the ancient world. Intolerance to lactose seems to be an in-built evolutionary trait among adult mammals that prevents healthy young from remaining dependant on their mothers. Certain cultures have, over time, become lactose tolerant, the tribes of northern Europe included. It is not hard to see why. With a limited growing season in these northerly climes, it made sense to exploit the food source of animal milk if it could be tolerated. Over time, entire communities were able to consume milk and bring the production of dairy foods into the farming economy.
Fresh milk may have been drunk in small quantities, but in an age without pasteurisation, its storage or transport was impractical. Milk is an excellent medium for the growth of harmful bacteria that can lead to severe stomach illness and even death. Salmonella, tuberculosis (mycobacterium bovis), listeria, and other bacteria are all able to develop successfully within unpasteurised milk. Both butter and cheese-making are techniques used to extend its life.