From Macbeth’s banquets to Juliet’s quinces: How to cook from Shakespeare’s plays

There’s much ado about dinner (and supper for that matter too) in the plays of William Shakespeare (1564-1616). Lavishly expensive dinners; wedding breakfasts; funeral suppers; sheep-shearing feasts; al fresco meals; and even magical banquets that disappear before the guest can eat a morsel, grace his pages.

Meal times are the perfect vehicle for conveying the plot. We witness the gradual unravelling of Macbeth when he sees the ghost of Banquo at the banquet. The disgust of Hamlet at his mother’s hasty remarriage following the death of his father is palpable when he spits “The funeral bak’d meats / Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.” (Act I, Scene ii). There are bawdy suppers at Mistress Quickly’s Boar’s Head Tavern in Eastcheap, London, a genuine public house from Shakespeare’s day.

References to food are liberally scattered through Shakespeare’s work like finely chopped parsley, so much so you have to wonder if the Bard was perpetually hungry. Food is often lobbed as an insult, like a rotten tomato, to comic effect. The gluttonous Sir John Falstaff is described as a “fat kidneyed rascal” and “that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly”, both allusions to the character’s girth. Food describes national stereotypes that Shakespeare’s audiences of the time would empathise with. “I will rather trust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle,” says the jealous husband of Mistress Ford (The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II, Scene ii).

It’s not all about fine dining and hobnobbing with the elite. Shakespeare also provides a clue to the everyday fare of the general population. We learn from his plays that garlic was eaten, although its omission from recipes of the period would suggest otherwise. “He would mouth with a beggar though she smelt brown bread and garlic,” cries Lucio in Measure for Measure (Act III, Scene ii). Bottom instructs his fellow mechanicals in A Midsummer Night’s Dream to avoid onions and garlic to ensure they “utter sweet breath” during their performance (Act IV, Scene ii). And there is hunger, too, shown by the collapse of Orlando’s servant Adam in the forest, “O, I die for food! Here lie I down and measure out my grave.” (As You Like It, Act II, Scene vi). Food scarcity was a genuine risk for many living in these centuries.

Meals in Shakespeare’s day

Meals in the early modern period had a very different structure to those we enjoy today. They were presented in courses but rather than a main served separately between a starter and a dessert, a course was a number of different dishes placed on the table at the same time. Dinner was served around late morning to early afternoon and was typically a less formal affair, although still involving more than one course. Supper came six hours later and could be a more formal event.

In his Description of England (1587), William Harrison notes that in noble households it was possible for beef, mutton, veal, lamb, kid, pork, rabbit, capon (a castrated chicken), red or fallow deer, various fish and wildfowl to be made available during a meal. This created the potential for overindulgence if each dish were sampled, but, by Harrison’s account, few people tried everything. It was perfectly normal for sweet dishes such as tarts, custards and jellies to be served alongside roasted joints of meat. Seasonal fruits, nuts and occasionally cheese, such as the pippins and cheese Evans looks forward to in The Merry Wives of Windsor (Act I, Scene ii), were served at the end of a meal. If you were really lucky, you would also get to experience a “banquet”, a separate course where sweetmeats, including marchpane (a type of marzipan) and preserved fruits, were served.

The larder

The Shakespearean larder was an aromatic one. Spices continued to play an important role in cookery, just as they had done in the medieval period. These were expensive commodities imported from far-flung destinations like Indonesia. Their value is borne out by Lady Capulet’s line in Romeo and Juliet: “Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse.” (Act IV, Scene iv). Spices were locked away and access was controlled by the lady of the house or the most trusted servants. The chief players were cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, pepper and mace. Mace is the outer casing of the nutmeg, which, when dried, is known as a blade. It has a more citrussy flavour profile than its sister nutmeg. Ground mace is relatively easy to source in supermarkets, but it is well worth seeking out blades of mace from specialist suppliers or online.

Saffron was also prized for its flavour and the colour it lent dishes. Some people are surprised to learn that England had a thriving saffron industry during this era. It was grown all over the southern reaches of the country but thrived in East Anglia. Saffron then, as now, was expensive irrespective of where it was grown. Grinding the saffron strands to a powder with a pestle and mortar will help its colour permeate your recipe.

Sugar during this period was ousting honey as the main sweetener. It was generally considered to be wholesome and was particularly prized for its medicinal qualities. Sugar was imported from Portuguese and Spanish colonies in the New World, either legitimately or through piracy (Britain did not establish a foothold in the Caribbean until the acquisition of Barbados in 1625). The sugar purchased for households came in solid cones that had to be grated before use. Sugar appears in both sweet and savoury recipes of this period, which may strike modern cooks as odd. It was, however, classed as a spice and expensive, so most of the time was used sparingly in these dishes.

Sugar was also used to preserve the fruits, such as oranges and quinces, that formed an array of sweet treats served in the banqueting course of a meal. However, as the desire for sugary extravagances increased among the upper echelons of society, so did tooth decay. Queen Elizabeth I’s teeth were said to be black and rotten by the end of her life. Poor dental hygiene sparked a craze for toothpicks, particularly among fashionable young men including Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Some were made from precious metals such as silver and were worn as jewellery, highlighted by Parolles’ statement “… just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now.” in All’s Well That Ends Well (Act I, Scene i).

Dried fruits including currants, raisins, dates and prunes also added a touch of sweetness to dishes. These, too, were imported and relatively expensive, although their use along with spices in baked goods began to increase during Elizabeth I’s reign. Acidity was important to balance out the sweetness in savoury dishes. Verjuice, made from sour grapes or crab apples, was widely used, as was vinegar. It is possible to buy verjuice today from specialist suppliers, but cider or wine vinegar can be used as a substitute. Orange juice was also used for an acidic tang. The oranges in question were generally the sour kind that we associate today with marmalade. Marmalade or Seville oranges are only available in Britain for a short time in the winter, so it is worth freezing the juice in ice cube trays for use throughout the year. Alternatively, you can substitute the sour orange juice for a mixture of sweet orange and lemon juice or just lemon juice. Fresh gooseberries delivered sourness, too, particularly when oranges and lemons were unavailable.

Herbs feature prominently in the recipes from this era. According to Gervase Markham, in order to be a competent cook all housewives should “have knowledge of all sorts of herbs belonging to the kitchen, whether they be for the pot, for sallats, for sauces, the servings, or for any other seasoning, or adorning.” (The English Huswife). Parsley, thyme, rosemary and marjoram were widely used. Savoury, a thyme-like evergreen herb, is frequently mentioned too, as is pennyroyal, a type of mint. Flowers, such as marigolds, added colour and interest to dishes but also provided flavour. Fragrant rosewater was liberally used in sweet and savoury dishes. It was the sort of thing that gentlewomen like Lady Elinor Fettiplace would distil at home, along with other medicinal waters. Rosewater is used sparingly in the recipes in this book because modern varieties vary in strength.

Eggs were probably smaller during this period. For the purposes of this book, medium eggs are used in the recipes and butter is always unsalted.

Of course, there are some conspicuous absentees from the Shakespearean larder. Although the Americas had been forcibly colonised by Europeans for over a century before the period covered here, new ingredients from those lands were slow to catch on. Tomatoes, vanilla and chocolate do not feature in recipes from this era. The heat we get today from chillies came instead from pepper and ginger (“ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.” Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene iii). The Spanish or sweet potato was very much a novelty food, driven perhaps by its reputed aphrodisiac properties and by no means widely consumed. Perhaps the most successful import from the New World during Shakespeare’s day was the turkey, admired for its plumage and meat. “Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock,” sneers Gower when Pistol enters the English camp in Henry V (Act V, Scene i).

Despite these exceptions, many ingredients found in the Tudor and Stuart kitchen are familiar to us today.

The recipes

Approaching historical cooking is to some extent a guessing game. Quantities are vague or, where they do exist, they are often in large, archaic measurements such as pottles (half a gallon). Much of the cooking was done over or in front of an open fire. Ovens were heated by burning fuels like wood so there are no oven temperatures and rarely any cooking times in recipes. Unfamiliar terminology like sod (boiled) or carbonardoed (grilled over coals), or unusual names for ingredients take a while to adjust to. Then there is the fact that many of our modern fruits, vegetables and animals have been bred to be larger or more prolific than those available 400 years ago. Are they tastier? Who’s to say. A devil’s advocate could easily argue that it is nigh on impossible to faithfully recreate the food our forebears ate.

So, the purpose of this book is to give you a flavour of the food consumed in Shakespeare’s lifetime. The recipes have been modernised and scaled down to feed two to four people (or occasionally a few more). They have been tested in a kitchen using metric measurements for weights and volumes, although imperial and cup measurements are provided for guidance. Those that require baking or roasting have been cooked in a standard domestic oven with temperatures in Celsius (fan oven temperatures and Fahrenheit are provided for guidance too). Ovens do vary though, so if yours is particularly fierce or sluggish you may want to adjust the temperature a smidge.

Some liberties have been taken with certain ingredients and cooking methods, for example using commercial yeast in place of ale barm or sourdough starter (the raising agents of the day) for leavening bread, and using an electric hand whisk, but for the most part the recipes aim to remain as close as possible to the original. And yes, there are a few modern recipes included that have been inspired by the characters from Shakespeare’s plays, but hopefully you will forgive this little touch of dramatic licence.

There is indeed much ado about dinner, so best we crack on and cook it.

Sherry-braised chicken with lettuce

“Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it?” HENRY IV PART 1, ACT II, SCENE IV

Lettuce is generally considered a salad rather than a vegetable these days, but it was often cooked in the early modern period. It was highly regarded by the physicians of the day who believed if you ate it in the evening it would help you sleep.

Serves: 4

Ingredients:

2 little gem lettuces

2-3 tbsp oil

25g/1oz/¼ stick unsalted butter

1 chicken (about 1.5-1.8kg/3¼-4lb) jointed into 8 pieces

1 bunch spring onions, sliced

3 rashers (approximately 50g/2oz) smoked streaky bacon, chopped (in place of sweetbreads)

1 tbsp plain flour

200ml/7fl oz/¾ cup chicken stock

200ml/7fl oz/¾ cup medium–dry sherry, such as Amontillado

4 small, pitted dates, finely minced

Half a small lemon, sliced

¼ tsp ground nutmeg

¼ tsp ground mace

1 tbsp chopped mixed herbs (such as parsley, basil, thyme)

Salt and pepper to season

Marigold flowers or other edible flowers to garnish (if available)

Method:

1. Wash the lettuces, removing any wilted outer leaves. Cut a slice off the stalk at the base of each one, being careful to leave enough for the lettuces to remain intact. Halve each of the lettuces lengthways.

2. Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil with the butter in a large lidded, flameproof casserole over a medium to high heat. Fry the lettuce cut side down until browned (you only need to do this on one side). Remove from the pan with a slotted spoon then reserve until required.

3. Add another tablespoon of oil to the pan. Brown the chicken pieces all over in batches, adding more oil if required.

4. If needed, add more oil to the pan, then fry the spring onions and bacon until browned. Stir in the plain flour to coat them.

5. Add the stock and sherry to deglaze the pan. When the sauce begins to bubble add the minced dates, lemon slices and spices. Return the browned chicken pieces to the pan. Bring to boiling point then reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

6. Remove the lemon slices from the sauce (they’ve done their work). Nestle the browned lettuce halves among the chicken portions. Cook for a further 5–10 mins or until the chicken is cooked. Adjust seasoning then serve scattered with the chopped herbs and edible flowers.

A gratin of leeks for Fluellen

“Ay, leeks is good.” HENRY V, ACT V, SCENE I

Leeks are one of those vegetables that appear to have fallen out of favour by Shakespeare’s day so there are few contemporary recipes containing them. Henry Buttes pronounced them “unfit nourishment for any but rusticke swaines” in 1599. For the Welsh Captain Fluellen in Henry V, wearing a leek in his cap was a symbol of national pride. The knavish soldier Pistol mocks this habit. As punishment for his insolence Fluellen forces Pistol to eat the leek telling him that “if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.” (Act V, Scene i)

This gratin works best with a sharp-tasting hard cheese such as a mature Caerphilly or Lancashire, but Cheddar can be used if neither of these cheeses are available.

Serves: 2-3 as a main or 4 generously as a side

Ingredients:

50g/2oz/½ stick butter

500g/1lb 2oz trimmed leeks and finely sliced

100ml/3½ fl oz/scant ½ cup white wine

150ml/¼ pt/⅔ cup double cream

2 egg yolks

2 tbsp rosemary or thyme leaves, finely chopped

2 tbsp parsley, finely chopped

100g/4oz mature Caerphilly or Lancashire cheese, finely grated

Salt, pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice to season

30g/1oz/½ cup fresh white breadcrumbs

Method:

1. Melt the butter in a large frying pan over a medium to low heat. Add the leeks and fry until softened. Add a pinch of salt and the white wine then continue to cook for a further 10-15 minutes or until the leeks are meltingly tender.

2. Preheat the grill. Mix the cream with the egg yolks then add this to the leeks along with the chopped fresh herbs and 75g/3oz of the cheese. Season well with salt, pepper and lemon juice.

3. Combine the remaining cheese with the fresh white breadcrumbs. Scatter over the creamy leeks then place under the grill until golden and bubbling. Serve immediately with plenty of crusty bread.

Baked stuffed quinces with cinnamon cream

“They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.” ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT IV, SCENE IV

Quinces need to be cooked with sugar to render them edible, but are a seasonal delight when available. This recipe is inspired by one from the Treasurie of Commodius Receipts by John Partridge (1584).

Serves: 4

Ingredients:

For the poaching syrup:

500ml/17½fl oz/2 cups water

250g/9oz/1¼ cups granulated sugar

2 cloves

1 x 10cm/4in piece cinnamon stick

Juice of half a lemon

For the pastries:

2 large quinces weighing at least 250g/9oz each, washed

100g/4oz/⅔ cup chopped pitted dates

½ tsp ground cinnamon

¼ tsp ground ginger

3 tbsp poaching syrup

50g/2oz/⅓ cup chopped walnuts

1 quantity sweet shortcrust pastry (see below)

1 egg, beaten

200g/7oz double cream

½ tsp ground cinnamon

Method:

1. To make the poaching syrup, place the water, sugar, cloves, cinnamon and lemon juice in a large pan. Bring to boiling point, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has dissolved.

2. Peel one of the quinces and cut in half. Immediately after you have done this, drop each half of the quince into the syrup to prevent the fruit from turning brown. Repeat with the remaining quince. Gently simmer the quince halves in the syrup for 20–25 minutes or until just tender but still holding their shape. It’s better for them to be slightly underdone than overdone. If they are cooked for too long there is a danger the fruit will collapse. Remove the quince halves and allow to cool. Reserve the syrup as you will need some of it later in the recipe.

3. Using a teaspoon or a serrated knife carefully remove the tough core from each quince half to create a tear drop aperture. You should be left with a good centimetre or more around the edges of the fruit.

4. Preheat the oven to 180C/160C fan/350F.

5. Place the dates in a food processor with three tablespoons of the poaching syrup, then blitz to a paste. If you don’t have a food processor, place the dates on a chopping board then vigorously chop until the mixture becomes sticky. Transfer the date paste to a bowl then add the ground spices and chopped walnuts. Divide the filling equally between each of the quince halves.

6. Cut the pastry into four equal pieces. Take a third of one quarter of the pastry then roll it into an oval a little larger than the quince. Brush it with beaten egg then place a quince half on the pastry, stuffed side down. Roll the remaining two–thirds of pastry into a circle large enough to cover the quince. Lay it over the quince and press down to seal. Trim away the excess pastry so that you are left with a 1cm/½in “skirt” of pastry round the base of the quinces. Repeat with the other quince halves and remaining pastry. You can crimp the edges and use the excess to cut out decorative leaves if you want to make these little pies more attractive. Place the quince pies on a baking sheet lined with baking paper or a silicone liner.

7. Brush each pie with beaten egg. Bake for 25-30 minutes until golden brown. They can be eaten hot or cold with cinnamon cream or custard.

8. To make the cinnamon cream, beat the double cream with 2 tablespoons of the poaching syrup (or icing sugar) and ½ tsp ground cinnamon until it forms soft peaks.

Sweet shortcut pastry

Makes: 500g/1lb 2oz

Ingredients:

250g/9oz/2 cups plain flour

125g/4½oz/1¼ sticks cold unsalted butter, cubed; or 75g/3oz/¾ stick butter and 50g/2oz lard or vegetable shortening, cubed

50g/2oz/¼ cup caster sugar

1 egg

2-4 tbsp ice-cold water

Method:

1. Sift the flour into a good-sized bowl then add the butter (and lard if using). Using your fingertips, rub in the butter until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Stir in the caster sugar.

2. Mix the egg with 2 tablespoons of water. Add to the crumbly mixture then gradually bring together using your hands (add a little more water if necessary). Alternatively, blitz the flour, sugar and butter in a food processor then add the egg and 2–3 tablespoons water. Form the dough into a ball, cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before using.

‘Much Ado About Cooking: Delicious Shakespearean Feasts for Every Occasion’ by Sam Bilton and Shakespeare’s Globe (Welbeck, £20)