From Caernarvonshire: Thin Welsh Barley Cakes

A cottage on earth, and a castle in air,
And Diana Mereryd’s white apron shall wear,
And bake barley bread to a tender song
Of Love in a cottage, that always was young.

The old Welsh rhyme “Bara Haidd” (“Barley Bread”) celebrates the central role barley played in the lives of the Welsh peasantry, who valued it for its ability to withstand cold weather and rocky soil. In the mountainous region of Caernarvonshire, the peasantry lived almost exclusively on barley, buttermilk, oats, cheese and potatoes.

Violent storms, however, prevented the widespread cultivation of barley. Farmers would plant their crop only to have it decimated by the region’s merciless winds; half the country then remained as meadows and wastelands.

Life was difficult in mountainous Caernarvonshire. During the summer months, the peasantry herded their sheep and small cattle to wild and solitary uplands lined with walls of dry stone, which were used to mark the boundaries of a particular grazing area. The stone for these walls was carried by the peasants up the steep sides of the lofty mountains — a dangerous and tiresome business.

The region’s homes were also built of stone, with deep-set windows containing only a single pane. Moss plugged the thick walls of these simple cottages, which were sometimes drafty and cold. But their warm, roomy chimney corners offered a cozy retreat during winter nights when fires fed on peat moss blazed in the cottage fireplace.

Snowdon highest mountain in Wales UK Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales

The longevity of the inhabitants of these mountainous regions was attributed to their simple diets. Here is an 1867 recipe for barley cakes from a Welsh hermit (Meudwy) of ancient lineage who lived in a cell cut out of a rock opposite the Well of St. Gover. His diet, like that of the Caernarvonshire peasants, was austere but wholesome.

Thin Welsh Barley Cakes

Mix fine barley meal and milk together to the consistency of batter, and pour slowly on the bake-stone out of a jug until it has formed a circle the size of a small plate, then let it bake slowly. It ought to be very thin but soft, like a pancake or a pikelate; it is likewise eaten with cold butter.

 

Why Fast and Fermented Foods by Christine Baumgarthuber

Would you rather receive The Austerity Kitchen by email? Then sign up for my Substack.

And, if you’d like to help the Kitchen keep cookin’, please consider picking up copies of my books, Why Fast? and Fermented Foods.

The Austerity Kitchen Challenge: Lentil and Brown Rice Salad

illustration of yellow lentils

Jacob sold his birthright for a pot of lentils; and, during the rebellion of Absalom, Barzillai brought them as a gift to David. Aristophanes rejoiced in his newly found fame as it meant he would never again consume a lentil. “Now that I am rich,” he wrote, “I will no longer eat lentils.” During the nineteenth century the Welsh used lentils as cattle fodder and Romans served salted lentils at funeral banquets.

Lentils have indeed enjoyed a varied and wondrous history. They were a staple among the lower classes, who enjoyed them with everything from sauerkraut to richly pungent blood sausages. They could be stored many years and transported vast distances. Ranging in color from black to red to a brilliant marigold yellow, they are praised in a Hindu proverb as being the very staff of life.

For this month’s Austerity Kitchen Challenge, the Kitchen has developed a recipe for a lentil and brown rice salad, which can feed four or five people for under $5.00. The amount of rice and lentils can be easily varied to suit your tastes and needs, and you can prepare the mixture ahead of time and serve it over salad throughout the week. Serve lentil and brown rice salad with warm pita bread and hummus.

Lentil and Brown Rice Salad

6 cups cooked brown rice
2 cups cooked brown lentils
2 large onions, chopped into large pieces
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
3-4 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons fresh cilantro (optional)
2-3 heads of romaine, chopped
3 tomatoes, chopped
2 cucumbers, sliced
1/2 red onion, chopped
chili powder
salt to taste

Brown the chopped onions in olive oil in a large pot. Add sugar, cilantro and cider vinegar. Stirring constantly, cook for three minutes over low heat. Turn off heat. Add cooked rice and lentils; mix thoroughly. Add salt to taste.

Toss romaine, tomatoes, cucumbers and red onion in a large salad bowl. Sprinkle chili powder over salad. Put salad on serving plates, top with lentil rice mixture and pour dressing over the entire salad.

Dressing:

2/3 cup olive oil
1/4 cup white vinegar
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon mustard
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 clove crushed garlic (optional)

Mix olive oil, vinegar, lemon juice, mustard, salt and garlic together until blended. Pour over lentil and brown rice salad. Amounts can be varied to suit taste.

 

Why Fast and Fermented Foods by Christine Baumgarthuber

Would you rather receive The Austerity Kitchen by email? Then sign up for my Substack.

And, if you’d like to help the Kitchen keep cookin’, please consider picking up copies of my books, Why Fast? and Fermented Foods.

From the Colonial Hearth: Indian Pudding

The kitchen hearth was the center of colonial family life, providing a comfort and warmth not found in the rest of the house. Over the kitchen table loomed the hearth’s great stone chimney, festooned with hooks and trammels supporting black pots and kettles, and garlanded with strings of peppers, pumpkin and dried apples.

illustrated scene from a colonial dining room


The hearth fire, which in winter burned all day and night, was fed by tremendous logs that the family transported by sled. Sometimes these early hearths had seats built into them; the children of the house vied with one another for these rare spots of warmth from which they could gaze up and watch the stars of the night sky sparkling at the opening of the great chimney-throat.

colonial hearth
A colonial hearth

In New York, the hearths were modeled on the Dutch design. One observant traveler described the New York hearth as being “very droll-like” in that “they have no jambs nor lintell as we have, but a flat grate, and there projects over it a lum in the form of the cat-and-clay lum, and commonly a muslin or ruffled pawn around it.” In other regions, hearths were more austere–just a plain brick or stone fireplace over which hung a kettle or two.

The meals prepared in the colonial hearth were simple and could be left simmering or baking for hours at a time. The colonial housewife prepared stews of beans, salt pork and vegetables in round iron kettles. Bread was baked in a separate chamber, usually off to the side of the fireplace. Once the bricks were deemed hot enough, in went the bread or pudding to bake until finished.

Below is a recipe for Indian pudding, a favorite from the droll colonial hearth. Serve with cream or sweetened milk.

Indian Pudding

3 cups milk
1/2 cup molasses
1/3 cup yellow cornmeal
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon butter

In saucepan mix milk and molasses; stir in cornmeal, ginger, cinnamon, and salt. Cook and stir till thick, about 10 minutes. Stir in butter. Turn into a 1-quart casserole. Bake, uncovered, at 300 degrees about 45 minutes to one hour.

 

Why Fast and Fermented Foods by Christine Baumgarthuber

Would you rather receive The Austerity Kitchen by email? Then sign up for my Substack.

And, if you’d like to help the Kitchen keep cookin’, please consider picking up copies of my books, Why Fast? and Fermented Foods.