The Noble Nombles

We visited George Washington's Mt. Vernon estate today. The house and grounds were beautiful; and the tours and museum exhibits were educational. But one of the best things I got out of the trip was a copy of Martha Washington's A Booke of Cookery and Booke of Sweetmeats, which I found in one of the gift shops. I'm only a few pages (and some random recipe browsing) in, but it's already an engaging read - as both a food history (both the introduction and the recipe notes are very well done) and an historical recipe book.

While I won't be preparing this dish anytime soon (though it sounds delicious), it turns out that humble pie began as anything but. As Karen Hess explains in her gloss of the recipe,

[t]he humbles are the heart, liver and other organs of the deer. The word comes from Old French nombles...OED is firm; humbles is an occasional spelling of umbles, itself a later form of numbles....In due time, umbles became confused with humble, meaning meek or lowly. There is no basis for this in early culinary history. Indeed, noumbles was a royal dish, and recipes appear in The Forme of Cury, about 1390, which was compiled by the master cooks to Richard II. The earliest citing of humble pie in the figurative sense of suffering humiliation is given in OED for 1830. 

Though historian Richard E. Barkley has declared that "[t]o eat humble pie is in no way related to the food Umble pie," Hess hypothesizes that "[p]erhaps the substitution of pluck [the innards of any animal used as food] from other beasts, as evidenced in our manuscript, gradually lowered the status of the dish and so contributed to the figurative meaning, already prepared for by the homonyms umbles and humbles."

Herewith, the original recipe:

Take y^e humbles of a deere, or a calves heart, or pluck, or a sheep's heart; perboyle it, & when it is colde, shread it small with beefe suet, & season it with cloves, mace, nutmegg & ginger beaten small; & mingle with it currans, verges & salt; put all into y^e pie & set it in the oven an houre; then take it out, cut it up & put in some clarret wine, melted butter & sugar beat together. then cover it a little & serve it.

Finally, here's the loveliest piece of humble pie that comes to mind.

UPDATE (24 Nov.): These charming, ambulatory nombles holders currently live on the Mt. Vernon estate:

The Seasonal Bento

My lunch looks like fall, today: fluffy white rice; soft yellow-green sauteed artichokes, interspersed with golden-brown bits of garlic and garnished with a bright yellow lemon slice; dappled tan and Maillard-brown sausages, speckled with green inside. The most intense colors congegrated in the top container: deep purple and brown Nicoise olives, five dark green cornichons and two red waxen mini-wheels of Laughing Cow cheese.

Chicken Cutlets en Papillote with Grated Vegetables

Last night was the first time we tried "poaching" chicken in parchment packets in the oven. John was skeptical at first. But, after tasting the long-cooked but still moist and flavorful meat, he vowed to "always trust the Bittman." The recipe below is based on the one in the first How to Cook Everything, but halved; where we varied, the original is in parentheses. Next time, I'll try using even more vegetables (and a larger variety thereof) - they cooked down to next to nothing, but were very flavorful. All in all, a satisfying autumn dinner (with scallion-topped couscous as the starch).

• 2 boneless, skinless chicken cutlets
• skipped the slices of ripe tomato
• 1-1/2 cups grated vegetables (original: 1 cup, though we'll want to use even more - this time, the veg were squash and onions)
• 2 sprigs marjoram (original: 6 fresh tarragon leaves)
  
• about 1 tbsp. olive oil
• a few drops of balsamic vinegar

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Grate the vegetables.

Tear off a 1-1/2 to 2 foot square piece of aluminum foil or parchment paper (we were lazy and wrapped both breasts in one packet).

Place the cutlets on the foil/paper. Top with vegetables, then drizzle with oil and vinegar.

Seal the packages. Place them in a large baking dish and bake for about 20 minutes (took us more like 45 minutes); the chicken will be white and tender when done.

Serve.

Yesterday's Brunch: Eggs Baked in Tomatoes with Basil

Last weekend, I bought two lovely, large tomatoes and 1/4 lb. of prosciutto di Parma specifically for this recipe, courtesy of Almost Bourdain. Thankfully, John's basil plants, which are winding down for the cold season, graced us with a few more leaves. Alas, we overcooked the eggs - they were more hard-boiled than poached - but this still made a tasty brunch. Next time, I may add a bit of pasted garlic or an anchovy to the paste to smear along the inside of the tomatoes.

• 2 large tomatoes
• 2 strips proscuitto (or pancetta)
• a small handful of basil leaves (we had 7-8 small ones)
• 2 tsp. olive oil, more if needed
• salt and pepper
• 2 eggs

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees (John's oven is more finicky, so we ended up more at 250 degrees).

Cut the tops off the tomatoes and remove their seeds. Set them upside-down over paper towels and let them drain for about 15 minutes.

Wrap a strip of proscuitto around each tomato and secure with toothpicks.

Smash the basil leaves into a paste. Add a bit of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Smear the mixture on the inside of the tomatoes.

Put the tomatoes on a baking sheet or ovenproof Pyrex dish. Bake in the oven till the proscuttio begins to brown around the edges (original recipe said about 15 minutes; took us more like 30).

Remove from oven. Break an egg into each tomato, then return. Bake till the eggs are done, but with runny yolks.

Serve with toast soldiers.