‘Her lips brushed over the tip of his finger as her delicate teeth bit into the morsel and he bit back a groan. Why was he torturing himself thus? Yet, he could not stop. So he continued, hiding behind the pretence of courtly manners, as he felt himself harden with her every bite.’
There’s something a little bit sexy about eating with your fingers. A common practice in noble households was for the man to serve the woman. Thankfully, their eating habits were a lot more refined than we originally thought. Hands were washed before and after meals and napkins were often used, so it’s easy to create a sensual scene revolving around medieval meal times.
A lot of their recipes were very tasty, though they frequently ate sweet foods with savoury foods, enjoying meat dishes alongside custards and jellies. However, there are a few rather delightful recipes that I suspect could dampen even the steamiest of scenes and I thought I’d share some of these culinary delights with you.
This consisted of all the bits of chicken that you would normally throw away, like the feet and the head, which was then boiled in broth and seasoned with herbs and salt.
For cow’s udder which has been well washed and cooked, & put on a towel so it can rest well, & put it on a spit. For the udder’s sauce , take two or three pieces of toasted white bread, which are not burned at all, & take some broth with verjuice to temper the bread, & mix with four or five egg yolks, & put therein nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, saffron, & sugar, & let it boil well together, & put it on the roasted udder.
This recipe calls for cow dung to be made into a juice.
For the gowte. Take & strene Cow Dongue & Drinke the Iuce & it will heale the gowte.
Pudding of Porpoise
Somehow it creeps me out that they refer to it as a him, a common occurrence in medieval recipes. I’d rather not form an attachment to my food before I eat it, thank you.
Take the Blood of him, & the grease of him self, & Oatmeal, & Salt, & Pepper, & Ginger, & mix these together well, & then put this in the Gut of the porpoise, & then let it boil easily, & not hard, a good while; & then take him up, & broil him a little, & then serve forth.
It is not so much the inclusion of the cock that I find repulsive but the fact that it is left for so long.
Take eight gallons of Ale, take a Cock and boil him well; then take four pounds of Raisins of the Sun well stoned, two or three Nutmegs, three or four flakes of Mace, half a pound of Dates; beat these all in a Mortar, and put to them two quarts of the best Sack: and when the Ale hath done working, put these in, and stop it close six or seven days, and then bottle it, and a month after you may drink it.
These are some of the more mild recipes. There are plenty more extreme recipes that would have brought much delight to the lords and ladies but I think I shan’t be featuring them in any of my stories. Sheep’s penis can wait I think.
by Samantha Holt
44,000 words (eBook format)
Erotic Historical Romance
Contains Elements of Action
Heat Level: Steamy
Amazon (US) – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00989J3PM
Amazon (UK) – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00989J3PM
A medieval story of love and betrayal.
As a rebellion sweepsEngland, Lady Annabel finds her home overrun by rebels. Much to her relief, a dark knight comes to her rescue, claiming to have been sent to protect her by her uncle.
But Nicholas holds a secret about the job he was sent to do and it is a far cry from what Annabel believes it to be. As the attraction between them grows, Nicholas begins to question the dark life he has lived. But is it enough to change him and will Annabel ever trust again after learning the true nature of his sinful duty?
“What is your name?”
He stared at her as he paused mid-bite. Withdrawing the bread, he shifted uncomfortably.
“My name is of no import, my lady.”
“I would know the name of my rescuer.”
He looked to the floor. “I am no rescuer, just a lowly knight doing his duty.”
“Your modesty becomes you, Sir Knight, but I would still know your name.”
Annabel awaited his response, the air between them growing uncomfortably thick.
He heaved a sigh, wondering how it was that a diminutive woman had got the better of him.
“Nicholas,” he grated out reluctantly.
“Nicholas,” she repeated softly. “And I am Annabel.”
“I know, my lady.”
“Nay, Annabel. Not ‘my lady’. You have surely earned the right to address me as such.”
He shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground once more. He could not bring himself to utter her name, not when he knew what was to come. “Nay, my lady, I am your servant and I will address you as a servant should.”
Annabel must have sensed she was fighting a losing battle as she protested no more and fell silent. Nicholas risked sideways glances at her as her as she nibbled delicately on the hardened bread, and he realised he took far too much pleasure in the sight of her ample lips moving with each bite.
Brushing the crumbs from her skirts, Nicholas watched, mesmerised, as she twisted her long braid over her shoulder. Tugging on the red ribbon that tied the end of the braid, it loosened, sending the length of her hair shimmering across her shoulders. It brushed the dirt and Nicholas felt his mouth dry as she touched a finger to his arm. Surrounded by a halo of hair, she glanced up at him, her mouth curling. Without a word, she tied the ribbon about his large arm and fussed with it until she was satisfied.
Nicholas touched tentatively at the ribbon and gave her a perplexed look.
“You saved my life, Nicholas. ‘Tis a favour from a lady to a knight.” She grinned at his confusion. “You have received favours before, surely? I would expect a knight of your valour to have championed many a lady.”
He wondered if she was teasing him but her expression was completely guileless. He groaned inwardly. This woman probably believed wholeheartedly in courtly love. From his little experience he had come to conclude that it did not exist.
“For fear of disappointing you, my lady, I am sorry to admit that there you are mistaken. I have championed no ladies.”
“Well, ‘tis no matter,” she told him with a tender smile, “For you have championed me.”
Unable to bare her dazzling eyes any longer, he stood abruptly. Champion? He laughed inwardly. She had no idea of the kind of man he was, and he was thoroughly aware that he was far removed from the heroic knights that minstrels and poets spoke of.
He felt a pang of something, an uncomfortable sensation settling in his gut. Nicholas couldn’t name it but he didn’t like its implications. For all her naivety and gentle manners, this woman was going to be trouble. He felt threatened by her somehow, as if she had directly challenged him rather than quietly accepting his every word without question.
“Are you ready to continue on, my lady?”
Annabel sighed and stood, in spite of her obvious weariness. “I am in your hands, Nicholas. I will do whatever you command.”
Nicholas tried to tamp down on the desire stirring in his loins at her words and failed. Instead, he grunted and turned away, stomping off without checking if she was following. The sooner this job was over, the better.
~~About the Author~~
Samantha Holt resides in Warwickshire, England, with her twin girls, having followed her soldier husband around the UK for nearly 10 years. Growing up in Hampshire, she was inspired by the authors Jane Austen and Elizabeth Gaskell, both of which lived and wrote only miles from her home town.
Samantha loves the romance genre and has been devouring romantic literature for as long as she can remember. History is another passion of hers and she loves to combine her love for history and romance into exciting and passionate tales.
Contact Samantha at:
Website – http://www.samanthaholt.org.uk
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/romanticfiction
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