Tag Archives: Pottage

Pottage – Again

Barley and pea pottage

Barley and pea pottage

Last week I wrote about my first experiment with pottage. Now that I have ripe peas in the garden I wanted to make pottage with them. The intention was to make two – a thicker one and a thinner one. As with last week’s pottage, I would not use salt or pepper, but only a stock with herbs for seasoning. This time I left the celery out of the stock, as I wasn’t sure that the celery from the supermarket was very much like the celery available in the fourteenth century.

For the thicker fresh pea pottage I had to find something to thicken it. In the fourteenth century this would have been a grain or bread. In poorer households it was more likely to have been grain, as using it for pottage rather than for bread was a way of making it go further.

Fresh peas

Fresh peas

I used pearl barley as the thickener. A couple of years ago I accidentally and unwillingly grew barley in the garden when seeds from the barley straw I put round the strawberries germinated. I dug up the barley sprouts, but, on the principle that I could have grown barley if I hadn’t considered it a weed, barley was what I used. The pearl barley from the supermarket is a lot more refined than anything eaten in the Middle Ages, so the taste and texture would be different. This meant that I didn’t have to soak it to soften it, which would have been necessary for a fourteenth-century housewife. She would also have had to make grain stretch from one year’s harvest to the next, so she probably would not have used the same generous quantity for one person as I did.

Pearl barley

Pearl barley

Around this time of year I usually make a few pea risottos, so I was expecting the pottage to taste a bit like that, but without the oil and salt. To some extent it did, although the barley was chewier than rice.

The recipe:

I rinsed the pearl barley and boiled it on its own for 10 minutes, then I let it simmer for 30 minutes. While the barley was simmering, I chopped the onion and garlic and boiled them. I drained the barley and added it to the stock. Finally I added the peas and herbs and let them simmer for a couple of minutes.

There weren’t as many peas as I had hoped, but there must have been days when the fourteenth-century housewife had to make her fresh vegetables go further than expected.

It was definitely filling. That was down to the barley. It was not terribly tasty, but I think that might have been because there were too few peas to hold their own against the barley and the onion. I also think it’s the boiled onion which causes the odd aftertaste.  Drinking a mug of ale would probably have helped with that. This is not a version of pottage that I would particularly want to eat again.

pea pottage

Pea pottage

Yesterday I finally had enough peas to make a thin pottage with them. I boiled the onion and garlic for 20 minutes, then added the peas, chives and marjoram. They simmered for a very short time. I had expected that this pottage would be the least interesting, but it was very tasty. It wasn’t terribly filling, but it was enough to stave off hunger pangs for the afternoon. I think it would be most useful as a summer dish on a day when little work was required to be done in the fields.

Trying to make something that resembles a medieval pottage has raised many questions.

The process of cooking it on my gas hob was, of course, much faster than it would have been on an open fire in the fourteenth century. This raised two questions. The first was whether or not this would make any difference to the taste. The second was to wonder how an army on the move would have coped. In my novel Beloved Besieged an army crosses Aquitaine. There are too many men to stay in inns, so they would have slept in tents or in the open air, making camp each night. It would have taken a long time to cook for an army of thousands of men over open fires. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find out anything on this subject. The Black Prince’s armies were renowned for covering great distances in a day, which would have meant even less cooking time.

Quantities is another problem. My helpings were fairly large, as I was not afraid of the barley running out, nor was I trying to make dried herbs last until spring. Would a poor person in the fourteenth century have been able to eat the same amount? I don’t know.

What I have learned is that pottage did not have to be bland, even without salt and pepper.


Filed under Fourteenth Century, Uncategorized




Following comments from two or three people on recent posts, I made pottage this week as an experiment.  I wrote about pottage here. It was the basic meal in the fourteenth century and everyone ate it, rich or poor. More or less anything could be thrown into the pot to make it, but it’s summer at the moment and I decided to use peas from the garden as the main vegetable.

The idea was to make pottage and taste it to see how bland or otherwise it was for people who could not afford spices or meat. I only used things that can be grown locally and would have been available in the fourteenth century – at certain times of the year, at least.

I have failed to grow onions and garlic, but a friend only a few streets away, has great success with them, so I used shop-bought ones with a (fairly) clear conscience. I have grown celery in the past, but I don’t have any in the garden at the moment, so the supermarket helped out there as well. I used these ingredients for the basic stock. A fourteenth-century cook might have added some bones to the stock if she had them, but I’m a vegetarian, so I didn’t.

marrowfat peas

Marrowfat peas

The peas in my garden aren’t quite ready, so I bought marrowfat peas and used them for my first pottage. These are peas which have been left to dry out in their pods in the fields, so I think they would be very like the dried peas that would have been used in the fourteenth century. I soaked them overnight. The instructions on the packet said to add bicarbonate of soda, but this would not have been an option for the fourteenth-century housewife, so I left it out.

Marrowfat peas are used to make ‘mushy peas’, so I know that they would make a fairly thick pottage without needing any other thickening agent.

The herbs were from my garden. I used sage, marjoram and chives – rather a lot of them.



Here’s the recipe:

I boiled an onion, two sticks of celery and some garlic in some water while I prepared the herbs. I drained the peas and added them to the saucepan, making sure that the water covered them.  They simmered for almost an hour before I added the herbs. By then the peas were soft and breaking up. I had expected them to break up more. When the peas had been on for about an hour and a quarter I poured the pottage into a bowl and ate it.

It might look unappetising in the picture at the top of the post, but it was very tasty and I did not miss the pepper and salt I usually add to my food. There was an odd aftertaste, though, which was probably due to being rather heavy-handed with the herbs. I don’t think it was due to omitting the bicarbonate of soda. A bit of internet research told me that it makes no difference to the taste. It was satisfyingly filling, but I did have a large helping.

I plan to have two more goes at pottage when fresh peas are available next week.


Filed under Fourteenth Century