A Mediaeval Folly and “Braune in Peverade”

It was not until the middle of the nineteenth century that the development of new techniques in food preservation made the logistics of feeding an army on campaign less of a problem than it was prior to that. It eventually culminated in the C-Rations of the American Army during World War Two. I still recall how overjoyed we were with these goodies after the Japanese surrendered, when bulky American planes dropped them by parachute on the town’s square of Cimahi, West Java, just outside the perimeters of our prison camp. If memory serves, there were small cans of preserved butter, processed cheese, “Spam” (a kind of pressed ham), powdered eggs and so forth, as well as cigarettes and those wonderful small, but handy can openers nobody seems to produce these days.
The old Romans must have had considerable problems providing their legions with proper nourishment while on campaign in the wilderness of North-western Europe or elsewhere. It was customary to travel with cattle and other livestock as well as with huge supplies of wine but most of the food had to come from the conquered villages and lands, a situation that made plunder a necessity. If there was no loot, discontent and even mutiny would ensue.
Much later, at the end of the fourteenth century AD, in 1386 to be precise, during the so-called Hundred Year’s War with the English, the French decided to give an invasion of England yet another try. To achieve this, they assembled an armada in the mouth of the river Scheldt in the Low Countries which they labelled “The Greatest fleet since God created the world.” That the whole operation turned in another grandiose debacle is another example of the follies of mankind and a tale too long to relate but fascinating are the supplies needed for the venture and the reported number of 40,000 knights, 60,000 troops and 50,000 horses. The late historian, Barbara W. Tuchman doubted these numbers and suspected that the chroniclers were exaggerating and trying to impress rather than be accurate. It is from her excellent book, “A Distant Mirror” subtitled “The Calamitous Fourteenth Century” that I have most of the following information about this historic extravaganza.
Ships were purchased from all over Europe and the French shipyards worked continuously to complete the huge order. The Italian Buonaccorso Pitty reported that he saw at least 1200 ships anchored on the roads of Flushing. The nobles spared no costs to adorn their personal vessels with the coat of arms of their families, silken banners, gilded prows and other unnecessary frills. Each of these ships was ostentatiously decked out. One even more ornate than the other. Money was no object. The nobles expected to return from the land of Albion – at the time itself in disarray - with such rich booties that it would cover all expense and leave them with a sweet profit as well.
“Day after day,” Mrs. Tuchman writes, the parade of supplies came in from all over Europe, iron and stone canon balls, 2,000 barrels to hold biscuits, ropes, candles, urinals, lanterns, shaving basins, laundry tubs and so on. Agents scored Normandy, Picardy, Holland, Germany and even Spain for supplies. They bought wheat to make 2,000 tons of biscuits, smoked bacon, smoked eels, salmon, dried herring and beans. 1000 barrels (four million litres) of French wine, 857 barrels of wine from Greece, Portugal and Romania. 101 heads of beef cattle were brought in, 447 heads of sheep; 224 hams; 500 fat hens; capons and geese. Containers were filled with expensive spices like ginger, pepper, saffron and cloves. 900 pounds of almonds, 200 of sugar, 400 of rice (this last amount sounds too little in comparison with 900 pounds of almonds but in those days, rice was a luxury item and a curiosity while almonds were used to thicken sauces and pottages). Also stocked were 300 pounds of barley, 94 casks of olive oil, 400 cheeses from Brie and 144 from Chauny. No potatoes or maize, as Christopher Columbus had not been born yet to discover the New World.
Although it has little to do with food I do want to mention the most stupendous of all these preparations. It was a portable wooden town to protect and lodge the invaders once they had landed on the other side. Mrs. Tuchman wrote: “It was virtually an artificial Calais to be rowed across the Channel. Its dimensions epitomised the fantasy of omnipotence. It was to have a circumference of nine miles and an area of 1,000 acres surrounded by a wooden wall 10 feet high, reinforced by towers each at intervals of 12 and 22 yards. It had prearranged streets, houses, stables, barracks and markets where the companies would come for their provisions.” The town was prefabricated in Normandy and was to be shipped in numbered sections, to be reassembled as soon as a beachhead was established on the English coast.
Waiting for a tardy Duc de Berry, an important member of the leadership of the endeavour who was busy on his estates in France, preoccupied with things other than war, caused the expedition to be delayed over and over again. The thousands of men became restless and dissatisfied in their cramped quarters. As usual at that time of the year the weather deteriorated and the sea became rough and perilous. The floating metropolis, loaded on 72 ships on its way from Rouen to the Scheldt, was attacked and destroyed by the English in mid September. Two of the ships were too big to be towed into Calais - which was English at the time - and taken to London where parts of the “town” were exhibited for the amusement of its citizens. The Duc de Berry did not arrive until October 14. The increasingly bad, freezing weather, with the notorious autumn gales wreaking havoc in the Channel and the participants of the would be invasion driven to despair waiting for something to happen, made the project finally to be abandoned in November 1386. That was the sad and financially disastrous end of yet another of mankind’s fancies.
Reading cookbooks from those days gives one the impression that there was a riot in the kitchen. Terms like “Ramme hem up” (press together), “seeth” (boil), “swing” eggs (beat eggs), “smite to gobbits” (cut into little pieces), and “flourish” (to garnish) made cooking sound like great fun.
At the coronation dinner of Henry IV of England in 1399 about forty dishes and “sotelties” were served. One of them was called “Braun in Peverade” (Boar in Pepper Sauce).