Description
PPC 110 (February 2018)
Contents
CONTENTS
23 Wolf Soup John Harvey
28 Everyday Meals in Regency London. Part I: The Household Peter Brears
50 Une Mauvaise Herbe: Purslane Di Murrell
65 Common Market Cookery: Fanny Cradock’s European Fantasy Kevin Geddes
75 Seaweed Jam Don Peterson
85 The Fudge Family in Paris [Thomas Moore]
95 No Bread with one Meatball David Miller, Pat Miller and James Tweedsmouth
97 ‘An Enquiry into the Derivation of Chowder’ – a Note or Coda Blake Perkins
105 Book Reviews
Di Murrell’s article on Purslane is below:
Une Mauvaise Herbe: Purslane
Di Murrell
Shopping in my local market at Tournus in Burgundy,
I queued, as usual, at the stall of the very best seller of
garden-grown vegetables there. He is a somewhat taciturn
young man, not quite so full of the usual bonhomie which is the
trademark of the born market trader. Without doubt his heart
(and bonhomie) is with his vegetables. They are so fresh and
colourful. His carrots, his beetroots, his peppers, tomatoes and
aubergines – all aglow like so many jewels carefully arranged on
their wicker trays. His dark green crackling leaves of spinach are
piled high between white stalked blettes and stiff batons of leeks.
Half-a-dozen different types of newly dug spuds take up one end
of the stall and at the other, just as many varieties of garlic, onions
and shallots. In between are heaps of small purple turnips, crisp
leaved hispi cabbages, black, white and peppery red radishes. His
bunches of tiny beetroots range in colour from pink to purple
and carrots from creamy yellow through to deepest bronze. He
always has great big bunches of parsley and basil and smaller ones
of lemon thyme, rosemary and sage.
His many customers stand patiently in line having first
checked which way the queue is going – it’s very bad form to get
that wrong. He works steadily, weighing our purchases, adding
up their cost but saying little; we move along collecting what
we want as we go. Finally it’s my turn – I fill my basket and as
he gives me my change I ask him if he ever has pourpier for sale.
He shakes his head and almost sneers as he says firmly, ‘Non –
c’est une mauvaise herbe,’ and I suppose he’s right really. Here
in Burgundy it is a weed that springs up overnight and spreads
rapidly over any ground. I realize that I am unlikely to persuade
him to give it a try and, judging by the looks I am getting from
the rest of the queue, they are equally unimpressed at the idea of
eating this invasive plant.
But we do. (Eat it, that is.)
The wild purslane in Burgundy is an annual. It grows close to
the ground, spreading quickly, a particularly useful trait in hot,
dry gardens where it helps to keep the soil cool. The leaves are
small, bright green and succulent, the stems fleshy. Its texture,
lemony acidity, and fresh colour will perk up a green salad no end
and lightly sautéed in butter the sprigs are a delicious alternative
to samphire when served beside almost any simply cooked firm
white fish. I love its slight sourness which gives it such versatility,
making it equally tasty whether eaten raw or cooked. I use it in
soups and salads and stir-fries; we’ve even had it pickled.
I have been on a bit of a mission for more years than I can
recall, trying to persuade gardeners and sundry growers of veg. to
try planting it. It was once popular in England and still surfaces
occasionally in revivalist sweeps of old country recipes. As always,
Alan Davidson’s wonderful Oxford Companion to Food has some
definitive sentences describing its antecedents and etymology. The
name ‘purslane’ is loosely applied to the genus Portulaca oleracea,
a plant that originated in the Near East or Central Asia. Davidson
goes on to say that it has been known in these regions for some
two thousand years. It was also grown and eaten in ancient Egypt
and in classical Greece and Rome. Interestingly the early French
word porcelaine is derived from the Latin portulaca and is the
basis of our own name for it – purslane. It is a member of the
Portulacaceae family and is also known as wild portulaca and
verdolaga. There seems to be some dispute over the etymology
of the genus name. Some are inclined to believe that portulaca is
derived from porto and laca meaning ‘milk carrier’, which may
be a reference to its milky sap, though I do wonder if it might
refer to the plant’s supposed ability to increase the milk supply
of lactating women. Alternatively, it is said that portulaca is
derived from portula, which means ‘little door’ and is probably a
reference to the way the seed capsule opens like a door to release
the seeds when they are ripe. However, Pliny the Elder (ad23–79)
is thought to have named the plant porcil-aka (a word with no
known meaning), which over time has morphed into portulaca.2
The species name oleracea means ‘potherb’ in Latin.
Tracing the derivations of words and tracking their passage
through time and place is a fascinating process but a job best
left to the dedicated etymologist. Speculation, though, is quite
another matter and one that any enthusiast for the spoken word
and its history may indulge in. The huge diversity of names and
meanings ascribed to this plant in other languages gives some idea
of the age and geographical dispersion of purslane’s cultivation
and use. The sheer number of different names throughout the
world points to its long-term establishment in many countries.
It is just not possible to track its movement across the world’s
landscape as precisely as one can with other plants. Suffice to
say that it seems to exist quite happily on every continent in the
world, save Antarctica.
Given the extensive historical, archaeological and linguistic
documentation, De Candolle, the Swiss botanist (1778–1841),
thought that this species was cultivated more than 4,000 years
ago. Its common names: lonica or louina (Sanskrit), koursa
(Hindustani), kholza and perpehen (Persian), adrajne agria (Greek),
portulaca (Latin), all derive from different roots suggesting that
the same plant has been naturalized in the countries in which it is
found for thousands of years. In the Middle Ages the Arabs called
it baqla hamqa, meaning ‘mad’ or ‘crazy’ vegetable, perhaps for
the way it spreads haphazardly over the ground. The Hispano-
Arabs of Al-Andalus (from the tenth to fifteenth centuries)
used the name riyla, which means ‘foot’, probably because of its
dactyliform leaves. Its names furfir, farfan, farfag, farfagin, are
from the Persian perpehen. It was also known as missita, meaning
‘mixed’, because it can be cultivated in gardens and is also found
growing wild. Names such as verdilacas, yerba aurato and yerba
orate are also known in Spanish which again mean ‘crazy’ herb.3
I must confess I have never seen purslane growing in the wild
in my part of south-east England but this may just be my failure of
observation. It is, clearly, a plant that flourishes almost everywhere,
will grow in all sorts of climatic and soil conditions, even in the
poorest of ground, though it does seem partial to a bit of heat
and dies back quickly at the first sign of cold weather. It grows
quite rapidly, thrives on neglect and survives happily in drought
conditions. It likes sunny weather and does not do so well in shade
or on damp ground. At night its leaves trap carbon dioxide which
is converted into malic acid and during the day this is converted
into glucose. When picked in the early morning the leaves have
ten times more malic acid than in the late afternoon and, as a
result, a significantly more tangy, lemony taste. The leaves, stems,
flowers and seeds are all edible. It produces a prolific number of
seeds per plant: up to 240,000 of them apparently, though I have
yet to identify who might have done the counting.
In poor rural areas of the world it is known as a famine
food and interestingly enough those who have no choice but to
consume foraged plants such as purslane have been found to be
among the healthiest people in their villages. Hardly surprising
as it is very low in calories (16 cal. per 100 g.) and contains more
Omega-3 than any other leafy green and many fish. Chickens
that graze upon it produce eggs high in omega-3. It is a very good
source of vitamins A and C and is rich in fibre and minerals (iron,
potassium, calcium, etc).
Its dietary and nutritional properties seem to be legion and
its apparent ability to cure just about every known disease and
ailment should mark it out as an absolutely world-class wonderplant.
At the very least, in our ultra health-conscious society of
today, it deserves to be far better known.
Once this was the case. Ancient Greeks and Romans were
familiar with it as both an edible plant and one with healing
properties. It was seen as both cooling and thirst-quenching
and thus helpful in calming a hot temper. The Greek physician
Dioscorides (ad40–90) recommended the leaves for headache,
heartburn, kidney and bladder ailments; he noted that the juice
soothed the eyes. He also mentioned that it ‘reduces the desire
to fornicate,’ and as it contains norepinephrine which causes a
reduction of the blood flow around the body by contracting the
main arteries, it probably does lower the libido. Pliny lists fortyfive
remedies which include purslane. It was supposed to cool fever
and inflammation, stimulate circulation, regulate heart function
and strengthen the immune system. He wrote that an amulet
made from the plant would ward off all kinds of evil. I wonder
how it is possible for one plant to possess all of these wonderful
properties, some of which seem to contradict the others: on the
one hand, supposedly reducing blood flow, whilst on the other,
stimulating circulation. If true it surely would be the ‘heal-all’
plant that Galen (ad129–216), the prominent Greek physician,
considered it to be.
Georges Gibault, in his Histoire des Légumes (1912), states that
in medieval times the Arabs thought purslane so important that
they called it ‘the blessed vegetable’. He cites evidence to show
that it was cultivated in Europe in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Interestingly, the earliest known English salad recipe
which appears in The Forme of Cury, written around 1390, calls
for purslane, along with mustard, cress, lettuce, sorrel and
dandelion. In the seventeenth century in Britain it was used in
combination with other salad greens as a cure for the common
cold. The London barber-surgeon John Gerard (1545–1612) says
that purslane is good to chew if you have sensitive teeth and
herbalist Nicholas Culpeper (1616–1654) remarks that, ‘If the herb
is placed under the tongue, it assuageth thirst. Applied to the
gout, it easeth the pains thereof and helps harden the sinews, if
it come not of the cramp or a cold cause.’
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries purslane seeds
were boiled in wine and given to children to rid them of worms.
Traditionally in Asia and Europe it has been used to treat burns,
relieve headaches, alleviate problems of the liver and help with
arthritis. It has also been used as a heart tonic, as a diuretic, and an
anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxant. Zulus use it as an emetic
and the ancient Romans believed it could cure dysentery. In the
Indian subcontinent it is used as a remedy for liver complaints,
dysentery and a general health tonic. It is currently used in men’s
skin care preparations to soothe razor burn and irritated skin and
to tone down redness of the skin. It is even regarded as a useful
aid to weight loss.
With this kind of curriculum vitae surely any other attributes
would seem excessive. Herbal remedies for ailments and healthimproving
nostrums are rarely sold as delicious things to eat in
their own right. Purslane – that apparent healer of all afflictions
– is, however, such a one. Personally, I enjoy it for its culinary
attributes alone, treating its curative properties as merely extra
benefits. Much of the rest of the world thinks so too and it is
hard to understand the lack of culinary interest in those countries
that pride themselves both on the preservation of their traditional
dishes and their rankings at the cutting edge of modern cuisine.
Though it may, traditionally, have been regarded as food for
the poor and primitive, nowadays not even the poor of the
Western world get to eat it; it has dropped out of the culinary
consciousness of most of the wealthier countries. It grows wild
in South Africa where it is known as ‘women’s food’; so-called
because new mothers traditionally chew the leaves to increase
milk supply. The Zulus and Khoisan tribes eat the leaves raw.
In Southern Asia it is a cultivated plant and sold in markets. In
Mexico it is used in soups and salads and in China sautéed in
a wok with bean sprouts and sesame oil. Australian aborigines
use the seeds of purslane to make seedcakes. Greeks use the
leaves and the stems with feta cheese. They put it in salads, boil
it, or add it to casseroled chicken. In Turkey, besides its use in
salads and baked pastries, it is cooked as a vegetable similar to
spinach, or mixed with yogurt. Similarly, in Egypt it is treated
as a cooked vegetable. In Syria and Lebanon it is a garniture in
fatayeh (triangular salted pastries). In Albania it is, like spinach,
lightly simmered and dressed with olive oil or mixed with other
ingredients as a filling between the layers of dough in byrek. In the
south of Portugal it is a soup ingredient. In Pakistan it is cooked
along with lentils or in a mixed stew of greens. In the Middle East
it is a classic ingredient in fattoush and it was when eating this
delicious salad that I first came across it so many years ago.8
In northern Europe the earliest archaeological deposits of
purslane seeds were discovered in Neuss on the Rhine. In its
wild state it thrives in the Rhine region in gardens, potato and
asparagus fields. Hildegard von Bingen (1098–1179) was the first
to write about it, calling it burtel, though she apparently saw
little virtue in it referring to it as a ‘cold and slimy’ plant.9 Its
arrival in northern Europe is usually attributed to the Romans
and there is certainly some evidence that the Roman legions
carried the nutritious seeds of the plant with them as part of
their food supply when on the move.10 Purslane was, as Gibault
said, familiar to the people of the Arabian world and known
there for at least two thousand years. I have wondered if it might
have been introduced to France by the invading Moors during
the eighth century. Their military campaigns reached far into the
country. They were finally defeated by Charles Martel at the battle
of Tours in ad732. The survivors retreated, probably keeping
close to the rivers Saône and Rhône, to Provence. Some groups
of stragglers got left behind and are known to have settled in
Burgundy. One famous Saracen settlement, that of Uchizy, is not
far from where we live and though I have yet to discern any signs
of Arabian antecedents in the present population, nevertheless
their early presence is documented in the history of the village.
The purslane grows so thick on the ground here that I’d like to
think there is maybe some connection. Perhaps like the Romans,
the Saracen armies carried it with them. Indeed given its known
curative properties it might well have been seen as an essential
medicinal aid. It could be planted and would germinate within
three weeks – armies moved slowly in those days; once grown,
leaves and stalks could be eaten raw and the seeds collected and
ground into a form of flour. If this was the case it might go some
way to explain its rejection as something edible by the haughty
Burgundians (at least by those with whom I queued in the market
at Tournus) who, to this day, often view that which is ‘foreign’ i.e.
‘strange’ or ‘sarrazin’ with some suspicion. Such was the distrust
of the settlers in Uchizy that they were forced to live apart from
their indigenous neighbours for several hundred years. This juicy
plant, however, with its succulent sharply acidic leaves and thick
fleshy stems is truly cosmopolitan. I have bought the cultivated
variety, a bigger plant than the wild form, in markets in northern
France where it is called pourpier doré and where it is popular
in both soups and salads; purslane and sorrel are, of course, the
classic ingredients in the famous French bonne femme soup.
For the moment I don’t think I’ll have much luck in converting
the local population to the joys of cooking and eating their
mauvaise herbe given their propensity to uproot and destroy it
wherever it appears. For my part I shall continue to cultivate mine
in my garden and feed it to my Burgundian friends whenever the
possibility arises.
For those of you less unreconstructed I have gathered together
one or two favourite recipes. If you want to taste it first-hand,
Anna Del Conte, brilliant writer of Italian cookery books who
is also a keen advocate of purslane, says that she has found it in
Greek shops in London. It is also sold in Chinese shops under
the name of yin choy. You can even mail-order the leaves from
Cherry Tree Farm in Kent, 01797 270626. An obvious alternative
is to simply plant your own. The seeds are available from Jekka’s
Herb Farm (www.jekkasherbfarm.com). For those keen to explore
its efficacity but can’t wait for their plant to grow it can even be
bought in bottled form. Amazon sells something called Nature’s
Mojo Purslane Herb Liquid Extract! Personally, though, I prefer
to ingest it by way of delicious plates of food, some recipes for
which you will find here.
Potage Bonne Femme
Though this seems mostly to be translated as ‘good woman’s soup’,
I do believe it should be more properly called the ‘good wife’s
soup’. This would explain the presence of sorrel and purslane
– both greens high in minerals and vitamins to keep the family
healthy and something with which the medieval cook would
have been quite familiar. Today, although the soup is well known,
modern-day recipes never contain these two original ingredients
which without them rather makes nonsense of its name. This
one is from Lindsey Bareham’s A Celebration of Soup. I think it
is as close to the original that one is likely to find though I have
reintroduced the two essential missing ingredients. I suspect that
in its simplest and earliest form the butter and cream would not
have been part of the recipe.
40g butter
1 good handful each of purslane and sorrel, chopped
2 large leeks, finely sliced
450g potatoes, peeled and diced
1.1 litres water
½ teaspoon sugar
50ml single cream
sea salt and freshly ground white pepper
some sprigs of fresh purslane to garnish
Sauté the sliced leek, chopped purslane and sorrel in the butter
until the leek has softened. Add the potatoes, a generous pinch
of salt, the sugar and water and cook covered until the potato is
tender. Mash with a potato masher, then pass through a fine sieve.
(Resist the desire to purée it in a blender as this process makes
the potato taste ‘soapy’.) Stir in the cream and garnish with fresh
purslane. Serve either hot or cold. Serves four people.
Purslane Pitta Sandwiches with Tahini Dressing
This one I found on the fascinating website <hungerandthirstforlife.
blogspot.com> and is a more modern take on how to use purslane.
It makes a speedy and delicious lunch. I love it.
Tahini dressing
2 tablespoons of tahini paste
lemon juice to taste
a drizzle of olive oil – enough to thin the mixture slightly
a small clove garlic ground to a cream with a little sea salt in a
mortar
sea salt and fresh ground black pepper
For the pitta sandwich
pitta breads – probably two per person
garden-grown tomatoes, sliced and salted
crumbled goat’s cheese or feta or even fresh mozzarella
lots of chopped purslane
Mix the tahini dressing in a jar with a lid. Give it a good shaking,
taste and season, adding more lemon juice and oil as you like.
It should have the consistency of a salad dressing, so thin with a
little water if you need to.
Place all the chopped purslane in a bowl, drizzle on a good
quantity of the dressing, and toss it so that all is evenly coated.
Warm the pitta breads. Fill the pitta pockets with the cheese along
one side and the tomatoes the other. Cram the space in between
with the dressed purslane.
This is summer on a plate.
Purslane, Spring Onion and Cucumber Salad
Anna del Conte shares this simple but tasty traditional Italian dish
in her book Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes.
a good handful of purslane leaves
4 spring onions
½ a cucumber
4 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and fresh ground black pepper
lemon juice to taste
Wash the purslane leaves and dry them. Put them in a salad bowl
with the spring onions sliced into thin rings. Slice the cucumber
into slivers – a swivel potato peeler works well – and add to the
bowl. Dress with the olive oil and lemon and season well. Serve
immediately. For two people.
New Potatoes, Red Onions and Purslane
This is a recipe from one of my favourite cookery books, The
Cook and the Gardener. I keep it near me in France and often
consult it before I set off for the Saturday market. It was written
by Amanda Hesser, an American learning her culinary trade by
spending a year cooking for Anne Willan, the author and owner
of the famous Ecole de Cuisine La Varenne, at her seventeenthcentury
château in Burgundy. Comparatively speaking, our own
home in Burgundy is more of a peasant hovel but we do share
very similar tastes in food and I feel particularly close to Amanda
as she tries to assimilate and come to terms with the mix of old
and new France in both the kitchen and the garden.
This dish makes a good lunch on its own and goes well with
grilled garlicky sausages or some slices of fried boudin noir.
about 500g new or waxy potatoes
2 bay leaves
sea salt
1 medium red onion cut into small dice
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
½ tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon dry white wine
sea salt
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 handfuls of purslane leaves washed and dried
2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice
fresh ground black pepper
grated zest of ½ a lemon
In a medium saucepan cover the peeled potatoes and bay leaves
with cold water, add a good pinch of sea salt, put on the lid and
bring to the boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the potatoes
are cooked. Drain and allow to cool. Cut into ¼-inch cubes.
To make the dressing, whisk together the mustard, lemon juice,
white wine and a little pinch of sea salt. Make sure the salt has
dissolved before adding the olive oil. Whisk it in to amalgamate
all the ingredients.
In a medium bowl combine the potatoes and onions and
pour on the dressing. Fold everything together well, but gently,
to ensure the dressing is distributed evenly. Taste and add more
salt if necessary. Leave to marinate for up to two hours at room
temperature.
Just before serving, in a separate bowl, toss the purslane in a
little more oil, lemon juice and salt. Check whether the potatoes
need any more oil as they tend to absorb liquid. Divide the
purslane equally between four plates and serve the potato salad
on top. Sprinkle with coarse ground black pepper and the lemon
zest. Serve at room temperature. For four people.
Verdolagas en Salsa Verde (Green Salsa with Purslane
Another zingy recipe from the hungerandthirstforlife website.
The writer says they learned this dish from a friend, Rosa, who
learned it from her granny. It has a distinctly Mexican feel to it
especially as it is recommended that it be served with homemade
refried beans and a stack of warm corn tortillas. The original
recipe uses tomatillos but I have substituted tomatoes as I think
they are more easily available to most of us.
12–15 small green tomatoes
1 small onion
1 fresh green Serrano chilli
4 cloves unpeeled garlic
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon sea salt
½ teaspoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons of olive oil
2 good handfuls of roughly chopped purslane
2 tablespoons chopped coriander
Wash the tomatoes and cut the onion in half (no need to peel
it). Place the tomatoes, onion, chillies, and garlic on a grill over
high heat. Grill each until they are tender and have some nicely
charred bits. Throw the cooked tomatoes, onion (remove the
charred outer layers first), chillies (stem removed, but leave the
seeds), garlic (peeled), as well as the salt, sugar, and cumin into
a blender and coarsely process them. Heat the olive oil in a pan
and when the oil is warm pour in the contents of the blender and
stir for 2 minutes. Add the chopped purslane leaves, stir, and let
it cook for another minute or two. The purslane will have just
barely cooked through but will have also thickened the sauce.
Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the coriander. Serve as
recommended above.
Purslane and Green Pea Soup
Back to the more classic French style, this is from La Cuisine de
Madame Saint-Ange (Larousse) and is also to be found in Jane
Grigson’s Vegetable Book. Mrs Grigson says that Mme Saint-Ange is
at pains to point out that purslane gives the soup ‘une onctuosité
toute speciale’ and also insists that the peas be tender-skinned.
As the soup is neither sieved nor pureéd she is concerned that the
pea skins should not be tough. Young fresh peas or good-quality
frozen commercial ones are fine to use
30g purslane leaves
80g sorrel
10g chervil leaves
40g chopped onion
80g butter
1.5 litres of hot water
1–2 teaspoons sea salt
½ litre shelled peas
Chop the purslane leaves very finely. Remove the stalks from the
sorrel and chop the leaves as well; chop the chervil. Soften half
the butter in a heavy pan and add the onion. Cover and leave
on a low heat for the onion to stew gently to a purée – about 45
[ 63 ]
minutes. Stir with a wooden spoon from time to time making
sure that the onion neither sticks nor browns. Add the hot water
and salt. When it comes to the boil, add the peas, the purslane
and sorrel to the onion purée and leave to simmer very gently for
a further 45 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the rest of
the butter and the chervil leaves. Serve immediately
Fattoush
And finally, where I first came in – with my discovery of purslane
in the ancient Moorish salad of fattoush. This one is based upon
Claudia Roden’s, from her Book of Middle Eastern Food. The
ingredients and their proportions can be varied according to taste.
1 large cucumber
sea salt
a half or a whole pitta bread, slightly stale or dried in the oven
juice of two lemons
4 ripe but firm tomatoes peeled and chopped (Italian, French
Marmande or Ondine Cornu work particularly well as they
are quite fleshy)
1 medium sweet white onion (or 4 spring onions) finely chopped
3 tablespoons each of chopped coriander and purslane
2 tablespoons of chopped fresh mint
2 cloves garlic very finely chopped
6–8 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and fresh ground black pepper
a pinch or two of sugar
Slice the cucumber and leave to drain with a sprinkling of salt
in a colander for about an hour. Then rinse, dry and chop well.
Break up the pitta bread into small pieces and put in a salad
bowl big enough to eventually hold all the ingredients. Moisten
the bread with some lemon juice. Add the cucumber and mix in
everything else. Add the oil and lemon juice a little at a time at the
end, adjusting the flavours to your taste. Season with salt, pepper
and sugar. The secret to this salad is to have everything uniformly
finely chopped and to finish by gently mixing everything together
to combine all the flavours. Eat straight away.
NOTES
1. Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson (3rd edition, Tom Jaine ed.) (Oxford
University Press, 2015).
2. www.flowersinisrael.com.
3. www.mdidea.com.
4. University of California Integrated Pest Management.
5. www.nutrition-and-you.com.
6. A Curious History of Vegetables: Aphrodisiacal and Healing Properties, Folk Tales,
Garden Tips, and Recipes, Wolf D. Storl (North Atlantic Books, Berkeley, CA,
2016).
7. herbs-treatandtaste.blogspot.com.
8. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portulaca_oleracea.
9. Regional Cuisines of Medieval Europe: A Book of Essays, Melitta Weiss Adamson
(Psychology Press, 2002).
10. ‘The Roman Military Diet,’ R.W. Davies, Britannia, Vol. 2 (1971), pp. 122–142
(Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies).
SOURCES OF RECIPES
— for which due acknowledgement is made, with my thanks to their authors.
Potage Bonne Femme:
A Celebration of Soup, Lindsey Bareham (Michael Joseph, 1993; Penguin, 1994).
Purslane Pitta Sandwiches with Tahini Dressing; Verdolagas en Salsa Verde (Green Salsa
with Purslane):
www.hungerandthirstforlife.blogspot.com.
Purslane, Spring Onion and Cucumber Salad; Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes:
The Best of Anna Del Conte, Anna Del Conte (Vintage, 2008).
New Potatoes, Red Onions and Purslane:
The Cook and the Gardener, Amanda Hesser (Absolute Press, 2004).
Purslane and Green Pea Soup:
Jane Grigson’s Vegetable Book, Jane Grigson (Michael Joseph 1978; Penguin, 1980).
Fattoush:
A Book of Middle Eastern Food, Claudia Roden (Peng
