From St Brigid to The London Wigs

via A Milk Blessing, Sunshine Food, A Pasty for The Devil & A Powder for Digestion

Hello, my dearest Gentle Reader,

I hope today has brought you at least some degree of hope and happiness. Even if not, this may help: did you know that today is St Brigid’s Day in Ireland? Why is that helpful, you may ask, well its because St Brigid heralds the start of the the bright half of the year and that spring is around the corner. I know that for many the darkness of winter makes for difficult days and hopefully this will ease as the month goes by. There will be little indicators wherever you look of nature starting to wake up from its winter hibernation. For those who celebrate this is rather Imbolc, and the day before Candlemas which also celebrates cleansing and purification as well as light. In the Old Days of Irish mythology Brigid was also the Fire Goddess so you can see that over these days there are a lot of common themes across the ancient myth, Christianity and Pagan celebrations.

I’m sadly not an anthropologist so I have absolutely no chance of pulling apart those themes and examining the sources of these rituals and celebrations so I think we will just enjoy this lovely piece of folklore instead: Brigid was washed in milk as a newborn baby and was raised on the milk of a magical Otherworld cow, as she was unable to digest ordinary cow’s milk. This cow was a white one with red ears and it accompanied her around the farms on the eve of her Saint’s Day. At this time of year there was little milk and many of the farm women would take a blessed candle to the cow’s stall and singe the long hair on the upper part of the animal’s udder in order to bring on St Brigid’s blessing so that the cow’s milk would be abundant in the spring.

Bό Chluasach Dearg Bhríde - Brigid's Red Eared Cow - Kay Maahs Artist

I always like to look at these special days and celebrations and consider foods that may add a little something special and seasonal to the feast so if you haven’t already planned your dinner, perhaps you could consider one of these dishes or ingredients: anything cheesy, Brigid is the patron saint of dairies and dairy workers so anything dairy based would be fabulous such as a rich macaroni cheese with a layer of thyme & chilli roasted pumpkin. For those of you who avoid dairy, perhaps a vegetarian spicy dish with plenty of ginger and black pepper and a squeeze of lime such as spiced coconut & butternut squash soup for some excellent cleansing energy. This has the added bonus of being both fire and sun coloured to celebrate the end of winter and the beginning of the sun’s return.

In case you want to know I am having a battered chip omelette with cheese which has the advantage of reducing food waste and is both round and a mixture of yellow and orange tones so is full of that sunny energy. If anyone is judging I would like to remind you that at Spanish tortilla is full of sliced potato fried in oil which is not a million miles away from a battered chip. If you don’t read this in time for 1 or 2 February dinner, then these would be just as nice any day in February if only because bright food is more cheerful on grey days.

My story is a little on the short side today but it has the devil, a pasty and a clever resourceful woman so I’m sure you will forgive the conciseness. The original tale was recorded by Ruth Tongue and Katharine Briggs in Folktales of England in the south west of England. I hope you enjoy my adapation.

There was once a successful farmer who at first appeared to be very like other men of his kind, however if you watched him long enough you might observe that he was never outside of his farmhouse after dark. This applied no matter how many lambs might need his help to be born or cows need to be milked or animals to feed. He managed to work around most of this but it did get a little tricky in the times between Halloween and the first days of Spring. This was mostly because he had a resourceful, helpful wife as did so many farmers in those times. However this clever wife was eventually expecting their longed for first child and she realised that if their baby were to try and make a first appearance during the dark of the night she would be be even worse off than those lambing ewes up in the hills. There was no way her husband would leave the farm after sunset and she would be stranded without assistance of the village midwife.

The farmer had always refused to share with his wife why he couldn’t be out after dark and as he was a good husband in all other ways and the farm provided for them very well. Suspiciously so actually with excellent crop yield and very fertile animals amongst a surrounding landscape of pretty poor land and regular poor weather. She couldn’t let this state of affairs continue though as both she and her precious future child were at serious risk without the experienced village midwife.

She bothered the farmer constantly for an answer and eventually he let her into his secret. He had, as a foolish young man, promised his soul to the devil in return for a successful farm for a 100 years which he could leave to his family so long as he could have 7 years before collection. This collection date was now long overdue but the Devil couldn’t get him because the farm doors and windows were protected with good cold iron in the form of horseshoes and rowan branches replenished whenever it was needed.

Now the good wife was in a quandary as to how to save her husband as well as the successful farm and had a couple of sleepless nights until on the third night the perfect plan started to form. The next evening when all the farm work was done she began to roll out hot pastry as though for a big Devon pasty and whilst she was rolling she had a piece of blessed cold iron heating in the ashes of the fire. Onto her circle of pastry she marked a cross and filled that cross with salt. She then filled with pasty with the normal ingredients: steak, potato, turnip, onion and her special touch a little clotted cream, making a space in the middle for the blessed cold iron bar. She folded the pastry over all and washed it with egg and lifted it into her oven. The resulting pasty looked glossy and glorious and smelt even better. The farmer started asking why he couldn’t eat it and she had to ask him to hush and take his seat, bolt the door behind her quietly and then listen carefully.

She put the pasty onto a large platter and unbolted the door and closed it behind her. She stood in the farm yard and called out “are you there sir? I’ve told my feller that there is no point trying to outwit you and he should give up and he’s just getting ready to come. I’ve bought out a warm mouthful for you whilst you’re waiting.”

The Devil had been waiting for a long time for this farmer and so he wasn’t perhaps as clever thinking as he usually was. He took the pasty and bit into it very hard and the iron nearly caused him to break every tooth he had and the salted cross caused him to scream even louder with burning pain as he swallowed. He was there, screaming in pain clutching his mouth unable to see through the tears and he heard the farmer’s wife call: “we’re coming, we’re coming.” “Who’s we? The Devil managed to cough out around the pain. “Both of us. You wouldn’t think I’d let my love go off alone? I’m coming with him to cook for you both.”

With that the Devil screamed so loud that ships were lost out at sea and promptly disappeared, never to be seen in those parts again. The farmer & his wife lived ta great old age surrounded by children and grandchildren but from that day on he never missed an opportunity to praise his wife’s cooking.

That is everything from me for this week except for our wonderful vintage Remedy and Recipe both from a fabulous book from 1714 entitled A Collection of above Three Hundred Receipts in Cookery Phyfick and Surgery; For the Use of all Good Wives, Tender Mothers and Careful Nurfes by Several Hands.

I think this remedy sounds wonderful except for the Powder of Crab’s Eyes which I’m hoping is a charming title for something not actually shellfish related. I don’t have any idea if it would be effective and it could be tricky to find sixpence to measure it on but I love the idea of baking the seeds inside a loaf first.

I’m not sure exactly what a London wig actually is but it sounds like a bun to me and other types of wigs at the time were considered buns or small cakes so I can’t be that far off. I really enjoy the idea of using ale as a raising agent in those pre baking powder days. I think I would love these as caraway is one of my favourite spices and they are sound less sweet than modern baked goods.

With that, Gentle Reader, I must bring this letter to a close. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch via the comments or via any of my social media profiles/my website . If you have enjoyed this and would like to read further such nonsense and have not yet subscribed, please don’t hesitate to subscribe for free at the button below. You’d be very welcome and it would be a joy to write to you.