From Stone Soup to Flemish Gauffres

Via Moral Lessons, The Dagda, The Spartans and A Balm for the Liver

Dear Gentle Reader,

I managed to have a nice weekend, but only because I had a nice day out planned and it was the furthest I’d travelled since March 2020.  The weather was gorgeous, I had some lovely food, I saw some beautiful sights and visited 3 bookshops and managed to restrain myself to only buying two books. I also had a mostly nice train journey travelling amongst fields slowly emerging from an autumn morning mist. 

Unfortunately the rest of the world has not gone away and I’m still angry about it.  I’m not going to analyse it at length because I’m sure that’s not what you are here for and I’m no expert in this area. In short the government of my country, in the middle of a cost of living crisis that will definitely kill people this winter and at the very least leave millions of people in position where they have to choose whether to feed their families or heat their homes, has decided to give money to people and companies that already have plenty.  It is no less than obscene. I don’t even want to think about their plans for our wildlife.

So in my anger and irritation I have turned to stories where at least people occasionally learn from their lessons.  I know folk tales can be simplistic and the tale I’m going to share is probably one you all know.  The moral of the tale is not subtle, it pretty much slaps you in the face with its meaning and as such is often used to teach children.  However it is clearly a lesson or a moral that many people could do with a refresher course in so I present my version of Stone Soup:

In a certain kingdom a soldier served in the mounted guard of the king.  He served twenty-five years in faithfulness and truth; and for his good conduct the king gave orders to discharge him with honour, and give him as a reward the same horse on which he had ridden in the regiment, with all his tack.

The soldier took farewell of his comrades and set out for his hometown.  He travelled a day, a second and a third. Then a week had gone, a second and a third week.  The soldier had no money, no food and nothing to feed his horse.  He had not taken into account that the winter had been a bad one as had the one before and unyielding summer rains had resulted in poor harvests.  He had been protected from these by his close service with the king.  The food he had been buying had been four times the price he had been expecting to pay.

First things first, the rains had at least resulted in long grasses by the road side and his faithful horse could feast on these even if he would prefer a nice stable and some hot bran mash.  He at least wouldn’t starve but the soldier couldn’t eat grass.  He took stock of his belongings and then stripped his horse of his embroidered saddle cloth and ribbons which he though might fetch enough money for his new plan.  He apologised to his horse but needs must when the devil farts in your pocket.

At the next small town he approached the nearest pedlar and sold his horse’s gaudy trimmings for much less than they were worth but with the money he bought a serviceable blanket which he could share with his horse as the days continued to get colder and a large pot bellied metal pot with three sturdy legs and proceeded on his way.  He decided to try and catch a rabbit for his dinner that evening and just managed to snare one which he roasted on a fire.  He didn’t dare to hunt any other game as the country’s laws were strict and he preferred his neck to remain unbroken and didn’t want to become an afternoon’s entertainment for the local populace.  He took what shelter there was in the small wood and slept better than he had in some time as his stomach was at least no longer growling.

The next day the soldier continued on his journey, as he moved out of the woodland he lost any chance of hunting small game but at least the grass was still there for his horse although the fields were bare.

The first village he came to was reluctant to help him with a few ingredients and the men of the village were starting to eye their pitchforks so he moved on.

The next village looked a little more prosperous and he decided to try his original plan.  He approached the village well and asked the women gathered around it if he might have some water for his pot bellied cauldron.  They agreed although there were very suspicious.

‘This village is too poor for handouts so I suggest you move along sharpish if you’ve any plans to start begging’ the woman who looked to be the most prosperous of the group said.

‘Oh no’ said the soldier,’I’ve no need for handouts, just this water which is due to any traveller.’

‘What good is just water to you?’ she said.

‘Its all I need he said, I have the secret of stone soup.

What’s stone soup?

‘You’ll soon see’, he said ‘You’re all welcome to join me when it’s ready.’

He took the small amount of deadfall he had managed to find in the forest and strapped to his saddle and lit his fire on a big flat stone near to the well and positioned his pot full of water.  From his saddle bags he took the bag he had made from a small piece of the fine material he had sold for his rug and pot and took out am egg shaped stone with sparkling quartz running through it.  He had found this stone on the day his money and run out and it was the foundation of his plan.

He dropped the stone gently into the water and then removed his tack from his horse and started cleaning.

‘It takes a while’ he said and settled down on his blanket

Once the water was steaming he tasted the soup and gave every sign of enjoyment to come.

The women had managed to contain their curiosity until this point but when the small children had started to gather around the soldier and he allowed them to play with his horse they became a little more welcoming.

“How is it?’

‘Really good, it’s just a shame we don’t have any onions.  They make stone soup just about perfect. But what one has to go without, it's no use thinking more about.’

One woman, caught hold of a small child and whispered and the child went running off.  He returned with three big onions and handed them to the soldier who peeled them, segmented them roughly with his knife and added them to the pot.  The fat bellied pot started to give out a more appetising smell. The solder continued to show the children how to tack the horse and how to feed him grass from their hands.

He tasted the soup again and smacked his lips in satisfaction.  ‘Its so good but you know what would make it better, some of those carrots with the green fronds still attached, But what one has to go without, it's no use thinking more about.’.

Another woman grabbed a nearly identical child and sent him scurrying off.  He swiftly returned with a bunch of carrots with slightly drooping but still green fronds.  The soldier cut them up roughly and added them to the pot.

His tack was as clean as clean could be so he started to tell stories to the children gathered around him about boggles and ghosties as everyone knows thats the sort that children enjoy.  The latest story ended with the discovery of a skeleton.

The soldier sipped the stone soup.  ‘That reminds me’ he said, ‘stone soup is at its best with bones’ but I don’t imagine anyone has any, but what one has to go without, it's no use thinking more about.’.

Another of the women took hold of her child and he left the group, returning at speed with some good marrow bones, not wanting to miss any more stories.

The stories continued but as the sky slowly darkened to that wonderful shade of early evening blue, the stories changed to those of adventurous boys and clever girls and the women around the well dropped any pretence of not listening and drew closer to the fire as the air became cooler.

The soldier tasted the soup and gave a sigh of satisfaction although he did look not perfectly happy. ‘What is it?’ one of the women asked.  ‘Its so good’ he said ‘but its just missing that extra flavour you get from a those shiny blue green lentils’

At the back of the crowd a woman disappeared and returned nearly as quick as the children had with a small bag of the lentils which the soldier added to the stone soup. He continued with his story of a clever peasant who had married a king and outwitted him the first of several times.  The women were full of questions but quieted as he tasted the soup again. ‘Nearly perfect’ he said ‘but it would be better with some just dug potatoes, the ones that absorb all the flavour the soup and then give it back as you bite into their softness. But still, what one has to go without, it's no use thinking more about.’

Another woman disappeared from the back of the group and returned with a basket of cleaned potatoes.  The soldier added them to the soup and continued with the story as the clever peasant girl outwitted the king again. There were gasps at the peasant girl’s audacity and as they did that the smell of the soup reached them.  The combination of all the wonderful ingredients with the magic of the stories made them desperate to taste.

One woman asked the soldier if the stone soup would be better with some extra pot herbs that she had in her kitchen.  ‘Its my secret combination’ she said.  ‘I bet the stone soup won’t have those extra flavours.’ The solder agreed and a slightly sleepy child was sent in pursuit of the tied herbs and a little salt.  The soldier added them to the pot.

It was full dark by now and the men of the village were returning from their work drawn by the smell of the soup and the laughter of the women and the children as the soldier ended his story of the clever peasant girl and the King and how she outwitted him by overwhelming him with the best foods and drinks and then kidnapping him from his own castle and returning with him to her father’s farm.

‘What’s all this?’ asked the village headman. ‘This is a generous soldier who is going to share his magical stone soup with all of us’. said the woman who had originally spoken to the soldier.  The headman knew that when his wife used that voice he should probably save the argument for later.

‘We should share something of ours too, husband’ she said and sent him back to her kitchen for bread as she was the miller’s wife.

The alewife agreed and sent her husband for ale. The dairy farmer smelled the soup and agreed to go back for his wife’s cheeses. The butcher’s wife returned with some smoked sausages.

Tables were dragged out of houses and the feast was laid out around the dish of honour, the steaming, delicious smelling stone soup.  The fire which had nearly died out was built up with wood from all the closest houses warming every part that the soup didn’t reach. Once everyone was full and happy for possibly the first time that year the soldier placed himself by the fire with his ale and started his next tale …. When the fire finally died down for the final time he was given the best bed in the village to sleep on and his horse finally got his bran mash and a night in the miller’s stable.  He left the next morning with a package of feast leftovers in his fat bellied pot and his freshly washed stone.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I’m sorry about the heavy handed message, I’m sure you, gentle reader didn’t need the reminder but maybe it helps to have it out in the world.  One of the stories our retired solder told is the Clever Girl which is another excellent tale about a powerful person who has a lot to learn from his clever, hard working wife. I even have an episode about it if you fancy a listen https://hestiaskitchen.co.uk/2021/02/15/clever-girl-or-capon-conspiracy/. It also has more about capons and roosters than you’ll ever need to know but the story is first if that’s not your cup of tea.

Soups are a common theme in folktales and even this tale has at least 9 versions, the earliest written version appearing in France in 1720.   Soup is popular in myth too: did you know that the Dagda of the Tuatha de Danann was once forced by his enemies, the Fomor, to eat a huge trough full of soup?  They took his cauldron before a great battle, and filled it with four hundred gallons of milk, meal, and fat, along with goats, sheep, and pigs and boiled them. He had to eat it all to comply with the obligations of hospitality but surprisingly managed do that and to triumph in battle. It does sound very appetising either. Another possibly mythical soup sounds even worse: Herodotus once quoted a contemporary Greek source that essentially said that the Spartan Black Soup was so vile that its unsurprising that the Spartans would rush toward death as it meant they wouldn’t have to drink any more soup. I’m paraphrasing but its not exactly a recommendation.

I can’t even continue my theme of soup to the end of the newsletter as we can’t possibly have two soups in a row.  That particular honour has to remain with Victoria Wood and Julie Walters (if you don’t know what I mean, you can see the sketch:

The BBC one has commentary: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p04zcmt2

Maybe this week’s remedy will continue our pursuit for distraction or at the very least be a balm for the liver if the news has driven you to drink (disclaimer: please don’t use remedies from 1631 to treat any actual medical condition without taking modern medical advice). This is from Gervase Markham in ‘The English House-wife’ who, as far as we’re aware, had no medical qualifications but I must admit it sounds like it would at least taste nice.

I may not have been able to carry a theme for the length of a letter but at least this week’s vintage recipe from The Compleat City & Country Cook or Accomplish’d Housewife by Charles Carter 1732 is at least cheery.  You know what these are really, if you think about it.  Thats right, they’re waffles and to misquote the advertising jingle for the potato version: they’re waffly versatile. You can serve them with sauces, or melted dipping chocolate or fruit or if you are feeling daring, with crispy fried chicken. Enjoy!

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.