John And Lucretia Quotes

“Are there flowers here, your ladyship?' he asked when Pole had gone.
'Flowers?' Lucretia touched a hand to her cheek. 'Surely you have smelt rose water before?'
In the Solar Gallery, remembered John. The scent teased his nostrils as he bent to prise open the first dumpling. The soft dough parted and a puff of steam carried a second sweet smell into the chamber. Lucretia peered at the glistening mass then looked up curiously. 'What dish is this?'
'"Let me feed thee Honey-sugared Creams,"' John recited. '"As cool the Quodling's 'scaping Steam."'
She stared at him, amazed. 'The verses? You can read?'
'Is it so strange in a cook?'
'I... no.' Lucretia gathered herself. 'Of course you must read your receipts.'
'They are our verses, your ladyship. We give each other recitals down there in our kitchens.'
John brought a corked flask from inside his doublet and poured sweetened cream over the apple. He watched her dig into the apple's oozing flesh, swirl the thick cream then slip the marbled mixture into her mouth.
'Your honey-sugared cream is as sweet as the verses claim,' Lucretia told him, swallowing. 'It all but conquers the sourness of the quodling.”
― Lawrence Norfolk, John Saturnall's Feast

“Night by night, he led her through Saturnus's gardens, describing the dishes that might come from each one.
'Poached collops of venison,' he whispered in her ear. 'A quaking pudding with raisins, honey and saffron. Custards flavored with conserve of roses and a paste of quinces. Beef wrapped about a mash of artichoke and pistachio, then hollowed manchet rolls filled with minced eggs, sweet herbs and cinnamon...'
He described the foaming forcemeat of fowls then set before her a dish. He watched her scoop up a little of the pale orange mash.
'I confess that to this poor palate your forcemeats taste strongly of turnips.'
'Ah, but I have not yet described the seasonings of cumin and saffron, the beaten egg whites and the folding of the forcemeats into the pipkin.' He scooped more of the turnip mash and held out the spoon. 'Taste again, your ladyship. Imagine the spices...”
― Lawrence Norfolk, John Saturnall's Feast

“Flaking florentine rounds,' he whispered. 'Peaches in snow-cream.'
'No,' she murmured. 'No more.'
'Meat pies. Mutton balls topped with spinach and walnuts and cumin ground fine...'
'You have no cumin. Mister Fanshawe told me this morning.'
'We have no mutton either,' he said. 'Nor walnuts until next autumn.'
The larders were less than half full, he knew. As Christmas drew near the stores sank lower. They would serve spiced cider in place of wine, John told the kitchen. Cold sallets of of sorrel, tarragon and thyme would follow hot ones of skirrets, beets and onions. They would dress lettuce leaves with cider vinegar, salt and oil and dip the endives in oil, mustard and beaten yolks.”
― Lawrence Norfolk, John Saturnall's Feast