Medieval Honey Cake, So You Can Party Like It’s 4979

September 17, 2018

medieval honey cake

When I first got the idea to start a Jewish food history blog, I imagined I’d spend a lot of time attempting to reconstruct old recipes. That’s not exactly how things have gone down, but I figured for my first post of 5779 I’d go big with a bake from the way-back archives: medieval honey cake.

I based mine off a 13th-century recipe renowned Yiddishist Michael Wex lists out in his fascinating history of Ashkenazi cuisine Rhapsody in Schmaltz: Yiddish Food and Why We Can’t Stop Eating It. Taken from a guide to religious customs, it reads as follows (translated into English by Wex, of course): “The cake is prepared from three measures of fine flour . . . one mixes into it honey, oil, and milk.”

That’s it. No measurements (except kinda sorta for the flour, I guess—what’s up with that?), no cooking instructions. And what kind of oil might a medieval central European baker have had on hand? At first I wondered if it might have actually have been schmaltz (rendered chicken or goose fat), which sounds like it’d be pretty vile here, but based on some admittedly not very thorough research, it seems poppy seed (!) walnut, and hazelnut oils were used in medieval Germany and thereabouts.

In short, this recipe presented an irresistible opportunity for me to get my mad scientist on in the kitchen. But, me being me, before we get to the recipe development process, I’ve got to throw in a little background on the life and times of ye olde honey cake.

Honey Cake History

Honey cakes are ancient. According to culinary historian Gil Marks, the earliest cakes in the world, baked in the ancient Near East many millennia ago, were probably made of mashed legumes and honey (hey, if black bean brownies are a thing, why not?). The ancient Egyptians made light cakes from honey-sweetened yeast dough, and the Romans baked barley loaves with honey, raisins, pine nuts, and pomegranate seeds, in addition to honeyed cheesecakes.

Honey cakes spread throughout Europe thanks to the Arabs, who brought them west to Spain and Sicily, where the proceeded to make their way upward through the Italian peninsula. By the start of the 11th century, Italians were baking dense cakes from honey and bread crumbs. And it was Italian Jews who brought these proto-honey cakes to central and western Europe.

By the late 11th century, Simcha ben Samuel of Vitry, France, mentioned “challot of fine flour with honey” in his Machzor Vitry, the first known reference to honey cake in a western European Jewish context, followed in short order by a nod in Sefer ha-Rokeach by Eleazar ben Judah of Worms, Germany, dating to around 1200.

Honey cake isn’t acknowledged in non-Jewish sources from this part of the world until around 1320, when it appears in a monastery’s records. But in short order, honey cakes, including spiced ones—which became known as lebkuchen, or gingerbread—became medieval Europe’s favorite sweet treat. Lekach, the Yiddish word for honey cake (later used as a more general term for sponge cake, once sugar-sweetened cakes became a viable option in the region), was formerly thought to have derived from lebkuchen, but these days most authorities believe it evolved instead from the Middle High German lecke, to lick.

medieval honey cake

Aleph-Bazyn

What, you might ask, did licking have to do with it? That brings us to a charming ceremony held by medieval Ashkenazim for little boys on their first day of school, the Aleph-Bazyn (so named for the first two letters of the Hebrew alphabet).

The new student was placed in his teacher’s lap, and a slate with the Hebrew alphabet written out was brought over to them. The teacher would read out the letters, with the child repeating them. Then, honey was smeared over the slate, and the child licked it off—the idea being that he would think of words and letters as something sweet. Then, a honey cake bearing inscriptions from Prophets and Psalms (or, earlier, with the names of angels) was served for all present to enjoy. The ceremony concluded with the presentation of a cooked egg with the following verse inscribed on its shell: “How sweet are Thy words unto my palate! Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!”

Egg decorated with micrographic text from the Song of Songs.
Poland, 19th century pic.twitter.com/qy2nbQ9YUe

— Sardonicus (@RealSardonicus) August 12, 2018

Though the ceremony eventually died out, a celebratory piece of lekach remained a common part of Ashkenazi first-day-of-school rituals well into the 19th century. And the first day of school wasn’t the only happy occasion to be celebrated with honey cake: in eastern Europe, honey cake was par for the course at all kinds of festive occasions, including engagement ceremonies.

But How Does It Taste?

So, back to my efforts at reconstructing a medieval honey cake. I thought it was going to be disgusting. I was fully prepared to turn this post into a screed about the dangers of romanticizing historical food and a paean to the wonders of such modern kitchen miracles as baking powder.

But while I am very glad I live in a world with baking powder (and easy access to food that comes from further than a couple hundred miles away), much to my surprise I liked this cake. Quite a lot, actually. So did my tasters. It was, of course, nothing like a conventional 21st-century Jewish honey cake. It wasn’t light or fluffy, thanks to the notable absence of any kind of leavening, even from eggs, which were very much around in medieval Europe. It wasn’t spicy, spices being extremely pricey in Europe in the Middle Ages; while the wealthiest used them with wild abandon, and in shocking quantities (and combinations), they were more or less off limits to the average person.

It didn’t have that hit of depth from the splash of tea or coffee you might add to your go-to, since neither made it to Europe until centuries later. And the only sweetening agent was the honey itself, since sugar was scarce in Europe until the advent of widespread sugar beet cultivation in the 18th century.

So what did this medieval honey cake taste like? Well . . . honey, for the most part. I used the cheapest, most basic honey I could find for this recipe, on the assumption that it would be barely edible and I’d end up tossing most of it, but next time (and I think there will be a next time) I’d go for the good stuff, since the flavor really comes through quite strongly. It’s not a complex flavor profile, nor is the cake super sweet.

Texture-wise, it is, of course, dense. It’s more like a scone than a cake, which makes it unsurprising that early authorities considered honey cake subject to the hamotzi, the blessing over bread, as long as it contained no spices. (Why the inclusion of spices changed the equation I’m not entirely sure, but that’s a question for another day.) On the whole, this medieval honey cake is quite satisfying in its own simple way, and pleasingly reminiscent of something a Hobbit might eat.

Reconstructing the Recipe

In an attempt to reconstruct this recipe, I took a look at various modern honey cake recipes, as well as other, more fleshed-out examples of medieval reconstruction cooking. This helped me approximate both the cooking time and temperature, and the quantities.

I interpreted “fine flour” to mean cake flour, though I suspect flour in the Middle Ages may not have been quite so fine.

I admit I was lazy and used canola oil, because that’s what I had on hand, but next time I might try walnut or hazelnut to stay closer to the source—I’ve never seen poppy oil for sale, alas.

In terms of ratios, I decided to make each “measure” of flour a cup, and then added honey, oil, and milk more or less until my batter (more of a dough, really) reached what I deemed a reasonable consistency (helpful hint: you’ll know it’s in good shape when it starts feeling like Play-Doh).

medieval honey cake