Download the full version of the ebook at ebookname.

com

Cooking with Italian Grandmothers Recipes and

Stories from Tuscany to Sicily First Edition
Jessica Theroux

https://ebookname.com/product/cooking-with-italian-
grandmothers-recipes-and-stories-from-tuscany-to-sicily-
first-edition-jessica-theroux/

OR CLICK BUTTON

DOWNLOAD EBOOK

Download more ebook instantly today at https://ebookname.com

Instant digital products (PDF, ePub, MOBI) available
Download now and explore formats that suit you...

The Southern Italian Farmer s Table Authentic Recipes and

Local Lore from Tuscany to Sicily First Edition Matthew
Scialabba
https://ebookname.com/product/the-southern-italian-farmer-s-table-
authentic-recipes-and-local-lore-from-tuscany-to-sicily-first-edition-
matthew-scialabba/
ebookname.com

Cooking the Italian Way Revised and Expanded to Include

New Low Fat and Vegetarian Recipes Alphonse Bisignano

https://ebookname.com/product/cooking-the-italian-way-revised-and-
expanded-to-include-new-low-fat-and-vegetarian-recipes-alphonse-
bisignano/
ebookname.com

Poole s Recipes and Stories from a Modern Diner First

Edition Ashley Christensen

https://ebookname.com/product/poole-s-recipes-and-stories-from-a-
modern-diner-first-edition-ashley-christensen/

ebookname.com

Kitchen Bath Residential Construction and Systems 2nd

Edition Nkba

https://ebookname.com/product/kitchen-bath-residential-construction-
and-systems-2nd-edition-nkba/

ebookname.com
Merely Players Actors Accounts of Performing Shakespeare
Jonathan Holmes

https://ebookname.com/product/merely-players-actors-accounts-of-
performing-shakespeare-jonathan-holmes/

ebookname.com

Venture Capital Contracting and the Valuation of High

technology Firms Werner Sollors

https://ebookname.com/product/venture-capital-contracting-and-the-
valuation-of-high-technology-firms-werner-sollors/

ebookname.com

Heroes of Horror 1st Edition James Wyatt

https://ebookname.com/product/heroes-of-horror-1st-edition-james-
wyatt/

ebookname.com

Routledge Library Editions The English Language Pronouns

and Word Order in Old English With Particular Reference to
the Indefinite Pronoun Man Linda Van Bergen
https://ebookname.com/product/routledge-library-editions-the-english-
language-pronouns-and-word-order-in-old-english-with-particular-
reference-to-the-indefinite-pronoun-man-linda-van-bergen/
ebookname.com

Getting the Builders in How to Manage Homebuilding and

Renovation Projects 2nd Edition Leonard John Sales

https://ebookname.com/product/getting-the-builders-in-how-to-manage-
homebuilding-and-renovation-projects-2nd-edition-leonard-john-sales/

ebookname.com
Computer Arithmetic and Verilog HDL Fundamentals 1st
Edition Joseph Cavanagh

https://ebookname.com/product/computer-arithmetic-and-verilog-hdl-
fundamentals-1st-edition-joseph-cavanagh/

ebookname.com
 "Noone who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her
Illost solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surroundecl by
generations of cooks past, the aclvice ancl Illenus
of cooks present, the wiscloIll of cookbook writers."
Laurie Colwin, writer
 -..,.,00 ~ingwit
ta ian ran mot ers
Recipes and Stories from Tuscany to Sicily
 CONTENTS

FOREWORD by Jessica Theroux 7 Menu Two

Lentil Soup with Turnips and Pounded Walnuts
INTRODUCTION by Alice Waters 9 Cavolo Rosso (Sweet-and-Sour Red Cabbage)
Panna Cotta with Wine Syrup
Paste di Meliga (Piedmontese Cornmeal Biscuits)

Milano, Lombardia 11
•
: Arezzo, Toscana 83
Menu One
Involtini di Mililno Three T lUcan Soups
(Slow-Braised Meat Rolls from the Province of Milan) Pappa al Pomodoro (Tomato-Bread Soup)
Polenta with Warm Cream and Gorgonzola Minestra di Fagioli con Riso (Cannellini Bean and Rice Soup)
Roasted Apples with Hazelnut, Bitter Chocolate, and Lemon Zest Cavolo Nero con Pane (Bread and Kale Soup)

Menu Two Two Contorn;

Osso Buco (Wine and Herb Braised Veal Shanks with Gremolilta) Patate Arrosti con Rosman·no
Risotta allil Mililnese (Saffron Risotto) (Roasted Potatoes with Rosemary and Olive Oil)
Carci'!fi (Caramelized Baby Artichokes with Garlic, Herbs, and Wine)
Menu Three
Cotoletle alia Milanese One Secondo
(Pan-Seared Breaded Veal Cutlets with Salsa TTerfh) Coniglio in Porchetta (Fennel Roasted Rabbit with Pancetta)
Crushed Baby Potatoes with Lemon and Chives
Spinaci con Aglio, Olio, e Peperoncino
(Spinach with Garlic, Olive Oil, and Hot Pepper) , San Casciano in Val di Pesa, Toscana 103
Fragole al TTino (Wine-Soaked Strawberries with Whipped Cream)
Coniglio Frilto (Fried Rabbit)
Sugo di Coniglio (Rabbit Sauce)
Lago di Como, Lombardia 35 Coniglio in Bianco (White Wine Braised Rabbit)

Tortelloni di Zucca (Pumpkin Tortelloni with Brown Butter and Sage)

Pizzoccheri allil TTaltellinese Biassa, Liguria 119
(Buckwheat Noodles with Cabbage, Potato, and Mountain Cheese)
Torta di Grigna (Mountain Cocoa and Almond Cake) Menu One
La Miascia (Bread and Milk Cake with Pears and Dried Plums) Alici Lessate (Rosemary Steamed Anchovies)
Caramelized Orange-Chocolate Tart Lasagne al Pesto (Pesto Lasagna)

Menu Two
Bra, Piemonte 59 Cozze Ripiene (Stuffed Mussels)
Minestrone di TTerdura con Pesto (Vegetable Minestrone with Pesto)
Menu One Torta di Riso (Saffron-Rice Pie with Spiced Tomato Jam)
Bagna Cauda (Piedmontese Warm Garlic-Anchovy Dip)
Gnocchi di Semolil (Semolina Flour Gnocchz) Menu Three
Insalilte di Puntarella (Puntarellil Salad, Inside and Out) Porcini Fritti (Fried Fresh Porcini) •
Pere Mockrnasse con Mandarle e Prugne Pappardelle con Sugo di Porcini
(Caramel-Poached Pears with Prunes, Almonds, and Cream) (Pappardelle Pasta with Porcini-Tomato Sauce)
 Fosdinovo, Lunigiana 145 Potenzon~ Calabria 231
The ChlcI.en BreaJ
Gallina Ripiena The Town Sourdough Bread
(Boiled Chicken Stuffed with Bread, Borage, and Parmesan) Sourdough Pancakes with Marmellata
Chicken Bone Broth Calabrian Bread Salad
Chicken Soup with Poached Eggs and Herbs Fresh Breadcrumbs
Sticky Tomato Fritatta
Roasted Leeks witb Eggs and Olives
: Etn.. Sicilia 249
Flour
Testaroli (Chewy Mountain Pancakes with Pesto) Menu One
Gnocchi con RagiJ. (Potato Gnocchi with Tomato-Beef Ragu) Sank a Baccafico
Pasta di Farro (Thick SpeJt Noodles with Walnut-Parsley Sauce) (Fresh Sardines with Bread Crumbs, Currants, ana Olives)
La Pignolata (Pine Nut Biscuit Cake) Spaghetti con Pomodori Scoppiati
(Spaghetti with Burst Tomatoes)
Croccante di Mandorla (Crunchy Almond Caramels)
. Senigallia, Le Marche 171
Menu Two
Apple Rum Cake Panelle (Chickpea Flour Fritters)
Plum-Almond Tart Grilled Tuna with Coriander and Mint
Hazelnut Breakfast Roll La Caponata (Fried Vegetables in a Tomato Sauce)
Persimmon-Cinnamon Ice Cream Blood Orange Gelato
Vincenzo's Pasta e Ceci (Creamy Chickpeas with Broken Pasta)
Vincenzo's Broccoli and Pine Nut Pasta
Lasagne di Vincisgrassi (Lasagna with Truflles and Prosciutto) U stica, Sicilia 269
Homemade Ricotta
CARLUCCI : Zambrone, Calabria 203 Cauliflower and Ricotto al Forno
Roasted Green Cauliflower with Saffron, Currants, and
Menu One Ricotto Salata
Filej with White Beans, Red Onion, and Raw Tomato
(Hand-Rolled Calabrian Pasta) Two BreaI.fast Toasts
Roasted Broccoli Shoots with Olive Oil and Salt Fluffed Ricotto and Crunchy Sugar
Fichi Seechi Ripieni (Dried Figs with Walnuts and Fennel Seeds) Ricotta al Caffe (Ricotta with Coffee and Honey)

Menu Two
Frittelle di Fiori di Zucca (Fried Squash Blossom Bundles)
Braised Goat with Red Onions, Wild Fennel, and AFTERWORD by Jessica Theroux 289
Juniper Berries
Erbe Selvatiche (Wilted Wild Greens) Polpette di Bietola e Marmellata di Cipolla Rossa
Nocino (Walnut Liquor) (Chard-Sesame Balls and Red Onion Jam)
Walnut Black Pepper Cookies

Menu 'Three MAP: Jessica's Journey 292

Timpan di Patate
(Potato Pie with Prosciutto and Smoked Provola) INDEX 293
Peperoni al Forno (Roasted Peppers with Garlic and Parsley)
Fennel and Lemon Salad ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 296
 FOREWORD
Jessica Th e r 0 U x

This is a book about WOIllen and food and listening.

The art of good cooking lies in paying close care and attention. I learned this in Italy, from the mothers and grand-
mothers whose homes and kitchens I lived in for more than a year. I learned this from Carluccia and her beans, from U sha
and her buttery cakes, from Armida and her chickens, from the cycles of the seasons, from the daily and seasonal hunger
and plenty that comes with living close to the land. Good cooking, the kind that feeds the soul and nourishes the body, is
the result of listening openly and acting simply. All of the women in this book taught me something about the power of
food to connect us; to ourselves, our history, our land, our culture, to our past and to the present moment.
Prior to going to Italy, my cooking had focused on food's ability to heal, both physically and psychologically.
Curing an intense childhood illness through diet and herbs at the age of eleven had proven to me the centrality of food
for wellbeing. This pivotal experience compelled me to focus on cooking delicious, nutrient-dense food as a livelihood. I
went to Italy after spending a number of years working with healing foods because I knew that there were other impor-
tant things I needed to learn; in particular, I wanted to explore how food embodies our personal and collective histories.
Who better to teach me this than the grandmothers of Italy, a country that deeply values and protects its food traditions;
a country that's culture revolves largely around the kitchen table.
People often ask me how I found the twelve women who I documented during my travels. My method was simple:
I flew to Italy with a few personal contacts, and those provided through the organization Slow Food, and trusted that I
would find what I needed once I was there. The year began with these referrals, which then developed into more referrals.
As time passed, and I became more confident, I also started to move to the towns or regions I was drawn to. I would find a
room to rent and then begin asking around for the area's beloved female elders. Directions were followed along dirt roads
and to front doors, where I introduced myself and my work, and was then warmly welcomed in for the next big meal.
I learned many of the recipes in this book from the grandmothers I met. Others were created in response to a given
woman's cooking style, favorite ingredients, or the mood and sensibility that her character evoked for me. In keeping with
my background and training, the recipes and menus have been developed with an eye towards balance and nourishment.
My greatest hope is that this book will encourage you to pay the utmost attention to your life, and in particular
to your food and the people around you. What you discover could change your life.

7
 INTRODUCTION
A 1 1. C e Waters

Cooking with Italian Grandmothers begins the itnportant work of

documenting the simple traditions that have been passed down verbally through generations. Grandmothers are the
guardians of our collective culture and their secrets and techniques are as relevant now as they were a hundred years
ago. We have forgotten how to feed ourselves and each other and are at risk of losing our culinary heritage. However,
when the stories are told and the recipes retained, we somehow manage to secure them for the future.
There is a wealth of knowledge and wisdom in the simple food traditions of the elder generation all around the
world. Every society shares these same roots and in Italy it is particularly strong. Women rich or poor are still connected
to the land; they cook seasonally, humbly, and with care. Jessica Theroux has taken a gift for connecting with people and
new cultures and translated it into an anthology of stories that capture the role of food and family in the lives of twelve
remarkable women. Her closeness with the women she has lived and cooked with comes through with clarity and beauty
as we meet them through their pasta, beans, and rabbits.
Even considering Italians' enthusiastic embrace of those interested in their food, not every cook could arrive at
a doorstep in a foreign land, weary and travel worn, and so seamlessly integrate themselves into a stranger's life, and a
family's rhythm. With each woman that Jessica encounters, we see the love, care and a mutual admiration that opens the
door to an exchange of knowledge with the keepers of an invaluable cultural legacy.
We are beginning to wake up to a new appreciation of the value of food traditions, and not a moment too soon. For
decades we have systematically delivered the message that food is fuel, and that cooking is drudgery. This mindset has
put into peril the wealth of wisdom built over generations: delicious ways to preserve the summer bounty for the winter
months, how to cook beans grown in one field differently than the drier beans grown in another, hundreds of ways to
nourish ourselves in the most basic way.
Years ago Jessica put several of the wonderfully simple recipes now in this book to work in my own kitchen with
beautiful results. She is a talented cook, writer, and documentarian. Cooking with Italian Grandmothers is an exquisite,
heartfelt anthology that is an important reference for us all.

9
 Dedicated to Grandtna Honey,

for loving and believing in tne whole-heartedly and without reserve.

May we all love and be loved in such a way at Sotne point in our lives.

J.T.
Mamma Maria

;
- ---
j
•• " ,'
It! •
• r, .•.
r ( 1/
\, ' I
" .
II
I
I -
I
,".-- 'I
~

0
-
n
.
I
I - -
\
I
, I

, r ~

r • 0 I
• -
I
- "
r I
!I - '" !
,
I •;
j
,'-
f.:.;
•

•
Things must be done calmly, bit by bit.
 ,!/~:; - - ~ -. _~...t~7 Mi lano,
~ ......== ......
.
"
Ilaly

•
USA
Atlantic Ocean

n
- -,:...

'-'~- -
- -

•
,

•
 11 began ill 1987 with a shoe full of strawberries.
I was eight. My mother, sister, and I had traveled to Milan for the wedding of our au pair,
Graziella, to Beppe. There was dancing and sweet chaos, multicolored rice thrown at Graziella as
she walked out of the church.
Late in the evening my dessert of wine-soaked strawberries fell into my blue shoe, and I
decided to eat them anyway, plucking them out one at a time. Those strawberries were boozy and
sweet, exotic and delicious. They got me hooked: These Italians seemed to know something about
having fun.
There's a rumor that after the wedding Graziella chopped off the bottom of her wedding
dress and dyed it red, so that she could go out dancing in it. I thought she was so racy! As our
au pair, she would make us crispy white toast slathered with Italian chocolate on dreary London
mornings. Chocolate and hazelnuts from the north of Italy, creamed together with sugar and fat.
It was pure decadence for an English schoolgirl.
On another trip to Milan when I was four, my sister and I stayed with Graziella's mother,
Mamma Maria, while our parents toured the rest of Italy. I remember vividly the hours we spent
propped up in our chairs at her kitchen table, sticky from the summer heat, waiting eagerly for
Mamma Maria to bring out the next warm, soft dish. Her kitchen seemed endlessly filled with
smells and flavors to comfort and distract us from missing our parents: soups swimming with
tiny pastas, creamy curdled eggs, and countless numbers of cookies made moist from being
dipped in milk.
It seems to me now that I was always destined to return to Italy someday to recapture those
childhood pleasures.

18 L 0 MBA R D I A
 "Mal11l11a Maria was the original
Italian grand:mother for :me,
and it :made co:mplete sense to
go back to that beginning."

Left:: Me, age four, with Mamma Maria.

Opposite: One of Milan'. many palazzi.

Mamma Maria was the original Italian grandmother for me, and as I set out as a young chef
to document and learn Italy's food traditions, it made complete sense to go back to that beginning
and stay with her first.
My mother had dug up an old phone number for Mamma Maria, and early one morning
I sat down to call her. I was greeted at the other end of the phone by her familiar "Pronto!" In-
stead of answering the telephone with ciao--the English equivalent of "hello"-Italians typically
say pronto, ''I'm ready." It struck me that morning how especially fitting that expression was for
Mamma Maria. She was always ready. The beds were ready for sleep each night, with their
ironed sheets folded tightly under the mattress and their pillows perfectly fluffed. The dusky pink
bathroom was pristinely clean, with even the toilet paper folded perfectly on the roll for the next
person (how did she keep up with this?). Food was cooked ahead of time, and the pots and pans were
put away before anyone arrived for the meal. Yes, Mamma Maria had life in order. She was prepared.
So it was settled. I would start my journey with Mamma Maria, and then hatch a plan
for where to go next after I'd adjusted to the Italian way of life with her. I hoped to spend the
next year following my taste buds through the kitchens of Italy's beloved grandmothers. I was
convinced that I needed to learn about food in a country whose culture centered on cooking and
eating. I also yearned for the sense of nurture and connection that comes with being well fed; I
wanted to experience this, and I wanted to learn how to do this for others.
I arrived in Milan at 8:110 a.m. on a Sunday. Graziella was there to meet me as promised,
identifiable by her glasses and long brown hair. She had basically not aged in the fifteen years that

M A M M A MAR I A 14
MAMMA MARIA 16
 had passed since I last saw her. The ride home was sweet, filled with questions about each of our
families, and at moments some confusion over what exactly was being said.
When we arrived at Mamma Maria's she welcomed me with an excited smile and a warm
hug. I was struck by how familiar everything was: The smells, the sounds, the way everything
looked was just as I'd remembered.
My first night there we talked at length about Lombardian cooking, the foods Mamma
Maria ate as a girl, and the ways in which things had changed since her childhood. Rather
than the abundance of the current Italian meal structure, with its multiple courses and dishes,
Mamma Maria was raised on meals that comprised either a starch and vegetable, or a protein
and vegetable.
It occurred to me that one of the effects of the enforced wartime simplicity was an
essentially rather healthful lifestyle. Modest meals were eaten at night, and stronger foods
were consumed earlier in the day, when more energy was needed for active work. There was an
intimate dependence on one's garden, on the local trees, on the land and the ocean, on the
animals one raised, and on the foods and skills one could trade with neighbors. This type of
interconnectedness was also mimicked in the family structure. "In the past, when you married,
you would go live with your mother-in-law and your husband's family," explained Mamma Maria.
"N 0 one moved into a place alone."
Mamma Maria's mother was known by all as an incredible cook, and one who could make a
delicious meal out of whatever was at hand, however plentiful or meager. On Sundays, she would
kill a chicken for the family meal-Sunday was "chicken killing and eating day," according to
Mamma Maria. In addition to chicken day, there was also "a day for eating eggs each week-eggs
in frittata, eggs cooked in warm tomatoes, eggs cooked many ways." Each autumn Mamma Maria
and her mother would help to slaughter and butcher the family's pigs for fresh and cured meat.
The special meals were those that contained animal protein; one of Mamma Maria's favorite child-
hood meals was stuffed pigs' feet with home-grown potato puree.
Mamma Maria learned to cook at her mother's side. "You just watch and spend time. You
lend a hand. Maybe the first time you make a mistake, then the second time you do it right. It's
not that you are 'taught.'" This was, of course, what I'd come to Italy to do-to spend time with

Clockwise from top left: The Duomo di Milano, Milan's cathedral. Matruna Maria in her kitchen.
The view out Matruna Maria's kitchen window. A view of the vegetable market hom Matruna Maria's 1alcony.

17 LOMBARDI A
 "This waS what I'd COIne to Italy to
do-spend tllne with wotnen like
Mannna Maria, listen to their stories,
drin1 a lot of espresso, and tnake tneal
after tneal at the their sides."

Mamma Maria's mother with other local cook•.

women like Mamma Maria, listen to their stories, drink a lot of espresso, watch them cook, and
make meal after meal at their sides.
My first morning with Mamma Maria was typical of those to come. The double doors
to the balcony off the kitchen were open, and city sounds and birdsong drifted into the room.
Mamma Maria was in there, waiting for me to arrive in my bathrobe and the purple slippers she
had bought especially for my visit. The espresso pot began to bubble and hiss as I walked through
the door, and the full-fat milk followed shortly behind. A selection of biscotti was laid carefully on
a plate. It was breakfast time.
After talking briefly about the night's sleep, we got right to planning what we would
cook together over the coming weeks. We mapped the whole thing out: involtini and polenta (her
mother's best dishes), Cotolette alta Milanese, and perhaps Risotta alta Milanese (we were, after all, in
Milan). Mamma Maria did not like to dirty her kitchen too much, and these were rather involved
recipes, so we would take our time and pace ourselves with all the cooking. Besides, one of the
most important things I learned from Mamma Maria is that you have to do things with calm.
Whenever we were in the kitchen she would say, "Devifare Ie cose con calma. Una per volta."
As Mamma Maria and I cooked these Lombardian dishes together I started to get a better
sense of Northern Italian cuisine. These dishes were heavy, warming, and very sturdy. Mamma
Maria was like this, too-substantial and soft in stature, with a big heart and a routine that was
easy to rest into. The whole thing was turning out to be very soothing.

M A M M A MAR I A 18
 So what was it about the involtini, the polenta, the risottos and braises that warmed my belly
for so many hours and grounded me in such a strong way? I think the slow, long cooking con-
tracted the flavors of each dish, and allowed the food to absorb the deep gentle heat. The involtini
simmered gently in tomato sauce for a good hour, the polenta cooked for at least forty minutes, and
the braised veal shanks tenderized slowly over hours in a barely bubbling mixture of wine, broth,
vegetables, and herbs.
Beyond the cooking methods, which are really best suited to wintertime, Lombardian cui-
sine also employs a lot of red meat and dairy. These animal products tend to be more concentrated
in energy and therefore heartier. After years of being a vegetarian prior to living in Italy, these
foods made me feel as though I were sinking into a large, comfortable sofa. It was noticeable, and
in the best way possible.
After two weeks of cooking with Mamma Maria, I had mastered the basics of Lombardian
cusine and added two inches to my waistline. My year in Italy was already proving to be growth-
ful on many fronts, and it was time to start thinking about where I would go next. As Mamma
Maria and I talked over the different possibilities, her concern for my life as a single woman in
Italy began to grow. I should not travel to the south without a man. No way. Her furrowed brow
communicated what her words did not. The Lombardians are sincere, southerners are not. We
decided it would be best for me to go instead to the Lake Como region. It was only a short drive
from Milan, and was supposed to be a pretty place with good local food. They cooked with some of
my favorite ingredients-buckwheat, cabbage, and winter squash-all accompanied by browned
butter and sage.
In preparation for my travels, Mamma Maria gave me a special present: starched white pa-
jamas covered in lace and yellow polka dots. They were packaged neatly in a plastic bag. She must
have bought them for me in the market below her house. They were "in case I needed to look good
for bed." Interesting. We tucked these oddly childish pajamas into the suitcase Mamma Maria had
packed with all of my perfectly ironed clothes. The purple slippers were almost ready to come off.
All that was missing was a last bit of advice, given over a shot of espresso:
,
"Prendi una bella viletta eon giardino. E bambini. E la prima eosa ehe quando ti sposi-prendi i
soldini avete e trovi una bella easettina eon orto. Allora, ti vengo a trovare!"
(Get a beautiful little house with a garden. And children. It's the first thing you should do
when you marry-gather together all the money you have and find a beautiful little home with a
vegetable garden. So, go find it!)

19 L 0 MBA R D I A
 MILANO, LOMBARDIA

MENU ONE

,
(Slow-Braised Meat Rolls from the Province of Milan)

MENU Two

{Wine-and-Herb-Braised Veal Shanks with Gremolata}

(Saffron Risotto)

MENU THREE

, . ~.

(Pan-Seared Breaded Veal Cutlets with Salsa verde)

(Spinach with Garlic, Olive Oil, and Hot Pepper) •

{Wine-Soaked Strawberries with Whipped Cream}

•
M A M M A MAR I A 22
 MENU ONE

Involtini di Milano (Slow-Braised Meat Rolls from the Province of Milan)

Serves 6-8

Both Mamma Maria and her mother were known for their involtini. M amma Maria prefers to roll
her ground meat filling in thin shces of beef, the way she learned during her childhood in the
Lomhardian province of Pavia. However, around Milan it is also common to roll the filling into
blanched and de-stemmed savoy cabbage leaves before slowly simmering them in tomato sauce.
If you try the involtini rolled in cabbage, make sure to secure them well with kitchen twine rather
than the toothpicks. Involtini is one of Mamma Maria's favorite dishes to make, in parlbecause
you can cook the involtini the day before and then reheat them, making for a cleaner kitchen and
less fuss at mealtime. Mamma Maria makes her involtini with polenta on winter Sundays, when her
daughters and their children are over for lunch.

For the involtini rolls: For the sauce:

4 ounces ground pork 3 tablespoons olive oil
2 ounces ground chicken 3 whole cloves garlic, peeled
8 ounces ground beef 1 onion,finely diced
l4 cup finely grated Parmesan 1 carrot,finely diced
6 tablespoons plain bread crumbs 2 bay leaves
2 large eggs l4 cup red or white wine
l4 cup minced parsley 2 cups tomato puree
%? teaspoon salt 2 cups beef broth
%? teaspoon black pepper %? teaspoon salt
1%? pounds raw slices beef top sirloin,
roughly ]2-15 slices, pounded to Ys"
thickness and at least 2 %? x 3" in size

To make the filling for the meat rolls, knead together the ground pork, chicken, beef,
Parmesan, bread crumbs, eggs, parsley, salt, and black pepper.
Lay a slice of the beef top sirloin on a cutting board, and place a couple of spoonfuls of
the filling at one end. Roll the filling up into the beef, making sure to tuck in the sides as you go.

28 L 0 MBA R D I A
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 2. On a time after this, the king and his court were going into the
country, and they would have George to ride before them in the
fool’s dress; whereunto he seemed unwilling, but it was the king’s
pleasure. So George was mounted upon an old horse, with a pair of
old riven boots, the heels hanging down, and a palmer coat, patched
over with pictures of divers kinds. George rode before them in this
posture which caused great laughter and diversion, until they came
to an inn, where they alighted to dine, and in the time they were at
dinner, George went into the stables, and with a knife cut all their
horses’ chafts, not sore, but so as they might bleed. Now, as soon as
dinner was over, and they mounted on their horses again, George
riding before them as usual, in his palmer coat and old boots, they
began to make their game of him: then George turning about
suddenly, and clapping his hands with a loud laughter, the king
asked him what made him laugh so? Laugh, says George, how can I
but laugh, when horses cannot hold their peace? O my sovereign,
says he, don’t you see how your horses have rent their chafts
laughing at my old boots! Then, every man looking at his horse’s
mouth, they were all in a rage against George. The king, causing
George to dismount directly, and charged him never to let him see
his face on English ground. Now, George knowing that nothing could
reconcile the king at this time, he came away to Scotland, and
caused them to make a pair of great boots, and put a quantity of
Scottish earth in each of them, and away he goes for London, to see
the king once more. He hearing the king and his court was to pass
through a town, George places himself up in an old window, and
sets up his bare a——, to the king and his court as they passed. The
king being greatly amazed to see such an unusual honour done to
him, was curious to know the performer: so he called unto him,
desiring him to come down; and finding it to be George, sir, says the
king, did not I charge you never to let me see your face again? True
my sovereign, says George, for which cause I let you see my a——.
But says the king, you was never to come on English ground again.
Neither I did, says George, pulling off his boots before the king,
behold, my Sovereign, it is all Scots earth I stand upon. The king
and his court being greatly diverted with this merry joke, George
was admitted again to the king’s favour.
3. After this there arose a debate betwixt the king and the queen
about votes in the parliament; as the king had two votes, the queen
would have one, and would needs be a parliamenter, or no peace
without preferment. This matter was committed to George by the
king; so it was agreed among the parliamenters, that the queen
should be admitted into parliament for a day. Accordingly she came,
and was received with all the honour and congratulations that was
due and becoming her high station: but before any matter of
consequence was brought to the board, George seated himself hard
by the queen’s seat; all being silent, he rose up very quickly, lifted
one of his legs, let a loud f——t, which set the whole house a-
laughing; whereat the queen was greatly offended, and said, go,
take the rogue and hang him, to which George answered, a fine
parliamenter indeed, to hang a man for a sinless infirmity, and that’s
a f——t. The queen being enraged at the affront put on her first
appearance in parliament, went off in a passion, and never would
countenance them more. But yet to be revenged on George, she
would never give the king rest, till he delivered George into her
hands, that he might be punished at her pleasure; which the king
accordingly commanded to be done, knowing that George would
rescue himself by some intrigue or other. No sooner was he
delivered into her hands, but she and her maids of honour
pronounced his doom, which was as follows:—As he had affronted
the queen among so great an equipage, who ought to be honoured
in chief above all women in the nation, that he should be stoned to
death by the hands of women. Now the time being come that he
had to die, according to their appointment, he was taken into a park,
where a great number of women were waiting for him, with their
aprons full of stones, to fall upon him, and put him to death
according to the queen’s appointment.
GEORGE’S SPEECH TO HIS EXECUTIONERS.
 Here’s a female band with bags of stones
To kill a man for rumple groans:
I’m clean of rapine, blood, and thefts,
Could I convert my f——s to rifts?
Since I, the first for f——s do die,
Close up the place from whence they fly,
To commit my crime, I think ye’ll scarce,
If once you do cork up your a——.
And now since women stones do carry,
Men need not in the world tarry,
Judge if such women be chaste complete,
With forty stones between their f——;
But since ’tis so ye will come on,
The greatest w—— throw the first stone.
When he had ended with these words, “The greatest w—— throw
the first stone,” every one put it to another to cast the first stone,
but knowing they would attain the character of a w—— for so doing,
they all refused till the dying hour was past, and then he took a
protest against them, and by that means he gained his life. After this
he was admitted into the queen’s favour and presence, and attended
the court as formerly.
4. About this time, the French king, in order to pick a quarrel with
the court of Britain, sent a letter to the king, desiring it to be read
before the parliament: and the writing was as follows; “Will I come?
Will I come? Will I come?”—This letter being read before the king
and his courtiers, they all concluded that the French king designed
to invade England; therefore they ordered an answer to be wrote,
upbraiding him with the breach of peace, and putting him in mind of
the last treaty. The answer being read before the king and his
nobles, they all agreed that it should be sent off. But George,
smiling, and shaking his head, cried out,
Many men, many minds,
Who knows what he designs?
Then they asked George what the French king meant by such a
letter? to which he answered, I suppose he wants an invitation to
come over to dine with you, and then return in a friendly manner;
but you are going to charge him with a breach of peace, before he
has given any signal of offence or war: his letter is indeed dark and
mystical, but send him an answer according to his question. Now,
George being ordered to write the answer, it was as follows:—“And
ye come—And ye come—And ye come.” This being sent to the
French king, he admired it beyond expression, saying, it was an
answer more valiant and daring than he expected. So the enmity he
intended was extinguished, and turned into love.
5. It happened once, that a malignant party in Scotland sent up a
great spokesman to the king and parliament, for the reducing of the
church; George hearing of his coming, went away and met him on
the bridge, and the salutation that he gave him was the cutting off
his head, and throwing it over the bridge! He then ran to the king
with all his might, and fell down before him, pleading most heartily
for a pardon, or without it he was a dead man. The king most
seriously asked him what he had done now? To which he answered,
he had only thrown the Scots Bishop’s hat over the bridge, which
made the king to laugh, to hear him ask pardon for such a small
fault; but he had no sooner got the pardon sealed by the king’s
hand, than he said, indeed my sovereign, I threw his hat over the
bridge, but his head was in it. O Geordie, Geordie, says the king,
thou wilt never give over till thou be hanged.
6. A nobleman in England agreed with the king how to put a trick
upon George, to try his manly courage, in sending him to a certain
place for a bag of money. On his way home, through St James’ park,
they caused a sturdy fellow to go and set upon him by the way, and
take the money from him. The fellow being armed with sword and
pistol, came up quickly, and attacked George with these words, You,
sir, deliver what money you have, or you are a dead man. To which
George answered, sir, I have some indeed, but ’tis not my own, and
therefore do not like to part with it: nevertheless, since being
determined as you are, to exchange blows for it, pray do me the
favour to fire your pistol through the flap of my cloak, that the
owners may see I have been in danger of my life before I parted
with it, which he accordingly did. No sooner had he fired the pistol,
than George whipt out his hanger from below his cloak and with one
stroke cut off his right hand, wherein he held his sword, so that both
his sword and the hand fell to the ground; but George lifted his hand
and carried it to the king. No sooner did he come before them, but
they asked him, saying, well, George, did you see any body to
trouble you by the way? None, said he, but one fellow, who was
going to take the money from me, but I made him give me his hand
he would not do the like again. You did? says the fellow’s master.
Yes, I did, says George; let work bear witness, throwing down the
fellow’s hand on the table before them all.
7. Now, this last exploit of George’s caused many of the English to
hate him; and, among the rest, a young nobleman fell a joking of
George, saying, he would be as famous a champion for Scotland as
Sir William Wallace was. Ay, ay, says George, Wallace was a brave
man in his time.—True indeed, says the young nobleman, but when
he came to London, we did him all manner of justice, and for honour
of the Scots, we have his effigy in the s—— to this very day. And do
you know the reason of that, says George? No, I don’t, says he.
Well, I’ll tell you, says George: he was such a terror to Englishmen,
when he was alive, that the sight of his picture yet makes them p
—— themselves. The English took this answer as a great affront,
and forthwith caused Wallace’s picture to be taken out of all their s
——.
8. A young English girl falling in love with a Scotchman, she
petitioned him several times for to marry her: which he refused. So,
to be revenged on him, she went to a Justice, and swore a rape
against him, which is death by the law. George hearing of this, went
to the prison where the young man was, and instructed him how to
behave before the judge. So in the time of the trial George came in
while the judge was crying to the man, but never a word he could
get him to answer, to tell whether he was guilty or not. After the
justice had given him over for deaf and dumb, others fell a shouting
in his ears, but never a word he would speak. Then the judge,
perceiving George, called him, saying, George, do you know what is
the matter with this man? Yes, I do very well, says George. What is
it? says the judge. Why, says George, the woman made such a noise
and crying when he was ravishing her, it has put the poor man quite
deaf, I assure you. Is it so? says the justice. No, no, says the
woman, my Lord Justice, you may believe me, I lay as mute as a
lamb, and never spoke a word all the time. Very well confessed, said
the justice, and you have sworn a rape upon him. Take the w—— to
prison, and let the poor man go about his business, and so it ended.

PART II.
George happened one time to be in company with a bishop, and so
they fell to dispute anent education, and he blanked the bishop
remarkably, and the bishop himself owned he was worsted.—Then
one of the company addressed himself to him in these words: thou,
Scot, said he, should not have left thy country. For what? says he,
because thou has carried all the wisdom that is in it thither with
thee. No, no, says he, the shepherds in Scotland will dispute with
any bishop in London, and exceed them very far in education. The
bishops then took this as an affront, and several noblemen affirmed
it to be as the Scot had said: bets were laid on each side, and three
of the bishops were chosen, and sent away to Scotland to dispute it
with the shepherds, accompanied with several others, who were to
bear witness of what they should hear pass between them. Now,
George knowing which way they went, immediately took another
road and was in Scotland before them. He then made an
acquaintance with a shepherd on the border whose pasture lay on
the wayside where the bishops were to pass: and there he mounted
himself in shepherd’s dress: and when he saw the bishops appear,
he conveyed his flock to the roadside, and fell a chanting at a Latin
ballad. When the bishops came up to George, one of them asked
him in French what o’clock it was? To which he answered in Hebrew,
it is directly about the time of the day it was yesterday at this time.
Another asked him, in Greek, what countryman he was? To which he
answered in Flemish, if ye knew that, you would be as wise as
myself. A third asked him, in Dutch, where was you educated? To
which he answered, in Earse, herding my sheep between this and
Lochaber. This they desired him to explain into English, which he
immediately did. Now, said they one to another, we need not
proceed any farther. What, says George, are you butchers? I’ll sell
you a few sheep. To this they made no answer, but went away
shamefully, and said, they believed the Scots had been through all
the nations in the world for their education, or the devil had taught
them. Now, when George had ended this dispute with the bishops,
he stripped off his shepherd’s dress, and up through England he
goes, with all the haste imaginable, so that he arrived at the place
from whence they set out, three days before the judges, and went
every day asking if they were come, so that he might not be
suspected. As soon as they arrived, all that were concerned in the
dispute, and many more, came crowding in, to hear what news from
the Scottish shepherds, and to know what was done. No sooner had
the three gentlemen declared what had past between the bishops
and the shepherds, whom they found on the Scots border, but the
old bishop made answer, and think you, said he, that a shepherd
could answer these questions? It has been none else but the devil;
for the Scots ministers themselves could not do it; they are but
ignorant of such matters, a parcel of beardless boys. Then George
thought it was time to take speech in hand. Well, my lord bishop,
says George, you call them a parcel of ignorant beardless boys. You
have a great long beard yourself, my lord bishop, and if grace were
measured by beards, you bishops and the goats would have it all,
and that will be quite averse to Scripture. What, says the bishop, are
you a Scot? Yes, says George, I am a Scot. Well, says the bishop,
and what is the difference between a Scot and a sot? Nothing at
present, says George, but the breadth of the table, there being a
table betwixt the bishop and George. So the bishop went off in a
high passion, while the whole multitude were like to split their jaws
with laughter.
2. About this time there was an act of parliament for the benefit of
murderers, that any person, who committed murder, if they forfeited
five hundred marks, which went under the name of Kinboot,
because, so much of this went to the murdered person’s nearest
relations, as the price of blood, the murderer got a remit. Now
George knowing this to be contrary to Moses’ laws, was very much
grieved to see so many pardons sealed by the king’s hand for
murder, almost one every week; it being so usual for the king to
subscribe them, that he would not read them, nor enquire what they
were; for which cause, George writes a writ to the crown, and sent it
to the king to be subscribed, which he actually did, and never looked
what it was, returned it to George. No sooner had he received it, but
he goes to the king and told him it was not time for him to be sitting
there, whereat, the king greatly amazed, started up; then George in
great haste, sets himself down in the king’s chair, forthwith declaring
himself king, saying, you who was king must be my fool, for I am
now the wisest man. The king at this was greatly offended, until
George shewed him his seal and superscription. But from that day
forth the king knew what he subscribed.
3. The next pardon that came to be sealed by the king, was a
gentleman who had killed two men before, and had got pardons for
them by money. This being the third, the king was very silent in
looking over the petition: George standing by, asked the king what
he was going to seal now? To which he answered, it is a remit for a
man who has killed three men at sundry times, I gave him two
remits before. O! says George; he has killed but one man. And who
killed the other two says the king. You did, says George, for if you
had given him justice when he had killed the first, he had killed no
more. When the king heard these words he threw down the pen,
and declared that such an act to save a murderer, should be null
ever after by him.
4. One day, George having no money, he goes away and gets a
pick and a spade, and then falls a digging at a corner of the king’s
palace; which the king perceiving from his window, calls what he
was wanting there? Are you going to undermine my house, and
make it fall? No, my sovereign, says George, but it is verily reported
that there is plenty of money about this house, and where can it be?
says George, I cannot find it, for it is not within the house to do me
service, then surely it must be below it. O George! says the king,
that is a crave after the new fashion, what money you want I’ll order
for you. Then, my sovereign, says George, I’ll dig no more.
5. One time George being in the country, he came to an inn,
where he alighted to refresh himself and his horse. The innkeeper
charged him double price for every thing he called for.—George
never grumbled at this, but gave him all demands, and away he
goes on his journey. At the inn where he quartered the following
night he was used after the same manner, if not worse. Having little
farther to go, he returned next day, and came that night to the inn
where he refreshed himself the day before. So, when he alighted,
the boy asked him what he would give his horse? What you will, said
he. When he had gone to his room, the waiter enquired what he
would have to drink? What you will, says he. The master of the inn
came into his room before supper, and enquired what he would have
for supper? What you will landlord, says he. After supper, and a
hearty bowl to put all over, he went to bed. On the morrow, he rose
very early, and called for the boy to make ready his horse in all
haste, for he was designed to mount and go directly. Soon after, he
went into the stable where the boy was, calling for his horse, when
he mounted with all the speed he could, and gave the boy a piece of
money, saying, here my boy, this is for taking care of my horse; I
have paid for all I have ordered in the house, and off he goes. About
mid-day he alighted again at an inn to refresh himself and his horse,
and there he chanced to be in company with his other landlord
where he was the night before, and charged him with the double
reckoning: so he addressed himself to him in the following manner.—
Sir, says he, I do believe I was in your house yesternight; O yes Sir,
says he, I mind of you pretty well. And where was you last night?
Last night, says George, I was in one of the finest inns, and the
civilest landlord I ever had in my life: they brought all things that I
stood in need of unto me, without calling for them; and when I
came off this morning, they charged me nothing, and I paid nothing
but sixpence to the boy for dressing my horse.—Blood and wounds!
said the old fellow, then I’ll go there this night. Ay, says George, do;
and mind this, when they ask you what you will have for yourself
and your horse, answer nothing but What you will, Sir. George
smiling within himself, to think how he had got the one extortioner
to take amends of the other. So this innkeeper set off on his journey,
and rode so late that night that he might reach the cheap inn, that
most of the people were gone to bed before he arrived. As soon as
he dismounted from his horse, the boy enquired at him, What shall I
give your horse, master? To which he answered, What you will, boy.
The boy hearing this, runs away, (leaving him and his horse to stand
at the door,) up stairs to his master’s room, crying, master, master,
What-you-will is come again:—O the rogue, cries he, where is he?—
I’ll cane him—I’ll what you will him by and by. Then to him he runs
with his cane, licks, and kicks him until he was scarce able to mount
his horse, and would give him no entertainment there, which caused
him to ride the whole of a cold winter night, after he had got his
bones all beat and bruised. So the one pursued the other as a
murderer; and his defence was, that he was a cheat and a scorner
of his house, until the truth was found out.
6. About this time, the French king sent, and demanded from the
king of England, three men of different qualities. The first was to be
a mighty strong man; the second a very wise man; and the third, a
very great fool; so that he might have none in all France to match
them. So, accordingly, there were two men chosen; the one a strong
man, and the other a very wise man, but George was to act as the
fool; nevertheless he was the teacher of the other two. On their way
to France George asked the strong man, what will you answer the
French king, when he asks if you be a strong man? Why, says he, I’ll
say I am. Then, says George, he’ll possibly get a stronger man than
you, who will kill you, and affront your country: what shall I say
then, said the strong man?—Why, says George, tell him you are
strong enough untried. Then said he to the wise man, and what will
you say to the king when he asks if you are a wise man? Why, I’ll tell
him I am, and answer him all the questions I know:—Very well, says
George, but what if he asks you what you do not know? then you’ll
affront your country, and be looked upon as a greater fool than me:
well, and what shall I answer then? said the wise man. Why, says
George, tell him he is only a wise man that can take care of himself:
and I shall come in after you, and take care of you altogether. As
soon as they arrived at the king of France’s palace, the king sent for
them, to try them. The strong man was first called for, and in he
went; then the king asked him if he was a strong man? to which he
answered, O king! I am strong enough untried. Very well, said the
king. After him the wise man was called; and the king asked him if
he was a wise man? to which he answered, he is only a wise man
that can take care of himself. Very well, says the king. On which,
George pushed up the door, and in he went with loud laughter, and p
—— directly in his Majesty’s face, which blinded both his eyes, and
put the whole court in amaze. Now, now, said his Majesty, it is true
enough what the wise man says, for if I had taken care of myself, I
need not have been p—— upon by the English fool. O ho, says
George, fools always strive to make fools of others, but wise men
make fools of themselves. By this, his Majesty seemed to think he
was made the greatest fool, and charged them to go home, for he
wanted no more of England’s strength, wisdom, or folly.
7. One night, a Highland drover chanced to have a drinking-bout
with an English captain of a ship, and at last they came to be very
hearty over their cups, so that they called in their servants to have a
share of their liquor. The drover’s servant looked like a wild man,
going without breeches, stockings, or shoes, not so much as a
bonnet on his head, with a long peeled rung in his hand. The captain
asked the drover, how long it was since he catched him? He
answered, it is about two years since I hauled him out of the sea
with a net, and afterwards ran into the mountains, where I catched
him with a pack of hounds. The captain believed it was so, but says
he, I have a servant the best swimmer in the world. O but, says the
drover, my servant will swim him to death. No, he will not, says the
captain, I’ll lay two hundred crowns on it. Then says the drover, I’ll
hold it one to one, and staked directly, the day being appointed
when trial was to be made. Now the drover, when he came to
himself, thinking on what a bargain he had made, did not know what
to do, knowing very well that his servant could swim none. He
hearing of George being in town, who was always a good friend to
Scotsmen, he went unto him and told him the whole story, and that
he would be entirely broke, and durst never return home to his own
country, for he was sure to lose it. Then George called the drover
and his man aside, and instructed them how to behave, so that they
should be safe and gain too. So accordingly they met at the place
appointed. The captain’s man stript directly and threw himself into
the sea, taking a turn until the Highlandman was ready, for the
drover took some time to put his servant in order. After he was
stripped, his master took his plaid, and rolled a kebbuck of cheese, a
big loaf, and a bottle of gin in it, and this he bound on his shoulders,
giving him directions to tell his wife and children that he was well,
and to be sure he returned with an answer against that day
se’nnight. As he went into the sea, he looked back to his master, and
called out to him for his claymore. And what waits he for now? says
the captain’s servant. He wants his sword, says his master. His
sword, says the fellow: What is he to do with a sword? Why, says his
master, if he meets a whale or a monstrous beast, it is to defend his
life: I know he will have to fight his way through the north seas, ere
he get to Lochaber. Then cried the captain’s servant, I’ll swim none
with him, if he take his sword. Ay, but says his master, you shall, or
lose the wager; take you another sword with you. No, says the
fellow I never did swim with a sword, nor any man else, that ever I
saw or heard of, I know not but that wild man will kill me in the
deep water; I would not for the whole world, venture myself with
him and a sword. The captain seeing his servant afraid to venture,
or if he did, he would never see him again alive; therefore he
desired an agreement with the drover, who at first seemed unwilling,
but the captain putting it in his will, the drover quit him for half the
sum. This he came to through George’s advice.
8. George was met one day by three bishops, who paid him the
following compliments; says the first, good-morrow, father Abraham;
says the second, good-morrow, father Isaac; says the third, good-
morrow father Jacob. To which he replied, I am neither father
Abraham, father Isaac, nor father Jacob; but I am Saul, the Son of
Kish, sent out to seek my father’s asses, and, lo! I have found three
of them. Which answer fully convinced the bishops that they had
mistaken their man.
9. A poor Scotchman dined one day at a public house in London
upon eggs and not having money to pay, got credit till he should
return. The man being lucky in trade, acquired vast riches; and after
some years happening to pass that way, called at the house where
he was owing the dinner of eggs. Having called for the innkeeper, he
asked him what he had to pay for the dinner of eggs he got from
him such a time? The landlord seeing him now rich, gave him a bill
of several pounds; telling him, as his reason for so extravagant a
charge, that these eggs had they been hatched, would have been
chickens; and these laying more eggs, would have been more
chickens: and so on multiplying the eggs and their product, till such
time as their value amounted to the sum charged. The man refusing
to comply with this demand, was charged before a judge. He then
made his case known to George, his countryman, who promised to
appear in the hour of cause, which he accordingly did, all in a sweat,
with a great basket of boiled pease, which appearance surprised the
judge, who asked him what he meant by these boiled pease? says
George I am going to sow them. When will they grow? said the
judge. They will grow, said George, when sodden eggs grow
chickens. Which answer convinced the judge of the extravagance of
the innkeeper’s demand, and the Scotsman was acquitted for
twopence halfpenny.
George, one day easing himself at the corner of a hedge, was
espied by an English squire who began to mock him asking him why
he did not keckle like the hens? But George, whose wit was always
ready, told him he was afraid to keckle, lest he would come and
snatch up the egg, which rebuff made the squire walk off as mute as
a fish.
 George was professor of the College of St Andrews, and slipt out
one day in his gown and slippers, and went on his travels through
Italy, and several other foreign countries and after seven years,
returned with the same dress he went off in; and entering the
college, took possession of his seat there; but the professor in his
room quarreling him for so doing. Ay, says George, it is a very odd
thing that a man cannot take a walk out in his slippers, but another
will take up his seat. And so set the other professor about his
business.
Two drunken fellows one day fell a beating one another on the
streets of London, which caused a great crowd of people to throng
together to see what it was. A tailor being at work up in a garret,
about three or four stories high, and he hearing the noise in the
street, looking over the window, but could not well see them; he
began to stretch himself, making a long neck, until he fell down out
of the window, and alighted on an old man who was walking on the
street; the poor tailor was more afraid than hurt, but the man he fell
on died directly. His son caused the tailor to be apprehended, and
tried for the murder of his father; the jury could not bring it in wilful
murder, neither could they altogether free the tailor; the jury gave it
over to the judges, and the judges to the king. The king asked
George’s advice in this hard matter. Why, says George, I will give you
my opinion in a minute; you must cause the tailor to stand in the
street, where the old gentleman was when he was killed by the
tailor, and then let the old gentleman’s son the tailor’s adversary, get
up to the window from whence the tailor fell, and jump down, and
so kill the tailor as he did his father. The tailor’s adversary hearing
this sentence past, he would not venture to jump over the window,
and so the tailor got clear off.
George went into the mint one day, when they were melting gold.
One of them asked George, if he would have his hat full of gold?
George readily accorded, but it burnt the bottom out of his hat, as
they knew it would, and for the bout foiled George. However,
George, to be up with them, bought a fine large hat, and caused a
plate of copper to be put betwixt the hat and the linen; and
returning next day they jestingly asked him, if he would have
another hat full of gold? He said he would: They gave it red hot, and
George now laughed at them in his turn; telling them, that his new
hat was a good one, and stood fire better than the old one, and so
carried it off honestly, and being afterwards prosecuted for to return
it, he excused himself, telling the judge, that he took nothing but
was given him, and therefore he was honourably acquitted, and the
other heartily laughed at.
George being now far advanced in years, and being weary of the
great fatigue and folly of the court fashions, a short time before his
death, he had a great desire to visit his native country, and the place
of his nativity. Therefore he petitioned the king for permission to do
so which was granted. So he set out for Scotland, and went to the
parish of Buchanan, in Dumbartonshire, where he visited all his
relations and friends.—But George staying longer from court than
the time allowed, the king sent him several messages to return, to
which he returned no answer. At last the king sent him a letter
threatening, that if he did not appear before him in the space of
twenty days he would send his Lyon Heralds for him; to which
George returned the following answer.
My honour’d Liege, and sovereign King,
Of your boasting great I dread nothing:
On your feud or favour I’ll fairly venture;
Or that day I’ll be where few kings enter.
And also gave him many good admonitions and directions
concerning the government of his kingdom and the well being of his
soul; which drew tears from the king’s eyes when he read it.

WILL SCOTT
A celebrated attendant upon the Sheriff, well known for his activity
in the execution of his orders, as well as for taking a bit comfortable
guzzel when finances would afford it, was one Sabbath day snugly
seated in the pew behind the Bailies at church. Will had not been
there long till he was soon lull’d into sweet slumbers, and fancied
himself seated along with his companions over a good Imperial Half-
mutchkin, and in a short time the reckoning came a-paying, when
some of the party insisted it was already paid; however, Will
happened not to be of that opinion, and true to his integrity, bawled
out with all his might in the midst of the sermon, “No, no, by my
faith it’s no pay’t, we have had just a’e half-mutchkin, an’ twa bottles
o’ ale and there’s no a fardin o’t pay’t.”

GRAVE-DIGGER OF SORN.
The Grave-digger of Sorn, Ayrshire, was as selfish and as mean a
sinner as ever handled mattock, or carried mortcloth. He was a very
quarrelsome and discontented old man, with a voice like the whistle
of the wind thro’ a key-hole. On a bleak Sunday afternoon in the
country, an acquaintance from a neighbouring parish accosted him
one day, and asked how the world was moving with him, “Oh, very
puirly, sir, very puirly indeed,” was the answer, “the yard has done
naething ava for us this summer, if ye like to believe me, I havna
buried a levin’ soul this sax weeks.”

THE END.
 A BRIEF RELATION
OF THE

ADVENTURES
OF

BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW,

WHO WAS FOR MORE THAN FORTY YEARS

KING OF THE BEGGARS.

GLASGOW:
P R I N T E D F O R T H E B O O K S E L L E R S.
 ADVENTURES
OF

B A M F Y L D E M O O R E C A R E W.

Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew was the son of a clergyman near

Tiverton, in Devonshire, and born in 1693. He was tall and majestic,
his limbs strong and well proportioned, his features regular, and his
countenance open and ingenious, bearing the resemblance of a
good-natured mind. At twelve years old he was put to Tiverton
school, where he soon got a considerable knowledge of the Latin
and Greek tongues, so as to be fitted for the University, that in due
time he might be fitted for the church, for which his father designed
him; but here a new exercise engaged his attention, namely, that of
hunting, in which he soon made a prodigious progress. The Tiverton
scholars had command of a fine cry of hounds, which gave Carew a
frequent opportunity of exercising his beloved employment, and
getting acquainted with John Martin, Thomas Coleman, and John
Escott, young gentlemen of the best rank and fortune. One day a
farmer came to the school and complained of a deer, with a collar
round his neck, that he had seen running through his grounds, and
had done him much damage, desiring them to hunt it down and kill
it. They, wishing for no better sport, on the next day put the old
farmer’s request into execution, in doing of which they did much
damage to the neighbouring grounds, whose owners, together with
Colonel Nutcombe, to whom the deer belonged, came and
complained to the schoolmaster of the injuries they had suffered by
his scholars: they were very severely reprimanded, and hard
threatened for the same. The resentment of the present reproof, and
the fear of future chastisement, made them abscond from the
school; and going into a brick alehouse, about half a mile from
Tiverton, there they accidentally fell in company with some gypsies,
who were then feasting and carousing. This company consisted of
seventeen, who were met on purpose for festivity and jollity; which,
by plenty of meat, fowl, flowing cups of beer, cider, &c., they seemed
to enjoy to their hearts’ content. In short, the freedom, mirth, and
pleasure that appeared among them, invited our youngsters to enlist
into their company; which on communicating to the gypsies, they
would not believe them, as thinking they jested; but on tarrying with
them all night, and continuing in the same mind next morning, they
at length thought them serious, and encouraged them; and, after
going through the requisite ceremonials, and administering to them
the proper oath, they admitted them into their number.
The reader will no doubt wonder to hear of the ceremonials and
oaths among gypsies and beggars, but that will cease on being
informed, that these people are subject to a form of government and
laws peculiar to themselves, and pay due obedience to one who is
styled their king; to which honour Carew in a short time arrived,
after having by many acts proved himself worthy of it. The
substance of them is this:—strong love and mutual regard for each
member in particular, and the whole community in general; which
being taught them in their infancy, grows up with them, prevents
oppression, frauds, and overreaching one another, which is common
among other people, and tends to the very worst of evils. This
happiness and temper of mind so wrought on Carew, as to occasion
the strongest attachment to them for forty years, refusing very large
offers that had been made to him to quit their society.
Being thus initiated into the ancient society of gypsies, who take
their name from Egypt, a place well known to abound in learning,
and the inhabitants of which country travel about from place to place
to communicate knowledge to mankind.—Carew did not long
continue in it before he was consulted in important matters;
particularly Madam Musgrove, of Monkton, near Taunton, hearing of
his fame, sent for him to consult him in an affair of difficulty. When
he was come, she informed him, that she suspected a large quantity
of money was buried somewhere about her house, and if he would
acquaint her with the particular place, she would handsomely reward
him. Carew consulted the secrets of his art on this occasion, and,
after a long study, he informed the lady, that under a laurel tree in
the garden lay the treasure she sought for; but that she must not
seek it till such a day and hour. The lady rewarded him with twenty
guineas; but, whether Carew mistook his calculation, or the lady
mistook her lucky hour, we cannot tell; but truth obliges us to say,
the lady having dug below the root of the laurel tree, she could not
find the treasure.
When he was further initiated, he was consulted in important
matters and met with better success; generally giving satisfaction by
his wise and sagacious answers. In the mean time his parents
sorrowed after him, as one that was no more, having advertised him
in all the public papers, and sent messengers after him to almost
every part of the kingdom; till about a year and a half afterwards,
when Carew, hearing of their grief, and being struck with tenderness
thereat, repaired to his father’s house. He was so disguised they did
not know him, but when they did their joy was beyond expressing,
tenderly embracing him, bedewing his cheeks with tears and kisses;
and all his friends and neighbours shewed every demonstration of
joy at his return. His parents did every thing to render home
agreeable to him; but the uncommon pleasure he had enjoyed in the
community he had left, their simplicity, freedom, sincerity, mirth, and
frequent change of habitation, and the secret presages of the
honour he has since arrived at, sickened and palled all other
diversions, and at last prevailed over his filial duty; for one day
without taking leave of his friends or parents, he went back to them
again, where he was heartily welcomed, both to his own and their
satisfaction, they being glad to regain one who was likely to become
so useful a member of their community.
 Carew’s first adventure in his new profession.
Carew being again initiated among them, at the first general
assembly of the gypsies, took the oaths of allegiance to their
sovereign, by whom he was soon sent out on a cruise against their
enemies. Carew now set his wits to work how to succeed: so
equipping himself with an old pair of trowsers, a piece of a jacket,
just enough to cover his nakedness, stockings full of holes, and an
old cap, he forgot both friends and family, and became nothing more
or less than an unfortunate shipwrecked seaman. In this, his first
excursion, he gained much credit, artfully imitating passes and
certificates that were necessary for him to travel unmolested. After a
month’s travel he happened to meet with his old school-fellow
Coleman, who had once left the gypsies’ society, but for the same
reason as himself, returned to them again. Great was their joy at
meeting, and they agreed to travel some time together; so entering
Exeter, they in one day raised a contribution of several pounds.
Having obtained all he could from this stratagem, he then became
a plain, honest farmer, whose grounds had been overflowed, and
cattle drowned; his dejected countenance and mournful tale,
together with a wife and seven helpless infants being partakers of
his misfortunes, gained him both pity and profit.
Having obtained a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he
returned to his companions, where he was received with great
applause; and, as a mark of their respect, seated him next the king.
He soon became a great man in the profession, and confined not
himself from doing good to others, when it did not infringe upon the
community of which he was a member.
His next stratagem was to become a mad-man; so stripping
himself quite naked, he threw a blanket over him, and then he was,
“Poor mad Tom, whom the foul fiend has led through fire and
through flame! through fire and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire;
that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set
ratsbane for his porridge, and made him proud at heart to ride on a
bay trotting-horse over four-inch bridges; to curse his own shadow
for a traitor; who eats the swimming-frog, the toad, the tadpole, the
wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when
the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and ditch dog; drinks the
green mantle of the standing pool;
And mice and rats, and such like gear,
Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.
O do de, do de, do de! bless thee! from whirlwind, star-blasting, and
taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes—
There I could have him now—and there!—and there!—and here
again!—and there!—Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold
wind—Tom’s a cold!—who gives any thing to poor Tom?”
In this character, with such-like expressions, he entered the
houses of both small and great, claiming kindred to them, and
committing all kinds of frantic actions, such as beating himself,
offering to eat coals of fire, running against the wall, and tearing to
pieces whatever garments were given to him to cover his
nakedness; by which means he raised considerable contributions.
He never was more happy than when he was engaged in some
adventure; therefore he was always very diligent to enquire when
any accident happened, especially fire, to which he would
immediately repair, and, getting information of the causes, names,
trades, and circumstances of the unhappy sufferers, he would
assume one of them, and burning some part of his clothes, by way
of demonstration, run to some place distant, pass for one of them,
gain credit, and get much profit. Under this character he had once
the boldness to address a justice, who was the terror and professed
enemy to all the gypsies, yet he so well managed the affair, that in a
long examination he made him believe he was an honest miller,
whose house, mill and substance had been consumed by fire,
occasioned by the negligence of the apprentice; and accordingly, got
a bountiful sum for his relief, the justice not in the least suspecting a
defraud.
 He had such wonderful facility in every character he assumed, that
he even deceived those who thought themselves so well acquainted
with him, that it was impossible for him to impose on them.
Coming one day to ‘Squire Portman’s house at Blandford, in the
character of a rat-catcher, with a hair cap on his head, a buff girdle
about his waist, a little box by his side, and a tame rat in his hand,
he goes boldly up to the house, where he had been well known
before, and meeting the ’squire, Parson Bryant, and one Mr. Pleydell,
of Milbourn, and some other gentlemen, he asked them if they had
any rats to kill. “Do you understand the business well?” says the
’squire. “Yes, an please your honour,” replied Carew, “I have been a
rat-catcher for many years, and have been employed in his Majesty’s
yards and ships.” “Well,” says the ’squire, “go in and get some
victuals, and after dinner we will try your abilities.” He was
accordingly called into the parlour, where were a large company of
gentlemen and ladies. “Well, honest rat-catcher,” says the squire,
“can you lay any scheme to kill the rats without hurting my dogs?”
“Yes, yes,” cries Carew, “I can lay it where even the rats cannot
climb to reach it.”—“What countryman are you?”—“A
Devonshireman, an please your honour.” “What is your name?” Here
our hero began to perceive that he was discovered, by the smilings
and whisperings of several gentlemen, and he very composedly
answered,—“My name is Bamfylde Moore Carew.” This occasioned
much mirth, and Mr. Pleydell expressed extraordinary pleasure. He
had often wished to see him, but never had.—“Yes you have,”
replied Carew, “and given me a suit of clothes. Do you not
remember meeting a poor wretch one day at your stable door, with a
stocking round his head, an old mantle over his shoulders, without
shirt, stockings, or scarce any shoes, who told you he was a poor
unfortunate man, cast away upon the coast, with sixteen more of
the crew, who were all drowned; you, believing this story,
generously relieved me with a guinea and a good suit of clothes.” “I
well remember it,” said Mr. Pleydell, “but, on this discovery, it is
impossible to deceive me so again, come in whatever shape you
will.” The company blamed him for thus boasting, and secretly
prevailed upon Carew to put his art in practice to convince him of
the fallacy thereof: to which he agreed, and in a few days after
appointing the company present to be at Mr. Pleydell’s house, he put
the following scheme into execution.
He shaved himself closely, and clothed himself in an old woman’s
apparel, with a high-crowned hat, and a large dowdy under his chin;
then taking three children from among his fraternity, he tied two on
his back and one under his arm. Thus accoutred, he comes to Mr.
Pleydell’s door, and pinching one of the brats, set it a roaring; this
gave the alarm to the dogs, who came out with open mouths, so
that the whole company was soon alarmed. Out came the maid,
saying, “Carry away the children, good woman, they disturb the
ladies.” “God bless their ladyships,” said Carew, “I am the poor
unfortunate grandmother of these helpless infants, whose mother
and all they had were burnt at the dreadful fire at Kirkton, and hope
the good ladies, for Heaven’s sake, will bestow something on the
poor famishing, starving infants.” In goes the maid with this affecting
story to the ladies, while Carew keeps pinching the children to make
them cry, and the maid soon returned with half-a-crown and some
good broth, which he thankfully received, and went into the court-
yard to sit down to sup them, as perceiving the gentlemen were not
at home. He had not long been there before they came, when one
of them accosted him thus: “Where do you come from, old woman?”
“From Kirkton, please your honours,” said he, “where the poor
unhappy mother of these helpless infants was burnt in the flames,
and all she had consumed.” “There has been more money collected
for Kirkton than ever Kirkton was worth,” said the gentleman.
However, they gave the supposed old grandmother a shilling,
commiserating the hard case of her and her poor helpless infants,
which he thankfully received, pretending to go away; but the
gentlemen were hardly got into the house, before their ears were
suddenly saluted with a “tantivy, tantivy,” and a “halloo” to the dogs;
on which they turned about, supposing it to be some other
sportsmen; but seeing nobody, they imagined it to be Carew, in the
disguise of the old Kirkton grandmother; so bidding the servants
fetch him back, he was brought into the parlour among them all,
and confessed himself to be the famous Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew,
to the astonishment and mirth of them all; who well rewarded him
for the diversion he had afforded them.
In like manner he raised a contribution twice in one day of Mr.
Jones, near Bristol. In the morning, with a sooty face, leather apron,
a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he was generously
relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been consumed
by fire. In the afternoon he exchanged his legs for crutches, and,
with a dejected countenance, pale face, and every sign of pain, he
became a disabled tinner, incapable of maintaining a wife and seven
small children, by the damps and hardships he had suffered in the
mines; and so well acted his part, that the tinner got as well relieved
in the afternoon as the blacksmith in the morning.
These successful stratagems gained him high applause and
honour in the community of gypsies. He soon became the favourite
of their king, who was very old and decrepid, and had always some
honourable mark of distinction assigned him at their assemblies.
Being one morning near the seat of his good friend Sir William
Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three visits that day. He
therefore puts on a parcel of rags, and goes to him with a piteous,
mean, dismal countenance, and deplorable tale, and got half-a-
crown from him, telling him he had met with great misfortunes at
sea. At noon he puts on a leather apron scorched with fire, and with
a dejected countenance goes to him again, and was relieved as an
unfortunate shoemaker, who had been burnt out of his house and all
he had. In the afternoon he goes again in trimmed clothes, and
desiring admittance to Sir William, with a modest grace and
submissive eloquence, he repeats his misfortunes, as the supercargo
of a vessel which had been cast away, and his whole effects lost.
Sir William, seeing his genteel appearance and behaviour, treated
him with respect, and gave him a guinea at his departure. There
were several gentlemen at dinner with Sir William at that time, none
of whom had any knowledge of him except the Rev. Mr. Richards,
who did not discover him till he was gone; upon which a servant was
despatched to desire him to come back, which he did; and when he
entered the room they were very merry with him and requested him
to give an account how he got his fine clothes, and of his
stratagems, with the success of them. He asked Sir William if he had
not given half-a-crown in the morning to a beggar, and about noon
relieved a poor unfortunate shoemaker. “I did,” said Sir William.
“Behold him before you,” said Carew, “in this fine embroidered coat,
as a broken merchant.” The company would not believe him; so, to
convince them, he re-assumed those characters again, to their no
small mirth and satisfaction.

Carew made King of the Beggars.

On the death of the king of the gypsies, named Clause Patch, our
hero was a candidate to succeed him, and exhibited to the electors a
long list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed,
and made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that
he had a considerable majority of voices, though there were ten
candidates for the same honour; on which he was declared duly
elected, and hailed by the whole assembly—King of the Gypsies. The
public register of their acts being immediately committed to his care,
and homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded by
rejoicings.
Though Mr. Carew was now privileged, by the dignity of his office,
from going on any cruise, and was provided with every thing
necessary, by the joint contribution of the community, yet he did not
give himself up to indolence. Our hero, though a king, was as active
in his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulty
which seemed to promise success.
Mr. Carew being in the town of South Molton, in Devonshire, and
having been ill-used by an officer there, called the bellman, resolved
on the following stratagem, by way of revenge. It was at that time
reported that a gentleman of the town, lately buried, walked nightly
in the church-yard; and as the bellman was obliged by his nightly
duty to go through it just at the very hour of one, Mr. Carew
repaired thither a little before the time, and stripping in his shirt, lay
down upon the gentleman’s grave. Soon after, hearing the bellman
approach, he raised himself up with a solemn slowness, which the
bellman beholding, by the glimmerings of the moon through a dark
cloud, was terribly frightened, so took to his heels and ran away. In
his fright he looked behind him, and seeing the ghost following him,
dropped his bell and ran the faster; which Carew seized on as a
trophy, and forbore any further pursuit. The bellman did not stop till
he reached home, where he obstinately affirmed he had seen the
gentleman’s ghost, who had taken away the bell, which greatly
alarmed the whole town.
Coming to the seat of ’Squire Rhodes, in Devonshire, and knowing
he had lately married a Dorsetshire lady, he thought proper to
become a Dorsetshire man of Lyme, the place of the lady’s nativity;
and meeting the ’squire and his bride, he gave them to understand
that he was lost in a vessel belonging to Lyme, Captain Courtney
commander. The ’squire and his lady gave him half-a-crown each, for
country sake, and entertained him at their house.
Our hero exercising his profession at Milbury, where the ’squire’s
father lived, and to whom the son was come on a visit, Mr. Carew
made application to him, and knocking at the door, on its being
opened, saw the young ’squire sitting alone, whom Mr. Rhodes
interrupted by saying he was twice in one day imposed on by that
rogue Carew, of whose gang you may likely be: besides, I do not live
here, but am a stranger. In the mean time comes the old ’squire,
with a bottle of wine in his hand, giving Carew a wink to let him
understand he knew him, and then very gravely enquired into the
circumstances of his misfortunes, and also of the affairs and
inhabitants of Dartmouth, from whence he pretended to have sailed
several times, of all which he gave a full and particular account:
whereupon the old ’squire gave him half-a-crown, and the young one
the same; on which Carew and the old man burst into laughter, and
discovered the whole affair, at which ’Squire Rhodes was a little
chagrined at being imposed on a third time; but on recollecting the
expertness of the performer, was well satisfied, and they spent the
remainder of the day in mirth and jollity.
At Bristol he dressed himself like a poor mechanic, and then going
out into the streets, acted the religious madman, talking in a raving
manner about Messrs. Whitfield and Wesley, as though he was
disordered in his mind by their preaching; calling in a furious
manner, every step, upon the Virgin Mary, Pontius Pilate, and Mary
Magdalene, and acting every part of a man religiously mad.
Sometimes walking with his eyes fixed upon the ground, and then
on a sudden he would break out in some passionate expressions
about religion. This behaviour greatly excited the curiosity and
compassion of the people; some of them talked to him, but he
answered every thing they said in a wild and incoherent manner;
and as compassion is generally the forerunner of charity, he was
relieved by most of them.
Next morning he appeared in a morning gown, still acting the
madman, and addressed himself to all the posts of the street, as if
they were saints, lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, in a
fervent but distracted manner, and making use of so many
extravagant gestures, that he astonished the whole city. Going
through Castle Street, he met the Rev. Mr. B——e, whom he
accosted with his arms thrown round him, and insisted, in a raving
manner, he should tell him who was the father of the morning star;
which frightened the parson so much, that he took to his heels and
ran for it, Carew running after him, till the parson was obliged to
take shelter in a house.
Having well recruited his pocket by this stratagem, he left Bristol
next day, and travelled towards Bath, acting the madman all the way
till he came to Bath: as soon as he came there, he enquired for Dr.
Coney’s, and being directed to his house, found two brother
mendicants at the door. After they had waited some time, the
servant brought out each of them a halfpenny, for which his brother
mendicants were very thankful. But Carew gave his halfpenny to one
of them; then knocking at the door, and the maid coming out again,
“Tell your master” says he, “I am not a halfpenny man, but that my
name is Bamfylde Moore Carew, king of the mendicants;” which
being told, the doctor came out with one of his daughters, and gave
him sixpence and a mug of drink, for which he returned them
thanks.
Mr. Carew happening to be in the city of Wells on a Sunday, was
told the bishop was to preach that morning: on which he slipped on
a black waistcoat and morning gown, and ran out to meet the
bishop as he was walking in procession, and addressed himself to
him as a poor unhappy man, whose misfortunes had turned his
brains; which the bishop hearing gave him half-a-crown.
It was in Newcastle-upon-Tyne that he became enamoured with
the daughter of Mr. G——y, an eminent apothecary and surgeon
there. This young lady had charms sufficient to captivate the heart
of any man susceptible of love; and they made so deep an
impression upon him, that they wholly effaced every object which
before had created any desire in him, and never permitted any other
to raise them afterwards; for, wonderful to tell! we have, after about
thirty years’ enjoyment, seen him lament her occasional absence
almost with tears, and talk of her with all the fondness of one who
has been in love with her but three days. Our hero tried all love’s
persuasions with his fair one in an honourable way; and as his
person was very engaging, and his appearance genteel, he did not
find her greatly averse to his proposals. As he was aware that his
being of the community of gypsies might prejudice her against him,
without examination he passed with her for the mate of a collier’s
vessel, in which he was supported by Captain L——n, in whose
vessel they set sail; and the very winds being willing to favour these
happy lovers, they had an exceedingly quick passage to Dartmouth,
where they landed. In a few days they set out for Bath, where they
lawfully solemnized their nuptials with great gaiety and splendour;
and nobody at that time could conjecture who they were, which was
the cause of much speculation and false surmises.