Usually, when we decide to share a recipe, we share one that’s on the more practical side: simple ways to use fresh produce from the garden, basic baking tips...things like that.

But today we want to share a recipe we’ve been planning to make for over a year, but kept putting off since it seemed sort of trifling. Silly, actually. Silly enough that it may very well be eponymously named: Syllabub.

Syllabub caught our eye last year when we were researching foods that the Beekmans may have eaten on holidays and special occasions. (During which search we found this gem of a book)  We found a terrific online resource for some of America’s oldest cookbooks from, funnily enough, Josh’s alma mater. There weren’t many cookbooks available in the earliest part of the nineteenth century. People cooked what they knew how to cook, and that was it. Without the kitchen conveniences that we’ve all grown used to, simply getting a hot meal (or three) on the table every day was challenge enough. 

But when the occasion called for it, cooks in the nineteenth century were known to occasionally showboat with the best of them - even earlier than the nineteenth century in fact.  While we found the basic recipe for our syllabub in an 1803 cookbook, the dish is referenced in literature going back to the Middle Ages.

So, what the heck is Syllabub?

Well, it’s in the family of desserts alongside Fools and Trifles. (Sounds like some of our own extended family as well.)  Broken down to its simplest parts, it’s a sweet, foamy, creamy mixture made with either hard cider, wine, or ale mixed with spices, sugar and milk.

Sounds boring, right?  Well, like most things in life...the fun part is in the journey. Especially when it involves booze and the occasionally grouchy goat.

(For more than you can ever believe someone researched about this frothy desert, download this thirteen page essay on Syllabub by Ivan Day - which is, believe it or not, pretty fascinating reading.)

We chose to make our Syllabub the old old fashioned way - straight from the cow. Except, given that we don’t have any dairy cows, ours comes straight from the goat.  That’s right...direct from the udder to the mixing bowl.

But before that magic moment, we have to go back to last year, when this picture was taken:

With the help of friends, we harvested over sixteen bushels of organic apples off of the trees at BEEKMAN 1802. Much of them went towards making cider. And some of that cider went towards making really good cider, ie: the hard stuff. (This book, by the lovely and talented Annie Proulx, is the bible on making homemade hard cider.)

For most of the winter, this sat on our counter top, slowly bubbling away:

Once the bubbling stopped, we bottled the fermented cider, which had been aging in the basement until this weekend.

Voila!

Of course, having waited for so many months, we can hardly be blamed for opening two bottles - one for ourselves, and one for the Syllabub.  I think it would be fair to say that that first bottle made the Syllabub-making even more entertaining.

From here, we start our slightly adapted old old fashioned Syllabub adventure... I mean, “recipe”:

SYLLABUB

1 bottle hard apple cider, ale, or 1/2 bottle of sweet white wine.

1 C sugar

Zest of 1 lemon

1/2 t cinnamon

1/2 t freshly grated nutmeg

1/2 t almond extract (substitute: vanilla, rose water, or orange water)

1/4 t cloves

1/4 t freshly grated star anise

2 egg whites

and

1 cow (substitute: goat, sheep, or camel)

Combine cider, sugar, zest, extract, and spices in a medium bowl.

Whisk until sugar is completely dissolved.

Sober up for an hour or so while the spices soak in the cider.  Once able to walk in a straight line to the barn, carry bowl and aim for the nearest willing goat. In this case, our hapless victim happened to be Tilly, (whose family portrait appears in this week’s To & From blog.)

Greet goat. Apologize for the indignity in advance. Explain to goat that you very rarely are in the practice of tippling in the middle of the afternoon.

Place bowl of cider/spice mixture directly under udder. Milk goat with quick, sure, streams to ensure adequate frothing of mixture. Stop when amount of milk roughly equals amount of cider.

Retreat slowly under glare of Tilly’s disapproving scowl.

Return to house, set bowl of milk/cider mixture on counter, cover loosely with cloth, and take a much needed two hour nap.

Upon arising, whisk egg whites in medium bowl until they form stiff peaks, or until the racket makes your head pound.

Remove cloth from cider/milk mixture.  A thick layer of frothy  curds will have formed on the top.

Scoop and fold them gently into the egg white mixture.

Once combined, add as much remaining cider mixture as necessary to achieve desired consistency.  (Syllabub may be either eaten with a spoon or drunk like a frothy punch.)

Chill in serving bowls or serve immediately. (Chill no more than 45 minutes. Mixture will continue to separate as it stands.)

Lastly, swear that you’ll never touch a drop of Syllabub again for as long as you live.