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}}</ref> And even these were most likely copied from even older tablets, now lost to time. Because the thing with recipës is that they’re much more likely to be copied than written from scratch. You can even see it in the Polish word for “recipë”, ''“przepis”'',{{czyt|przepis}} which literally means “something that is rewritten”. Oftentimes, the copyist would add something to the recipë, or perhaps makes some abridgements, redactions or modifications – thus allowing the recipë to evolve. In pre-Internet times, culinary recipës were probably some of the best examples of memes, or units of cultural evolution.<ref>Many people think of memes as nothing but silly pictures shared on the Internet, but they are, in fact, as old as human culture itself. The Internet is only a&nbsp;new medium for memes to spread in, faster than ever before. The notion of memes, as cultural equivalents of genes, was coined by the famous biologist Prof. Richard Dawkins in 1976 (when the Interent Internet was still in its infancy), who wanted to show that you can also study evolution outside of biology ({{Cyt

For this reason, when it comes to old cookbooks, it’s difficult to even speak of authorship in any meaningful way. Even if you can see somebody’s name on the title page, you can’t be really sure whether it’s the name of the original author or perhaps of a&nbsp;translator, editor, copyist or publisher. Or maybe of someone who was a&nbsp;little bit of all the above. For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to such a&nbsp;person as “the author”, but keep in mind the that they need not necessarily be the actual content creator as understood by modern copyright laws. Besides, even the idea of copyright didn’t exist before the 19th century. Before that, people would just go and rewrite or reprint books (culinary or any other) without asking anyone for permission. They would sometimes indicate the original author’s name in the copy, but sometimes not. The very idea of authenticity didn’t exist either, so a&nbsp;copy wasn’t seen as something inferior, but rather as a&nbsp;new, maybe even better version of the original thing. According to Galen of Pergamon (of whom [[Good Humour, Good Health#Whose Idea Is It?|I wrote before]]), the famous Library of Alexandria was able to grow so big thanks to a&nbsp;policy of sending royal customs officers to each ship which called at the local port, in order to gather any scroll of papyrus or parchment they could find and take it for scribes to make copies of. Then, they would give the shining new copies to the ship’s captain, while the library would contend itself with the timeworn originals.<ref>{{Cyt

All this is well and good, but what kind of discovery is it when all that we have from the oldest Polish cookbook are recipës for vinegar? Yes, vinegar was formerly an extremely important preservative and a&nbsp;popular condiment, produced in may many different ways, from wine or beer, and sometimes flavoured with various additives. You could, for example, make it like this:

Both recipës for squirrels – in their Czech-language version – were tried out by a&nbsp;group of Czechs: food writer Roman Vaněk{{czyt|Roman Vaněk}} and chef Pavel Mencl,{{czyt|Pavel Mencl}} with the help of historian Martin Franc,{{czyt|Martin Franc}} in an episode of the Czech-language TV show ''Zmlsané dějiny''{{czyt|Zmlsané dějiny}} (''Hungry for History''). Obtaining the principal raw material proved to be difficult as red squirrels, which are native to Europe, are protected by law. They ended up importing some grey squirrels from Britain, where they are trapped and killed as an invasive species. The culinary reënactors were quite satisfied with the end result, except that the colours weren’t as bright as they had expected: rather than yellow and black, the sauces came out in different shades of brown. But this only shows that colours were perceived differently by people back when no aritificial artificial food colouring was available.

I suppose that to any Polish person this dish would immediately bring back some childhood memories. Rice with cream, sugar and cinnamon was a&nbsp;typical children’s food when I was growing up. The only difference between modern and historical versions is that in our times, you would cook the rice in milk and only then mix it with cream, rather than cook the rice already in the cream. A&nbsp;more important distinction is in the way this dish was and is perceived. In our times, it would be seen as a&nbsp;rather simple dish, tinged perhaps with a&nbsp;bit of nostalgia for some people. But in the 16th century, it would have been the pinnacle of luxury. Rice, sugar and cinnamon were all considered exotic spices that were imported from overseas for a&nbsp;lot of money. Butter and cream were sourced locally, but they were the most expensive of all dairy products. What’s more, in a&nbsp;cuisine where colours played an especially important role, white was prized above all other colours – hence the warning not to burn the rice. All in all, it was definitely a&nbsp;rich man’s porridge.

For my reconstruction, I used 30%-fat cream, which I diluted a&nbsp;little with milk. I added cane sugar (beet sugar was unknown in the 16th century) already while cooking, to let it dissolve well in the cream. At the end, I only had to sprinkle the porridge with powdered cinnamon – and that’s it! I did like the flavour – it tasted just the way I expected rice with cream, sugar and cinnamon to taste.

If you can read Polish and would like to try out some other recipës form the oldest cookbook in that language, then I’ve got some good news: the entire manuscript, edited by Bulatova and Dumanowski, was [https://sklep.wilanow-palac.pl/zbior-dla-kuchmistrza-tak-potraw-jako-ciast-robienia-wypisany-roku-1757-dnia-24-lipca-p-641.html published in 2011 by Wilanów Palace Museum in Warsaw.] This way, almost half a&nbsp;millenium millennium after the first publication of ''Kuchmistrzostwo'', its recipës were published in print once again.