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Gilded Capon

In the grand courts of Renaissance Italy, food was more than sustenance. It was power, theater, and art all rolled into one. Among the most dazzling displays at banquets was the gilded roast—a pheasant, capon, or kid shimmering as though forged from gold. To modern eyes, this might seem excessive, but to the chefs and […]

CK

Crystal King

Crystal is a teacher and an author whose writing is fueled by a love of history and a passion for the food, language and culture of Italy.

In the grand courts of Renaissance Italy, food was more than sustenance. It was power, theater, and art all rolled into one. Among the most dazzling displays at banquets was the gilded roast—a pheasant, capon, or kid shimmering as though forged from gold. To modern eyes, this might seem excessive, but to the chefs and courtiers of the 16th century, it was a declaration of wealth and magnificence.

Bartolomeo Scappi, the famed papal chef and author of L’Opera (1570), documented hundreds of lavish dishes designed to astonish the palate and the eye. In his world, a gilded capon might be paraded into the banquet hall on silver platters, presented with ceremony and perhaps even accompanied by music. These were not everyday foods. They were culinary showpieces, reserved for popes, cardinals, and the elite of Italian society.

Gold-covered foods held deep symbolic value. Gold, the incorruptible metal, was associated with divinity and nobility. Serving it signified generosity, status, and divine favor. Hosts used gilded dishes to honor their most important guests, communicate power, and elevate their standing. In some cases, edible gold was believed to hold medicinal properties or invigorating qualities, though today we know gold is inert and tasteless. Scappi’s banquets reflected these beliefs. His menus, some containing over 100 dishes, often highlighted gilded items reserved for high-ranking guests. Accounts from the period describe spectacular scenes: soups with gilded sweetbreads, pies topped with gold leaf, and roasts that gleamed under candlelight. In one notable banquet, even the brooms used to clean the hall were gilded—an almost comic level of extravagance that drove some cities like Padua to enact laws limiting the number of gold-covered dishes at weddings.

The act of gilding meats could be achieved through two primary techniques: actual gold leaf, or a golden glaze made with saffron and egg yolk. The most luxurious approach was to apply ultra-thin sheets of edible gold directly onto the meat. Gold was hammered so thin that a single coin could yield hundreds of leaves. Cooks gently laid these over the surface of roasted meats, creating a visual illusion that the food itself was solid gold.

The more common method, however, was a technique that involved brushing the meat with a mixture of egg yolks and saffron. This not only imparted a warm golden hue but added a rich aroma and subtle flavor. Once painted, the meat would be returned briefly to the fire to set the glaze, creating a glossy, golden crust. The use of saffron, imported at great cost, reinforced the association with luxury.

Sometimes cooks combined the two methods. A roast might be brushed with saffron for overall color and then adorned with decorative patterns of gold or silver leaf. Dishes described in banquet records include gilded calves’ heads, meat pies with golden lids, and pheasants re-dressed in their own iridescent feathers, touched with gold for added brilliance.

The presentation was as important as the preparation. Banquet food was meant to awe. It was often tied to allegory or performance, arriving with symbolic flair. In Renaissance Italy, spectacle was part of the social contract of dining. The meal reflected the host’s cultural sophistication as much as their resources.

Although gilding may seem indulgent by today’s standards, its cultural context helps explain its appeal. The Renaissance valued magnificence—a virtue described by philosophers as the appropriate use of wealth for public display. A golden roast wasn’t just a feast for the stomach, it was nourishment for the eyes, the ego, and the soul.

Woodcut from the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili

A recipe for gilded capon appears in my novel, In The Garden of Monsters, during one of the sumptuous banquets enjoyed by the characters. The inspiration for this dish comes from a medieval novel, The Hypnerotomachia Poliphili by Francesco Colonna, although Scappi also regularly gilded meats in his banquets. My second novel, The Chef’s Secret, explores the life of Bartolomeo Scappi, so of course I turned to his cookbook when I was recreating this dish.

Gilded Capon: The Recipe

Gilded Capon is a simple and delicious glimpse into our Renaissance past. A capon is an old chicken, and will have a bit of a gamier flavor than a regular chicken. They are not always available (but you can ask your butcher) and chicken is a perfectly good substitute. This recipe for Gilded Capon would also work equally well with other types of fowl. You can adjust the recipe fairly easily depending on the size of the bird.

Preparation

  1. For the bird: Preheat oven to 190°C (375°F). Meanwhile, sprinkle salt into the cavity of the bird and stuff with shallot, lemon, and thyme, and tarragon. Truss (tie up) the bird with kitchen string.

2. Place the bird in a cast-iron skillet or low-sided roasting pan. Salt and pepper the top of the bird, then drizzle olive oil over the skin. Sprinkle with edible gold dust. Tent the bird with foil.

3. Roast for 90 minutes or until the thickest point of the thigh reads 74°C (165°F) on a meat thermometer. After the first hour, remove the foil for the last 30 minutes to brown the skin.

4. Remove the bird from the oven and pan but leave the drippings. Let the bird rest before carving, 10-15 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the sauce.

5. For the sauce: In a small bowl, combine the sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, and pine nuts. Set aside for the sugar to dissolve.

6. Add chicken stock and butter to the pan of drippings and place over medium-low heat. Simmer until reduced by half. Add sugar/lemon mixture, raise heat to medium, and cook for a few minutes until the sauce begins to thicken. Add the chopped tarragon. Cook for another minute, then remove the pan from the heat. Carve the chicken and serve with the sauce.