Mar 102019

Today is the birthday (1628) of Marcello Malpighi, an Italian biologist and physician, who is sometimes referred to as the “father of microscopical anatomy, histology, physiology and embryology”. Malpighi was born in Crevalcore near Bologna, son of well-to-do parents. He studied a variety of subjects including Aristotelian philosophy, physics, and medicine at the University of Bologna, and took positions in both Bologna and Pisa teaching philosophy and physics before settling to the study of anatomy in 1660.

Although he conducted some of his studies using vivisection and others through the dissection of corpses, his most productive efforts appear to have been based on the use of the microscope. Because of this work, many microscopic anatomical structures are named after Malpighi, including a skin layer (Malpighi layer) and two different Malpighian corpuscles in the kidneys and the spleen, as well as the Malpighian tubules in the excretory system of insects. Although a Dutch spectacle maker created the compound lens and inserted it in a microscope around the turn of the 17th century, and Galileo had applied the principle of the compound lens to the making of his microscope patented in 1609, its possibilities as a microscope had remained unexploited for half a century, until Robert Hooke improved the instrument ( ). Following this, Malpighi, Hooke, and two other early investigators associated with the Royal Society, Nehemiah Grew and Antoine van Leeuwenhoek were fortunate to have a virtually untried tool in their hands as they began their investigations.

Working on frogs and extrapolating to humans, Malpighi demonstrated the structure of the lungs, previously thought to be a homogeneous mass of flesh, and he offered an explanation for how air and blood mixed in the lungs. Malpighi also used the microscope for his studies of the skin, kidneys, and liver. For example, after he dissected a black male, Malpighi made some groundbreaking headway into the discovery of the origin of black skin. He found that the black pigment was associated with a layer of mucus just beneath the skin. Malpighi seems to have been the first author to have made detailed drawings of individual organs of flowers. In his Anatome plantarum is a longitudinal section of a flower of Nigella (his Melanthi, literally, honey-flower) with details of the nectariferous organs. He adds that it is strange that nature has produced on the leaves of the flower shell-like organs in which honey is produced.

Malpighi had success in tracing the ontogeny of plant organs, and the serial development of the shoot. He specialized in seedling development, and in 1679, he published a volume containing a series of exquisitely drawn and engraved images of the stages of development of Leguminosae (beans) and Cucurbitaceae (squash, melons). Later, he published material depicting the development of the date palm. Linnaeus named the genus Malpighia in honor of Malpighi’s work with plants; Malpighia is the type genus for the Malpighiaceae, a family of tropical and subtropical flowering plants.

Because Malpighi was concerned with teratology (the scientific study of the visible conditions caused by the interruption or alteration of normal development) he expressed grave misgivings about the view of his contemporaries that the galls of trees and herbs gave birth to insects. He conjectured (correctly) that the creatures in question arose from eggs previously laid in the plant tissue. Malpighi’s investigations of the lifecycle of plants and animals led him into the topic of reproduction. He created detailed drawings of his studies of chick embryo development, seed development in plants (such as the lemon tree), and the transformation of caterpillars into insects. His discoveries helped to illuminate philosophical arguments surrounding the topics of emboîtment, pre-existence, preformation, epigenesis, and metamorphosis.

In 1691 pope Innocent XII invited him to Rome as papal physician. He taught medicine in the Papal Medical School and wrote a long treatise about his studies which he donated to the Royal Society of London.

Marcello Malpighi died of “apoplexy” (probably stroke) in Rome on 29th September 1694, at the age of 66. In accordance with his wishes, an autopsy was performed. He is buried in the church of the Santi Gregorio e Siro, in Bologna, where nowadays can be seen a marble monument to the scientist with an inscription in Latin remembering – among other things – his “SUMMUM INGENIUM / INTEGERRIMAM VITAM / FORTEM STRENUAMQUE MENTEM / AUDACEM SALUTARIS ARTIS AMOREM” (great genius, honest life, strong and tough mind, daring love for the medical art).

Given Malpighi’s studies of Leguminosae and Cucurbitaceae here is a recipe for an Italian bean and squash soup.

Tuscan Bean and Squash Soup


1 lb dried borlotti beans
3 quarts beef stock
½ cup chopped canned tomatoes
2 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced
¼ cup chopped celery leaves
dried oregano
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, peeled and chopped
2 lb butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
crushed red pepper


Soak the beans overnight.

Drain and rinse the beans, then transfer them to a stock pot. Cover with stock and bring to a simmer over moderate heat. Cook the beans until almost tender, about 1 hour. Add the tomatoes, garlic, celery leaves, oregano to taste, and ¼ cup of the olive oil. Season to taste with salt. Continue cooking until the beans are very tender, about 1 to 1 ½ hours longer.

Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat the remaining ¼ cup of olive oil. Add the onion and cook over medium heat until softened but not browned. Add the squash and 1 cup of water, cover and simmer over low heat until the squash is barely tender, about 10 minutes.

When the beans are fully cooked, stir in the squash mixture. Season crushed red pepper to taste and simmer for 5 minutes. Serve with crusty bread.


Oct 242017

Today is the birthday (1632) of Antonie Philips van Leeuwenhoek, is commonly known as “the Father of Microbiology” because of his contributions toward the establishment of microbiology as a scientific discipline. He was not a trained scientist and so for some time labored under the label of “gifted amateur” and was treated as something of an unsystematic adventurer until his full notes were reviewed and published, upon which it was abundantly clear that he rivaled or surpassed any other scientist in the field in his day.  In fact, the negative view of him may have been spread by the likes of Robert Hooke (discoverer of plant cells) — — who spent his own scientific career battling for recognition against the slanders of Isaac Newton. This was not only an age of scientific discovery, but also an age of deep jealousy and competition. Such jealousies and slanders were actually unnecessary in Leeuwenhoek’s case because he was not interested in building a scientific career; he just wanted the world to know what he had discovered.

Leeuwenhoek’s life fascinates me when I think of what he saw for the first time: a microscopic world teeming with hitherto unknown life, rivaling the great voyages of discovery of Dutch explorers of the time. I still get a huge kick out of using a microscope. It’s one thing to see images of insect wings or sand under a microscope on the internet or in books. It is quite another to peer into a microscope with your own eyes and witness them for yourself. Just this year I introduced primary school students in Myanmar to microscopy and I was delighted to see how enthralled they all were.  Imagine what it was like for Leeuwenhoek seeing single-celled organisms for the first time in a drop of pond water.

Leeuwenhoek was born in Delft in the Dutch Republic and lived there most of his life. His father, Philips Antonisz van Leeuwenhoek, was a basket maker who died when Antonie was only five years old. His mother, Margaretha (Bel van den Berch), came from a well-to-do brewer’s family. She remarried Jacob Jansz Molijn, a painter, but when Leeuwenhoek was around 10 years old his step-father died. He attended school in Warmond for a short time before being sent to live in Benthuizen with his uncle, an attorney. At the age of 16 he became a bookkeeper’s apprentice at a linen-draper’s shop in Amsterdam. He left there after six years.

Van Leeuwenhoek married Barbara de Mey in July 1654, with whom he fathered one surviving daughter, Maria (four other children died in infancy). That same year he returned to Delft, where he remained for the rest of his life. He opened a draper’s shop, which he ran throughout the 1650s. His wife died in 1666, and in 1671 he remarried. His status in Delft steadily grew. In 1660 he received a lucrative job as chamberlain for the assembly chamber of the Delft sheriffs in the city hall, a position he held for almost 40 years. In 1669 he was appointed as a land surveyor by the court of Holland; at some point he combined it with another municipal job, being the official “wine-gauger” of Delft and in charge of the city wine imports and taxation. Leeuwenhoek was a contemporary of another famous Delft citizen, Johannes Vermeer, who was baptized just four days earlier. They must have been more than simple acquaintances because Leeuwenhoek acted as the executor of Vermeer’s will after the painter died in 1675.

While running his draper shop, Leeuwenhoek wanted to see the quality of the thread better than possible using magnifying lenses then available. He began to develop an interest in lens making, although few records exist of his early activity. His interest in microscopes and a familiarity with glass processing led to one of the most significant, and simultaneously well-hidden, technical insights in the history of science. Leeuwenhoek did not invent the microscope (who did is still unknown), but through his own experimentation he invented a microscope with magnifications far superior to anything else available at the time, making it possible for him to view and record microscopic organisms that were completely unknown.

By placing the middle of a small rod of soda lime glass in a hot flame, Leeuwenhoek could pull the hot section apart to create two long whiskers of glass. Then, by reinserting the end of one whisker into the flame, he could create a very small, high-quality glass sphere. These spheres became the lenses of his microscopes, with the smallest spheres providing the highest magnifications.

After developing his method for creating powerful lenses and applying them to the study of the microscopic world, Leeuwenhoek introduced his work to his friend, the prominent Dutch physician Reinier de Graaf. When the Royal Society in London published the groundbreaking work of an Italian lensmaker in their journal Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, de Graaf wrote to the editor of the journal, Henry Oldenburg, with a ringing endorsement of van Leeuwenhoek’s microscopes which, he claimed, “far surpass those which we have hitherto seen”. In response, in 1673 the society published a letter from Leeuwenhoek that included his microscopic observations on mold, bees, and lice.

Leeuwenhoek’s work fully captured the attention of the Royal Society, and he began corresponding regularly with the society regarding his observations. At first he had been reluctant to publicize his findings, regarding himself as a businessman with little scientific, artistic, or writing background, but de Graaf urged him to be more confident in his work. By the time van Leeuwenhoek died in 1723, he had written around 190 letters to the Royal Society, detailing his findings in a wide variety of fields, centered on his work in microscopy. He only wrote letters in his own colloquial Dutch; he never published a proper scientific paper in Latin. He strongly preferred to work alone, distrusting the sincerity of those who offered their assistance. The letters were translated into Latin or English by Henry Oldenburg, who had learned Dutch for this very purpose. Despite the initial success of van Leeuwenhoek’s relationship with the Royal Society, soon relations became severely strained. In 1676, his credibility was questioned when he sent the Royal Society a copy of his first observations of microscopic single-celled organisms. Previously, the existence of single-celled organisms was entirely unknown. Thus, even with his established reputation with the Royal Society as a reliable observer, his observations of microscopic life were initially met with some skepticism.

Eventually, in the face of Leeuwenhoek’s insistence, the Royal Society arranged for Alexander Petrie, minister to the English Reformed Church in Delft; Benedict Haan, at that time Lutheran minister at Delft; and Henrik Cordes, then Lutheran minister at the Hague, accompanied by Sir Robert Gordon and four others, to determine whether it was in fact Leeuwenhoek’s ability to observe and reason clearly, or perhaps, the Royal Society’s theories of life that might require reform. Finally, in 1677, Leeuwenhoek’s observations were fully acknowledged by the Royal Society. When Leeuwenhoek was nominated for membership of the Royal Society in February 1680 he was reportedly “taken aback” by the nomination, which he considered a high honor, although he did not attend the induction ceremony in London, nor did he ever attend a Royal Society meeting.

By the end of the 17th century, Leeuwenhoek had a virtual monopoly on microscopic study and discovery. He was visited over the years by many notable individuals including tsar Peter the Great, Leibniz, William III of Orange and his wife, Mary II of England, and the burgemeester Johan Huydecoper of Amsterdam, the latter being very interested in collecting and growing plants for the Hortus Botanicus Amsterdam. To the disappointment of his guests, Leeuwenhoek refused to reveal the cutting-edge microscopes he relied on for his discoveries, instead showing visitors a collection of average-quality lenses. Leeuwenhoek was an astute businessman and he believed that if his simple method for creating the critically important lens was revealed, the scientific community of his time would likely disregard or even forget his role in microscopy. He therefore allowed others to believe that he was laboriously spending most of his nights and free time grinding increasingly tiny lenses to use in microscopes, even though this belief conflicted both with his construction of hundreds of microscopes and his habit of building a new microscope whenever he chanced upon an interesting specimen that he wanted to preserve. He made 200 or more microscopes with different magnifications over the course of his life.

Leeuwenhoek’s single-lens microscopes were relatively small devices, the largest being about 5 cm long. They are used by placing the lens very close in front of the eye, while looking in the direction of the sun. The other side of the microscope had a pin, where the sample was attached in order to stay close to the lens. There were also three screws to move the pin and the sample along three axes: one axis to change the focus, and the two other axes to navigate through the sample.

Leeuwenhoek studied a broad range of microscopic phenomena, and shared the resulting observations freely with other scientists. He wrote over 560 letters to the Royal Society, for example. In modern terms some of his main discoveries were:

infusoria (protists in modern zoological classification), in 1674

bacteria, (especially large Selenomonads from the human mouth), in 1683

the vacuole of plant cells, in 1676

spermatozoa, in 1677

the banded pattern of muscular fibers, in 1682

Even during the last weeks of his life, van Leeuwenhoek continued to send letters full of observations to London. The last few contained a precise description of his own illness. He suffered from a rare disease, an uncontrolled movement of the abdomen, which now is named van Leeuwenhoek’s disease. He died at the age of 90, on 26 August 1723, and was buried four days later in the Oude Kerk in Delft.

Delft, despite its illustrious history as a city famed for tableware, does not have a particularly illustrious history as a center for cuisine. For all of Vermeer’s luscious still lifes with food, the dishes the ingredients were made into are fairly straightforward. Dutch food of the 17th century was a trifle ordinary. There is stamppot, however, which might appeal to you. In its own way it’s Dutch comfort food with a venerable history. At heart stamppot is potato and cabbage mashed, together with other vegetables, and perhaps some meat added as the cook prefers. Among food travelers the Dutch are well known for liking to mash their food.  But we have to make a distinction here that the Dutch themselves make. On the one hand, some traditional Dutch dishes are served mashed; on the other hand, some Dutch people like to mash up meals on their plates after the ingredients have been served whole. The Dutch  consider the two methods to be quite different, and I do too. In the first case the dish is mixed and mashed as the cook desires, in the second case it is diner’s choice. Stamppot is served mashed. But the mashing process does not produce a smooth purée. It is quite deliberately lumpy. It is customary to serve stamppot with some meat such as grilled or fried Rookworst, or some other spicy sausage. It can also be served on its own. As long as you have cabbage and potatoes the other vegetables are up to you. I’ve given a fair mix here. White cabbage is traditional but you can use any greens you want: kale, spinach, collards, etc.



2 lbs potatoes, peeled and diced
3 large carrots, peeled and diced
2 large parsnips, peeled and diced
1 large turnip, peeled and diced
1 large leek, washed well and chopped
1 onion, peeled and chopped
1 lb savoy cabbage (or greens of choice), coarsely shredded
½ cup butter
salt and pepper
½ cup chopped fresh parsley leaves


Place the chopped vegetables in a large stock pot, and add water to barely cover. Place the pot over high heat, cover, bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer until the vegetables are tender, around 20 minutes.

Drain the vegetables well and then mash them with a fork, not too smoothly. Leave some lumps. Season the mash with salt and pepper to taste, and then add the butter and stir it through well. Stir in the chopped parsley.

Serve the stamppot topped with grilled, sliced sausage if you want. You can also add an extra knob of butter.

Jul 182013


Today is the birthday of Robert Hooke, arguably the greatest experimental scientist of the 17th century.  Unfortunately no portrait survives, and the image here is merely an attempt by a modern artist to give us some idea, although I have no idea what information the facial features are based on. Hooke’s relative obscurity is due in large part because his contemporaries, notably Sir Isaac Newton, sought to downplay his role in key areas of scientific discovery. Hooke’s interests were vast. He made contributions in fields such as physics and astronomy, chemistry, biology, geology, architecture and naval technology. He collaborated or corresponded with scientists as diverse as Christian Huygens, Antony van Leeuwenhoek, Christopher Wren, Robert Boyle, and Isaac Newton. Among other accomplishments, he invented the universal joint, the iris diaphragm, and an early prototype of the respirator; invented the anchor escapement and the balance spring, which made more accurate clocks possible; served as Chief Surveyor and helped rebuild London after the Great Fire of 1666; worked out the correct theory of combustion; devised an equation describing elasticity that is still used today (“Hooke’s Law”); assisted Robert Boyle in studying the physics of gases; invented or improved meteorological instruments such as the barometer, anemometer, and hygrometer; pioneered microscopy and discovered the cell; and established an accurate understanding of the origins of fossils.

Relatively little is known about Robert Hooke’s life. He was born on July 18, 1635, at Freshwater, on the Isle of Wight, the son of a clergyman. He was educated at home by his father until he died when Hooke was 13.  His father left him an inheritance of 40 pounds, intended for Hooke to use to buy an apprenticeship as a watchmaker (because he had shown extraordinary skill at an early age with mechanical things).  Although he did travel to London to start an apprenticeship he wound up at Westminster School where he studied the classics and Euclid. Subsequently he entered Oxford as a choir scholar in 1653.

At Oxford he was employed as a “chemical assistant” to Dr Thomas Willis, for whom Hooke developed a great admiration. There he met the natural philosopher Robert Boyle, and gained employment as his assistant from about 1655 to 1662, constructing, operating, and demonstrating Boyle’s “machina Boyleana” or air pump. It is known that Hooke had a particularly keen eye, and was an adept mathematician, neither of which applied to Boyle. It has been suggested that Hooke probably made the observations and may well have developed the mathematics of Boyle’s law (concerning the pressure and volume of gases). Regardless, it is clear that Hooke was a valued assistant to Boyle, and the two retained a mutual high regard. Hooke himself characterized his Oxford days as the foundation of his lifelong passion for science, and the friends he made there were of paramount importance to him throughout his career, particularly Christopher Wren.

It is impossible to examine all of the areas of inquiry in which Hooke excelled and made major contributions.  The lead paragraph here will have to suffice. Instead I will focus on two subjects simply because they are of professional interest to me: microscopy and paleontology.

Hooke’s reputation in the history of biology largely rests on his book Micrographia, published in 1665. Hooke devised the compound microscope and illumination system and with it he observed organisms as diverse as insects, sponges, bryozoans, foraminifera, and bird feathers. Micrographia was an accurate and detailed record of his observations, illustrated with magnificent drawings, such as the flea (pictured), which Hooke described as “adorn’d with a curiously polish’d suite of sable Armour, neatly jointed. . .” It was a best-seller of its day.



Perhaps his most famous microscopical observation was his study of thin slices of cork, (pictured). In “Observation XVIII” of the Micrographia, he wrote:

I could exceedingly plainly perceive it to be all perforated and porous, much like a Honey-comb, but that the pores of it were not regular. . . . these pores, or cells, . . . were indeed the first microscopical pores I ever saw, and perhaps, that were ever seen, for I had not met with any Writer or Person, that had made any mention of them before this. . .

Hooke had discovered plant cells — more precisely, what Hooke saw were the cell walls in cork tissue. In fact, it was Hooke who coined the term “cells”: the boxlike cells of cork reminded him of the cells of a monastery.

Hooke was also a keen observer of fossils and geology. While some fossils closely resemble living animals or plants, others do not — because of their mode of preservation, because they are extinct, or because they represent living taxa which are undiscovered or poorly known. In the seventeenth century, a number of hypotheses had been proposed for the origin of fossils. One widely accepted theory, going back to Aristotle, stated that fossils were formed and grew within the Earth. A shaping force, or “extraordinary Plastick virtue,” could thus create stones that looked like living beings but were not.

Hooke examined fossils with a microscope — the first person to do so — and noted close similarities between the structures of petrified wood and fossil shells on the one hand, and living wood and living mollusc shells on the other. In Micrographia he compared a piece of petrified wood with a piece of rotten oak wood, and concluded that,

“this petrify’d Wood having lain in some place where it was well soak’d with petrifying water (that is, such water as is well impregnated with stony and earthy particles) did by degrees separate abundance of stony particles from the permeating water, which stony particles, being by means of the fluid vehicle convey’d, not onely into the Microscopical pores. . . but also into the pores or Interstitia. . . of that part of the Wood, which through the Microscope, appears most solid.”

He is spot on: dead wood can be turned to stone over time by the action of water rich in dissolved minerals, depositing those minerals throughout the wood. Hooke also concluded in Micrographia that the shell-like fossils that he examined really were,

“the Shells of certain Shel-fishes, which, either by some Deluge, Inundation, earthquake, or some such other means, came to be thrown to that place, and there to be fill’d with some kind of Mud or Clay, or petrifying Water, or some other substance. . . ”

Hooke had grasped the cardinal principle of paleontology — that fossils are not “sports of Nature,” but remains of once-living organisms that can be used to help us understand the history of life. Hooke realized, two and a half centuries before Darwin, that the fossil record documents changes among the organisms on the planet, and that species have both appeared and gone extinct throughout the history of life on Earth.

Hooke gained a reputation (undeserved) of being anti-social, mostly gained from the fact that he spent so much time defending his scientific prowess against contemporaries, and thereby appearing to be an irascible misanthrope.  He was anything but. There is ample documentation of him enjoying evenings in the tavern or dining with Boyle.  One great tavern food is the meat pie, still very much in evidence in pubs at lunch time when I was at Oxford. Here’s a pie recipe taken from The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digbie Kt. Opened, first printed in 1669. This is a 17th-century English cookbook and a resource of the types of food that were eaten by persons of means in the 17th century in England. It is supposedly based upon the writings of Sir Kenelm Digby, a privateer whose interests included cooking, medicine, swordplay, astrology, alchemy, literature, and natural philosophy.

First, here is the original:

My Lady Of Portland’s Minced Pyes

Take four pounds of Beef, Veal or Neats-Tongues, and eight pounds of Suet; and mince both the meat and Suet very small, befor you put them together. Then mingle them well together and mince it very small, and put to it six pounds of Currants washed and picked very clean. Then take the Peel of two Limons, and half a score of Pippins, and mince them very small. Then take above an Ounce of Nutmegs, and a quarter of an Ounce of Mace, some Cloves and Cinnamon, and put them together, and sweeten them with Rose-water and Sugar. And when you are ready to put them into your Paste, take Citron and Orangiadoe, and slice them very thin, and lay them upon the meat. If you please, put dates upon the top of them. And put amongst the meat an Ounce of Caraway seeds. Be sure you have very fine Paste.

My Lady of Portland told me since, that she finds Neats-tongues to be the best flesh for Pies. Parboil them first. For the proportion of the Ingredients she likes best to take equal parts of flesh, of suet, of currants and of Raisins of the Sun. The other things in proportion as is said above. You may either put the Raisins in whole, or stone the greatest part, and Mince them with the Meat. Keep some whole ones, to lay a bed of them at the top of the Pye, when all is in. You will do well to stick the Candid Orange-peel, and green Citron-peel into the meat. You may put a little Sack or Greek Muscadine into each Pye. A little Amber-sugar doth well here. A pound of flesh, and proportionably of all things else, is enough for once in a large family.

I have a hard job getting my mind around a recipe that begins with 12 lbs of meat and fat, but thankfully Sir Kenelme helps us out by saying that 1 lb of meat (plus 1 lb of fat) will serve an average family, so we can begin reconstruction on that basis.  You might also balk at a pie made with tongue.  If so I believe that veal breast would make an acceptable substitute. The reason I chose this recipe is that it is akin to meat pie recipes that were popular well into the late 19th century.  This kind of meat pie heavy with fruit and spices is, of course, the original version of the mincemeat pie. The “meat” in “mincemeat” really was meat until 100 years ago.  There is not as much sugar in this recipe as there would be in a sweeter dessert pie, though. The thing that makes this pie a little unusual is the top layer of candied citron, candied orange, and dates. It is always best if you can make the candied peel yourself, especially in this case where you need whole slices (if possible). I have not actually made this specific recipe but I have experimented a great deal with similar ones.  So here’s my interpretation.

My Lady Of Portland’s Minced Pyes


½ lb beef tongue of veal breast
½ lb ground suet
¼ lb currant
¼ lb golden raisins
1 cooking apple cored, and diced fine
1 lemon
½ tsp nutmeg
½ tsp powdered mace
½ tsp powdered cloves
½ tsp cinnamon
1 tsp caraway seeds
2 tbsps brown sugar
1 tbsp rosewater
zest of 1 lemon grated
candied citron and orange
dates, pitted and halved lengthwise
1 egg, beaten


Preheat oven to 425°F

In a large mixing bowl thoroughly mix the meat, suet, currants, raisins, apples, sugar, spices, lemon zest, rosewater, and a pinch of salt. Grease a 9” pie dish and line with pastry.

Place the meat filling into the dish. Top with a single layer of candied fruits. Then top with pitted dates .

Cover with the second circle of pastry and flute the edges. Cut slits in the top crust to allow steam to escape. Brush the pastry with egg.

Bake 40 to 50 minutes or until the crust is lightly browned.

Can be served hot or cold.

Serves 4-6

As a small after note in tribute to Hooke’s work with the microscope here’s an image of the sugar in this recipe under an electron microscope.