Classical gourmets

Marcus Gabius Apicius, a wealthy Roman nobleman, who lived about two thousand years ago, spent most of his time and fortune in the pursuits of the pleasures of the table. He was so obsessed with food, that when he heard that there were some very delectable crayfish to be found off the coast of some remote part of Africa, he immediately chartered a ship and embarked on an extremely dangerous and un-comfortable voyage, in quest of these choice creatures.
Once he had dropped anchor on the roads at his destination, he ordered a fisherman to bring him a batch of the supposedly superior crustaceans. He prepared the creatures according to his favourite recipe, tasted them and decided that they were not half as good as the ones he caught off the coast of Italy where he lived—and without even going ashore to see some of the sights, he ordered the captain to heave anchor and set sail for home.
People like Marcus Gabius are called gourmets or sometimes, gourmands – nobody seems to agree on this issue. Much has been said and written about the curious infatuation some people have about food—which often goes to the extreme and the absurd, turning it into a cult as in the case of the above misguided gentleman.
Some say that a gourmet or an epicure is somebody who loves to eat, is fastidious about what he is eating and who makes a lot of fuss about what kind of wine he drinks with it. On the other hand a gourmand is a glutton, a rather contemptible person, who does not really care what the fare taste like as long as there is plenty of it. Others, like that famous philosopher, Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin considered himself a gourmand; but he meant a gourmet while he was really a glutton, because who else in his right mind would sit down for breakfast at nine in the morning not leaving the table until early evening, halting the feast presumably only to get refreshed for a supper at midnight.
One of the first known gourmets, gourmands - or whatever we may call him, was a Greek by the name of Achestratus of Gela, who, in the fourth century B.C., travelled all over the known world in order to find out what people were having for dinner. He was the father of the Greek cookbook writers and said that one should only eat fresh tuna fish when the constellation of the Pleiad is setting and then only when the fish is caught off the coast of Byzantium .
Rome probably produced more gourmets and epicures than any other civilisation since. An exception probably being the Chinese. The extravagance and dedication of the Romans to the “gastronomic cause”, was astounding. After the earlier mentioned Marcus Gabius Apicius had spent almost all his fortune on banqueting and feasting, but for an estate worth the equivalent of about half a million in contemporary US Dollars, he became so distraught and worried that he could not continue his customary mode of living any longer, that he threw one last great banquet to end it all. He invited his usual gastronomic friends and when the party was almost over, he drank a large goblet of poison and died after the dessert. Sad, but one has to admit that old Marcus Gabius at least had style and purpose.
Marcus Anthonius, Cleopatra’s lover boy, once gave a away a villa to his cook after a particular good repast and, not to be outdone and obviously just to spite him, Cleo – as he called her intimately when they were on tender terms – threw a bash at which she drank pearls dissolved in vinegar and wine. Nothing was ever mentioned about the Royal digestion which must have been indestructible.
Another Roman gentle-men, by the name of Verus, gave grand dinner parties with the guests wallowing on a large carpet of fresh flowers. When the party was over and they said goodnight, the invited were presented with the precious silver ware, the crystal and even the handsome young slaves who had served the feast. This as an extra bonus. Of course this generous custom doesn’t say anything about the quality of the food and would certainly be frowned upon these days—but perhaps, instead of the young men, one could present the guests with little piglets or live geese which are both known to make a tremendous racket when transported—which would add greatly to the general merriment.
Like the well to do Europeans in the middle ages, the Romans went through a great deal of trouble to disguise their dishes, to make them look like something else. Full of surprises so to say.
If we may believe Petronius in his famous book “Satyricon” – assumed to be a parody on the excesses of the Emperor Nero and the decadence of the Roman elite in the declining years of the Empire – at “Trimalchio’s Feast”, a hare was served resembling Pegasus, complete with wings. A wild roasted sow was cut open to release an assortment of live birds. The guests were not supposed to eat the birds nor the sow but only a bunch of figs in a basket hanging from the sow’s tusks.
Although we have to consider the “Satyricon” for what it is, a satire, other reports confirm that those Roman orgies and feasts really seemed to have been quite ostentatious, wasteful and they cost fortunes. Delicacies were imported from all over the known world. Oysters had to come from Britain, pickles from Spain, lizards from North Africa and ostriches from beyond that. Other popular delicacies were camel’s heels, flamingo tongues, nightingales, pike liver, lamprey roe, peacock brains and dormice in honey.
Reading Roman recipes is a confusing business as no quantities for the ingredients are mentioned. One is suppose to know. Their attitude towards cooking was much different from ours and a character in a play says: ‘If you want an onion, just consider what a great expense it takes to make it tasty. You must have cheese and onions, sesame oil, leeks, vinegar, asafoetida [“devil’s dung”, a smelly resin from a fennel-like plant still used in some Indian and middle Eastern cooking] and liquamen [similar to Nam Plah or fish sauce].’
Just in case you feel like something different and Roman for a change, try the following recipe: