As we eat our way back in history, no community is as famous as ancient Rome for setting a sybaritic table. Of all the civilizations credited with nonstop, culinary overkill, Rome should be awarded the “Order of the Gluttonous Maximus.” As it grew ever richer in gold and slaves, the upper crust of Roman society began to entertain in the most lavish of ways in order to keep up with the Joneicuses next door. Any excuse was an acceptable reason to invite a few hundred people over for dinner. Popular occasions were sacrifices to the gods to ensure one’s good fortune or success in love.

The most outrageous of the revelers were the emperors themselves, who celebrated their numerous victories by setting the most extraordinary tables in all of Rome. Julius Caesar was known to have thrown a royal feed for over 260,000 hungry Romans, who were served by 20,000 even hungrier slaves. The servers struggled valiantly to keep upright under heroic platters of eggs, artichokes, leeks, fish, roasts, fresh truffles, olives, oysters, shrimp, snails, pâtés–and those were only a few of the main courses.

As for hors d’oeuvres–along with braised camel’s heels, hummingbird tongues and elephant ears, was a delicacy that today would be considered a choice nibble for Garfield: the tiniest of dormice bathed in fragrant oils and herbs.

Un Somptueux Banquet au Palazzo Quirinale pour l’ambassadeur d’Angleterre en 1687

FROM A WORK BY JOHN-MICHAEL WRIGHT, NEW YORK ACADEMY OF MEDICINE LIBRARY

If that were not enough to make any self-respecting gladiator’s mouth water, the grand finale of this endless parade of questionable concoctions was often a large roasted peacock, stuffed with quail, pigeon and a bushel or two of sea snails. Before the bird was presented to its eager audience, its plumage was carefully sewn back in place and its comb was gilded for a more dramatic entrance. No matter how caring the host, there seemed to be no effort to make a hypo-allergenic peacock for those who suffered from sensitivity to feathers.

Fortunately, there were enough leftovers to make two or three hundred peacock sandwiches. Those were put aside for the next night’s entertainment of the host’s “B” list guests, who were more than grateful for the scraps of the rich and famous.

CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN

Meanwhile, yet another legion of slaves, who had been confiscated from their native lands as the spoils of war, were cooking up a storm behind the scenes. They were the army of chefs who catered for Caesar’s nearest and dearest. The head chef of a really successful banquet was almost certain to become an overnight star and be rewarded with riches and, finally, the freedom to open his own restaurant. Sound familiar?

Yet in those days, good chefs were a sesterce a dozen and a really noble Roman couldn’t be expected to live by hummingbird tongues alone. The tableware fashions of the day were designed to echo the extravagance of the food. Nero was fond of having the movable ceiling above his table tipped to release millions of flower petals that would float down and cover not only the food but the guests, as well. The tables were made of ivory, gold or silver and encrusted with precious stones. They were laid with finely woven linen tablecloths and napkins, gem-studded blown-glass goblets and solid gold spoons. Since forks and table knives were things of the future, the Romans depended upon their hands for something as important as dining.

With the fall of the Roman Empire, the finer things in life, such as elegant table accouterments, disappeared. The barbarian hordes, who swept over Europe, had little use for monogrammed napkins.

Nevertheless, while the good times rolled, Roman hospitality included not only the pleasure of setting a luxurious table but also the pride the guests took in eating beyond the point of no return. But, in fact, there was a return of a somewhat explosive nature in a room specially set aside for ridding oneself of one’s previous menu choices. These beautifully tiled but understandably sparsely furnished rooms were known as vomitoria. Every fine house had one and they were considered to be as important a sign of affluence as today’s chic little powder room. The only way to insure that the Roman guest could survive until the end of the feast, with its mind-boggling number of courses, was to make room for more food in the fastest and most efficient way.

A really well-trained servant was all too familiar with the fine art of throat-tickling. Nero was known to have successfully participated in a thirty-six-hour banquet by bringing most of it up almost as fast as he scarfed it down. He was able to keep up the pace with the help of his personal physician, who periodically introduced the imperial feather down the imperial gullet.

Seneca, who was respected not only as a Roman senator but also as one of the Eternal City’s leading party animals noted: “vomunt et edunt, edunt et vomunt” or “vomit and eat, eat and vomit.” Perhaps not the kind of advice Emily Post might offer to those who are contemplating how best to impress their in-laws, but when in Rome...

The noblest citizens in town, after an exhausting day of chariot racing, slave trading and gladiator baiting, expanded their voluptuous dining habits into longer and longer evenings of non-stop gorging. The nobility played “Can You Top This?” with the most exotic foods in the empire. Cleopatra, in that faraway backwater known as Egypt, found that a crushed pearl dissolved in her wine made a nifty aperitif.

The banquet menu here, chronicled in the Satyricon of Petronius, would perhaps not be an instant “yum” for the cocktail crowd of today, but for Roman bon vivants, an invitation to it was one of the hottest tickets in town.

Hors d’oewres

Black and white olives
Dormice, sprinkled with poppy seeds and honey
Sausages with plums and pomegranate seeds
Pastry eggs stuffed with garden warblers
Beans, beefsteak, testicles and kidneys, sow’s udder, lobster, bulls’ eyes, one horned fish, one goose, two mullets (set on huge trays arranged in the shapes of the signs of the Zodiac)

Main Courses

Wild boar stuffed with wild thrushes served with cakes
made in the shape of piglets
Syrian dates and grapes
Pigs stuffed with sausages and blood pudding made
from boiled calf
Apples stuffed with powdered saffron

Afters

Pastry thrushes stuffed with raisins and nuts
Quinces studded with thorns to resemble sea urchins
Pork molded in the form of a goose,
surrounded by fish and game
Various shellfish including snails

ANOTHER OPENING, ANOTHER SHOW

At the end of Banquet Number I, the guests would bathe and change clothing before attempting Banquet Number II, which was usually laid in a different dining room. This was probably done to avoid having annoying crumbs and half-chewed carcasses interfere with the rhythm of the second feast. The host had the daunting responsibility of keeping his guests not only stuffed to their formidable capacities but also-amused. Enter the parasite. The appearance of the parasite at banquets was one of the more important Roman social institutions. The custom of having a parasite, who made the guests laugh, and praised the host in exchange for an invitation to the feast, was handed down from the Greeks. Today, he might be called a stand-up comedian.

Let the Roman orgy begin: a toga party as imagined in Quo Vadis, 1951, MGM.

FILM STILLS ARCHIVE, MUSEUM OF MODERN ART, NEW YORK

Aside from the talents of the parasite, and a procession of sugar-coated sweetmeats and honey-dipped pastries, there was also X-rated entertainment for dessert. As the art of the banquet evolved, Roman society decided that after-dinner mints were to be replaced by after-dinner orgies–the historic beginnings of the world’s very first Toga Parties.

HIDING THE MATZOH

While the Romans were fanatically feasting, far from Party Central, Judea’s Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, was heeding the rumors of a more intimate supper that was about to take place right under his patrician nose. Even though it was held in secret and attended by only a handful of people–in fact it was dinner for just twelve–it turned out to be the most significant feast the world would ever know. Jesus and His apostles, although often represented as sitting around the table for the Passover meal, likely reclined on couches in the accepted Roman style. The simple tablecloth that was covered with unleavened bread that night is represented today by the cloth that drapes the altar in Christian churches.

MONK-Y BUSINESS

When the glory that was Rome disappeared from the landscape so did the glory of the formal banquet. It wasn’t until the Dark Ages began to brighten up a bit that gastronomic fun and games became a major part of life once again. The nonstop revelry of the late Middle Ages, often under the auspices of the Church, included celebratory feasts that lasted for weeks. Chewing the fat was the entertainment of choice not only for the top clergy, but also for royals and rich landowners who sometimes entertained hundreds at a time at tables that should have buckled under the weight of the food.

A dozen kinds of meat and just as many fish courses, as well as scores of side dishes and an endless parade of exotic delicacies, were brought with great ceremony from a kitchen the size of a football field. During the course of the feast, spectacular sugar sculptures would be carried out from the kitchen and marched around the table. The prospect of an irresistible dessert was part of the inspiration that made it possible to eat the reeking meat and game that had been hanging around the larder long enough to apply for Social Security.

“Strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody.”
–SAMUEL PEPYS

“I have never been anything so refined as a gourmet.
I am happy to say that I’m still capable of being a glutton.”
–G. K. CHESTERTON

THE PARTY’S NEVER OVER

No matter how inedible the food might have been at these giant snack-ins, eating was one of the few forms of diversion for most of medieval society. If a squire acquired enough money for a life of privilege, the sad truth was that there was almost nothing to spend it on except feeding himself and a few hundred close, personal friends. The only occupation that rivaled that of the kitchen worker was that of the tailor, who spent most of his time letting out his customers’ robes.

Things went from bad to wurst and so, in the 14th century, Edward II approved laws to keep his subjects from eating themselves out of castle and home. The Sumptuary Laws made it an offense of the most serious nature to exceed one’s income to entertain lavishly. It’s likely that Edward’s laws were digested with the same relish that his subjects showed for a really terrific rabbit pudding, and then promptly ignored.

Edward III had the same dubious success in enforcing the laws as his predecessor, and finally, when Richard II took over at the head of the royal table, entertaining hit a new high. On one evening he invited more than 10,000 guests, as 2,000 cooks spoiled the broth, aided by 300 servers. The specialties du jour included fourteen whole oxen, 120 head of sheep, twelve boars, fourteen calves, 140 pigs, three tons of salted venison, 50 swans, 210 geese, 100 dozen pigeons, 60 dozen hens, 100 gallons of milk and 11,000 eggs.

And that was only for the afternoon sitting. Clearly, things had gotten out of hand.

RED SNAILS IN THE SUNSET

After the Age of Exploration dawned, there were whole new continents for Europeans to explore and conquer. Eventually, the busy populace found it necessary to excuse itself from the table.

One of the last spectacular examples of a dinner fit for a king was the intimate little party thrown by Louis XVIII in 1816 for 10,000 members of the military. It was held under tents that extended from the Place de la Concorde all the way to the Étoile. Antonin Carême was one of a hundred chefs who served up a carnivore’s delight lacking only four and twenty black-birds baked in a pie. Carême, a chef of few words, was heard to gasp, “Never was work more agonizing for the cooks.”

HAIL TO THE CHEF

As appetites were being trimmed in Europe, Americans began to discover the joys of cooking in a democratic society. In 1800, that dedicated Francophile, Thomas Jefferson was elected President. Jefferson brought his devotion to French cuisine into the White House, then called “The President’s House.” The time Jefferson had spent in Paris polished his love of fine food and wine, which he loved to share with guests whenever possible. He brought his accomplished French chef and French steward to oversee his cosmopolitan dinner parties in Washington. However, since Jefferson regarded formality and rigid protocol as hindrances to hospitable entertaining, he used a round table for dinner parties so that his guests would feel equally important in his company. Aside from being a great president, Jefferson was a truly gracious host.

Les Noces Alsaciennes by Paul Kaufmann

FROM LES FASTES DE BACCHUS ET COMUS BY G.OBERLE, NEW YORK ACADEMY OF MEDICINE LIBRARY

In the 1880s, another true gourmet influenced U.S. politics. Sam Ward was an important mover and shaker in Washington who both advised President Rutherford Hayes on political matters and stirred up the White House kitchen with his menus for formal dinners. Since the young country’s culinary inferiority complex was a consideration, Ward’s typical carte du jour had more French in it than Maurice Chevalier. The nineteen resplendent courses served at one state dinner proved how far the New World had come from that first turkey and succotash social that a group of overdressed Pilgrims shared with the Wampanoag, their brand-new friends, who had a much more relaxed dress code.

ILL HAVE THE FOIE GRAS, PLEASE

Time marches on and in 1975, one of America’s most respected food writers, Craig Claiborne, restaurant critic for The New York Times, was offered the opportunity to orchestrate a dinner for two, and to create the menu of his dreams, at a restaurant anywhere in the world. Claiborne immediately ruled out his local Pizza Hut and opted, instead, for the hautest of haute cuisine at Chez Denis in Paris. He took with him as his “second fork” Pierre Franey, himself a world-famous chef. Aside from its superb cuisine, Chez Denis was known for having tossed out the Michelin inspectors, after being informed that they would award it three stars if the owner would just clean the place up. Never let it be said that Claiborne permitted a well-vacuumed rug to be the determinant of his choice of tummy temples.

Clearly he made the right decision, since the extraordinary banquet that was put before him was in his estimation worth every penny of the four-thousand dollar bill, tip included. That sum might not turn a head in today’s inner-sanctums of gastronomy but in 1975 it was billed as the world’s most expensive meal. The menu was given in The New York Times.

“I hate people who are not serious about their meals.”
–OSCAR WILDE

WALLACE COLLECTION, LONDON

The Christening Feast, 1664, by Jan Steen

Hors Service

Beluga Caviar

Premier Service

Consommé Denis
Cream of Sorrel Soup
Tomato Soup with pimento and herbs
Individual tarts with ham, mushrooms and truffles
Parfait of Sweetbreads
Tarts of Quail Mousse
Belon Oysters served in a beurre blanc
Lobster au Gratin
Rougets (red mullet), done in a pie with tomato and olives
Bresse chickens in cream with wild mushrooms
Roast Partridge with cabbage
Filet of Beef in a truffle sauce

Second Service

Ortolans (tiny birds eaten in one bite) en brochette
Filets of wild ducks
Loin of veal in puff pastry
Pommes Anna
Puree of fresh artichokes
Baked sliced potatoes with black truffle
Foie Gras in aspic
Breast of woodcock in aspic
Cold sliced pheasant in aspic

Third Service

Floating Island
Poires Alma

MME. LEMOZY’S ROASTED STUFFED LAMB

1 shoulder of lamb, * boned, 4 to 6 pounds

1 pound ground pork

1 egg

2 or 3 cloves garlic, finely minced

¼ cup minced fresh parsley

1 teaspoon fresh marjoram, minced

1 teaspoon fresh thyme, minced

2 teaspoons salt, or to taste

1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

½ cup unseasoned bread crumbs

Fines herbes: equal parts minced chervil, parsley, chives and tarragon, to make ½ cup 8 tomatoes, halved

*If you can’t find a butcher who will bone a shoulder of lamb (comparable to a chuck roast of beef), a leg of lamb may be substituted, but it may not be quite as succulent.

Mix together well: pork, egg, garlic, parsley, marjoram, thyme, salt, pepper and bread crumbs. Make a small patty of the pork mixture and fry it to taste for seasoning. Adjust seasoning. Spread evenly over the lamb. Roll up the meat and tie with string.

Place in a deep, oval, buttered casserole dish or roasting pan and roast in a 425-degree oven for 1 to 1 ½ hours, or until the internal temperature of the roast reaches 150 to 155 degrees. Sprinkle water on the meat from time to time.

After about 30 minutes of cooking, sprinkle with salt and pepper and fines herbes. During the last half-hour of cooking, arrange tomatoes around the meat and sprinkle with salt and pepper. When meat is cooked, remove string, carve, and serve hot, surrounded by tomatoes. Sprinkle with more fines herbes. Makes 8 servings.

ROYAL FILET OF BEEF

Prepare and prick a large filet of Normandy beef, place it on a large oval dish and pour over it a glass of Aix olive oil, a large onion chopped, branches of parsley, a bay leaf cut in four and a large, grated peppercorn. After three or four hours, pour off the marinade, pierce it lengthwise with a skewer attached to the spit, cover it with oiled paper and place it in front of the fire and moisten it with oil. Three quarters of an hour later, remove the paper, so as to dry the fat and color it blond. Five minutes before serving glaze it.

–Antonin Carême’s recipe for Filet de Boeuf Pique à la Broche.

We’ve made only slight changes to this dish created for royal consumption at the Brighton Pavilion. Nowadays, we refrigerate marinating meat and we assume that it will he cooked in a home oven.

1 (3-pound) filet of beef, trimmed and tied

¾ cup olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 bay leaf, torn into fourths

Freshly ground pepper

In a medium bowl, mix oil, onion, parsley, bay leaf and a generous grinding of pepper. Place beef filet in a large, oval dish and pour marinade over it. Turn to coat on all sides. Cover and refrigerate for at least 3 or 4 hours. Turn once while marinating. After filet has marinated, place it on a rack in a roasting pan. Spoon some of the parsley and onions from marinade on top of filet, draining off as much oil as possible. Roast in preheated 475-degree oven for about 45 minutes. For medium rare, remove filet from oven when an instant-read thermometer registers 120 degrees. Allow meat to sit for 10 to 15 minutes. The temperature will continue to rise 5 to 10 degrees, bringing it to medium rare. Makes 6 servings.

Carême served it with creamy mashed potatoes. It’s also fit for a prince when accompanied by roasted red potatoes.

DUCK BREASTS IN WINE

This recipe uses almost 2 bottles of red wine, but the intense flavor is worth it. Drink the rest.

FOR DUCK:

5 cups red wine, such as Merlot

2 whole duck breasts (about 2 pounds)

Salt and pepper

FOR MIREPOIX:

2 tablespoons rendered duck fat or butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

¾ cup minced celery

¾ cup minced carrot

1 medium onion, minced

1 bay leaf

½ teaspoon dried thyme

TO MAKE WINE GLAZE: In a saucepan, boil 4 cups red wine and reduce it to about ½ cup.

TO PREPARE DUCK: Trim tendons from duck breasts. Cut each breast in half, so that you have 4 pieces. Lay breasts on a cake rack, skin-side down. Set the rack over a baking pan and use pastry brush to paint some of the glaze on top of the breasts. (The pan is to catch and save any glaze that drips off.) Set aside for ½ hour at room temperature.

Pat pieces of breast dry and place them, skin-side down, in a heavy skillet, preferably cast iron. Sear over moderately high heat for 3 or 4 minutes, then turn and cook other side until lightly browned. Remove from pan and set aside.

When cool enough to handle, remove remaining skin and fat, which will pull away easily from the meat. Season both sides of the breasts with salt and pepper. Pour off rendered fat from skillet; it is highly prized and may be reserved for frying potatoes and other cooking uses.

TO PREPARE MIREPOIX: Heat duck fat or butter and olive oil in a skillet. Add minced celery and carrot, onion, bay leaf and thyme. Sauté over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are soft, about 10 or 12 minutes. Set aside.

Deglaze pan using remaining glaze and remaining 1 cup of red wine. Add mirepoix. Cook briefly, then force sauce through a sieve or food mill. Return duck breasts to pan and heat gently until heated through and cooked to taste. (For rare duck breasts, the cooking should be brief, as they are already pretty much cooked by the first searing.)

Slice each piece of breast thinly on a diagonal, arrange in fan shape on plate and spoon sauce over each serving. If there is any additional sauce, pass it on the side. Makes 4 servings.

Detail from Très Riches Hueres du Duc du Berri

MUSÊE CONDÊ, CHANTILLY

PARADISE POACHED PEARS

This elegant dessert of pears poached in port and topped with whipped cream was inspired by the dessert enjoyed by Craig Claiborne and Pierre Franey at their $4,000 dinner in Paris in 1975.

8 almond cookies, broken into pieces	1 ¼ cups sugar
8 ripe pears, still firm	1 small piece cinnamon stick
Juice of ½ lemon	½ orange rind, plus grated zest for garnish.
4 cups water	1 strip of lemon peel
1 cup port wine	Cream for whipping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place cookie pieces into a food processor and process to crumbs. Place crumbs on a baking sheet and bake for a few minutes until they are light brown and toasted. Watch carefully, so they do not burn. Cool and set aside.

Peel the pears, halve and place them into a bowl of cold water with the lemon juice. This will keep them from getting brown.

Combine the 4 cups of water with the rest of the ingredients, except cream, and bring the mixture to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar completely.

Add the pears and simmer until the fruit is tender. Do not overcook. Let the pears cool in the liquid for about 15 minutes. Gently remove pears and place into a container and chill. Remove cinnamon stick, lemon peel and orange rind from liquid and return the liquid to heat. Bring it to a boil, reduce until syrupy. Cool.

Whip cream until soft peaks form.

Serve 2 pear halves on each dessert dish with syrup spooned over them. Add a dollop of whipped cream. Sprinkle toasted almond-cookie crumbs and orange zest over the top. Makes 8 servings.