Gluttony in today’s society is much more than a sin, it’s a one-way ticket to Palookaville. Pity the poor transgressor who dares to ask for seconds at a smart little dinner party or chooses the giant size popcorn at the movies. He or she is most certainly banished to the purgatory of the uninformed, the unhealthy and, most damning of all, the un-chic. Flaunting one’s dedication to the bounty of the refrigerator by sporting a substantial layer of cellulite is a definite no-no with the movers and shakers who think that Vogue and GQ are not just hair-dryer entertainment, but mission statements on how to achieve a successful and happy life.

But that wasn’t always the way the fine art of culinary overindulgence was viewed. In bygone days, your social status and wealth were often ascertained by your overfed profile. Excess body baggage signaled to the world that the size of your bank account was even bigger than your waistline.

In Old Rome, that rotund party thrower, Apicius, devoted his vast fortune to keeping himself and his guests as well fed as possible. He was not only the host with the mostest but also the creator of the world’s first cookbook or, at least, the oldest culinary manual that survives. It includes not only recipes but also remedies for stomachaches and other ills that came from living high on the Roman hog. Apicius, alas, came to an ignoble end when he found that he had spent most of his fortune on setting the finest table in all Rome. When he could no longer impress his fellow gluttons by lavishing food and wine upon them, he threw in the toga and committed suicide. You could say that Apicius was the world’s first Roman ruin.

The peacock, which belongs to the pheasant family, was a star dinner dish for two millennia.

A BIRD FOR ALL SEASONS

The exalted head of the Roman Catholic Church is perhaps the last person you would expect to find wolfing down his daily bread but the Renaissance pope, Julius III, thought nothing of having several peacocks prepared for his midday meal. The story goes that since peacock was his favorite food and there was a whole one left after he had gobbled down the others at dinner, he asked that it be served cold after his evening prayers. To his horror, the peacock that arrived turned out to be freshly roasted and not the cold leftover of the pontiff’s dreams. Trying to soothe the pope’s very ruffled feathers, one of his cardinals said, “Let not your holiness, I pray you, be moved by a matter of such small weight.”

Faster than a speeding drumstick, the pope replied, “If God were so angry for an apple that He cast our parents out of paradise, why may not I, His vicar, be angry then for a peacock, since a peacock is a greater matter than an apple?”

FED UP WITH IT ALL

GALLERIA NAZIONALE, ROME

The more you weighed in Tudor times the larger your fortune was perceived to be. As one can see from his portrait, for Henry VIII size definitely mattered. Aside from money, substantial girth was equated with heroic valor and was a sure sign that a man was to be taken seriously by his enemies. His body was meant to be an extension of his weaponry; the very sight of it was meant to both impress and overwhelm his opponent. Henry set about making himself into the world’s most physically-formidable ruler. It was scarcely a problem for him since he worked up a considerable appetite beheading two of his seven wives. Overeating was one of his favorite pastimes aside from war and matrimony.

At a typical dinner, Henry could be counted on to polish off a whole joint of lamb, and reduce a small deer to a pile of polished bones. Then on to a pair of lobsters, several plovers, followed by calf’s head pie; the meal topped off with enough gingerbread and quince tartlettes to feed all of his ex in-laws. By 1547, at the age of 56, he had to be carried from room to room because of his immense size. At the time of his death, his distended stomach could no longer be confined by his clothing, and the circumference of his chest measured almost sixty inches. The irony is that Henry VIII’s very favorite food was the humble artichoke which has almost no calories.

ON ECLAIR DAY

In the 16th century, the French also exerted some very impressive culinary muscle. Henri IV, who typically picked his way through a dinner consisting of four plates of soup, a pheasant, a partridge, two slices of ham, a huge salad (for royal roughage, of course), a leg of mutton with garlic, pastry, fruit and several hard-boiled eggs, tried to enforce the sumptuary laws that Philippe IV had issued in the late 1200s, in the hope of protecting his subjects from a nationwide Edible Complex.

Unfortunately, King Henri missed the bateau when it came to convincing his subjects to cut back on their intake of cream puffs. The French ignored the laws with a Gallic wink, and why not, when the King himself took to adding a cup or two of pure gold along with precious gems to his menu. At the time it was believed that dining on gold could make you immortal, while rubies were thought to be a great tonic for decay, and sapphires were a surefire cure for ulcers. To add insult to corpulence, Henri IV, who was known for his equestrian talents, was such a prodigious eater that finally he had to be raised onto his horse with a mechanical lift, much to the dismay of not only his physicians but also his horse. After he was assassinated, it was discovered that Henri’s stomach was almost five times the normal size.

MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE

Yet another royal stuffer was burdened not only with an insatiable case of the munchies but also with a rather tentative grasp of reality. Mad King Ludwig of Bavaria, as he was affectionately known by his people, ascended the throne in 1864, at age 19. By that time he had lost most of his teeth because of his crazy addiction to sweets. To make matters worse, he always dined alone even though he believed that his dinner guests included Louis XV and Louis’ main squeeze, Madame de Pompadour. Before the servants had a chance to remove the untouched plates of Ludwig’s invisible guests, he would eat their dinners as well as his own.

On evenings when his favorite guests were otherwise engaged haunting Versailles, Ludwig asked that his horse be brought from the stable to his table, giving new meaning to the phrase “putting on the feedbag.” As was the case with King Louis and Madame de P., Ludwig ate the horse’s untouched food with irrepressible gusto, which gave new meaning to the phrase, “right from the horse’s mouth.”

Truth is often stranger than fiction, but not always. Rabelais, the 16th-century French satirist, wrote a social comedy about two giants, Gargantua and his son Pantagruel, as a spoof of French mores. Their appetites were so enormous that they devoured almost anything that crossed their paths in the course of their fantastic adventures. When those two said that they “ate the whole thing,” they were being absolutely accurate. One of their more indigestible exploits had to do with the slurping up by Gargantua of six hapless pilgrims who were hiding in a field of cabbages he had decided to use for his salad. Not unlike a handful of peanuts, the pilgrims lodged in the giant’s teeth, and he was forced to drink gallons of water and then use a tree trunk as a toothpick to dislodge them.

The moment after the pilgrims were pried from his teeth, Garagantua found it necessary to relieve himself of the massive amounts of water he had just gulped down. The river he created in front of himself was used by the terrified pilgrims to float away to freedom. It would be safe to say that they were pissed about the whole episode.

“Never eat more than you can lift”
–MISS PIGGY

DIAMONDS ARE A BOY’S BEST FRIEND

One of the more sparkling gluttons at the turn of the last century was the flamboyant Diamond Jim Brady who, along with his habit of giving out exquisite diamond jewelry at the drop of a pinkie ring, was a legendary eater. He was referred to during his lifetime and beyond as “the greatest glutton in American history.” It wasn’t at all unusual for him to eat six times a day, or order seven or eight steaks at one sitting, or chew on forty ears of corn in the course of one meal.

He considered a light breakfast to consist of a thick porterhouse steak, several lamb chops, six scrambled eggs, a stack of buttermilk pancakes, a plate of hominy, home-fried potatoes, corn muffins and a gallon of milk.

During the course of every meal he downed two or three pitchers of freshly squeezed orange juice, perhaps because he considered alcohol bad for the digestion. Right after breakfast, Jim would stop in at a seafood house for three or four dozen oysters and clams on the half shell, as well as enough oyster stew to fill a small bathtub.

To Jim’s great surprise, his orgiastic eating began to draw crowds. People came from all over just to watch him vacuum up a table laden with food. Not only did he march through all the courses with the dedication of Grant taking Richmond, but he would up the ante by doubling and tripling the helpings, then end the meal with a pound of assorted bonbons.

Brady cut an amazing figure of flash as well as rippling flesh. His extended waist was encircled by a thick alligator belt, buckled in flawless stones. His thick fingers were covered with four or five eye-popping diamond rings and his lapels were festooned with diamond-encrusted pins and emblems. On a lean man, perhaps, all those decorations might seem tawdry, but on Diamond Jim Brady they were the jewels in his crown.

“Wish I had time for just one more bowl of chili.”
–KIT CARSON, AS HE LAY DYING

FAT IS BEAUTIFUL

The award for the bravest of our world-class eaters goes to the present king of Tonga, Taufa’ahua Tupou IV, who until just recently was considered to be the world’s heaviest monarch. He proudly tipped the Tongan scales at over 444 pounds, give or take. The natural state of most of the Tongan population is happy obesity. You could say, in Tonga, fat is beautiful.

It took the king’s loyal, if rather hefty, subjects completely by surprise when he was bitten by the fitness bug, and decided to become a calorie counter, especially since the royal family has always been expected to be much larger in physical stature than the rest of their people. So far, the king has trimmed down to a svelte 300 and something pounds, and he has invested in a Royal Treadmill.

His resolve is commendable since he was forced to give up one of his favorite treats, fruit bats, a delicacy reserved for Tongan royalty. Commoners, inspired by his resolve, have vowed to cut back dramatically on yams, hams and coconuts. The King in his wisdom and generosity has offered to bestow a brand new vegetable steamer on each of his subjects who loses twenty pounds. In the not-too-distant future, Calista Flockhart might just be able to blend into the Tongan passing parade.

Untitled #172, 1987, by Cindy Sherman

Illustration by Walter Crane from This Little Pig Went to Market, London: 1895. Frances Converse Massey Collection. Reprinted in The Ubiquitous Pig by Marilyn Nissenson & Susan Jonas.

COURTESY OF ARTIST AND METRO PICTURES

APICIUS’ ASPARAGUS PATINA

Put in the mortar asparagus tips, pound, add wine, pass through the sieve. Pound pepper, lovage, fresh coriander, savory, onion, wine, liquamen and oil. Put puree and spices into a greased shallow pan, and if you wish, break eggs over it when it is on the fire, so that the mixture sets. Sprinkle finely-ground pepper over it and serve.

–Marcus Apicius, De Re Coquinaria, Book IV.

We adapted this noble first-century recipe for a dish similar to a frittata by substituting celery for lovage, salt for liquamen.

1 tablespoon oil	¾ teaspoon salt
½ cup chopped celery	Freshly ground pepper to taste
¼ cup chopped onion	½ teaspoon dried savory
⅓ cup asparagus, cut into ½-inch pieces, leaving tips whole	2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro, plus more for garnish
6 eggs

Heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat and sauté celery and onion until onion is translucent. Add asparagus, lower heat to medium-low, cover, and steam until asparagus is just tender, about 5 to 7 minutes. Beat eggs with salt, pepper and herbs. Pour mixture into pan and cook on high until eggs are set. Sprinkle with more chopped cilantro. Makes 4 servings.

TRIPLE CROWN GINGERBREAD

“To make gingerbrede. Take goode honey & clarifye it on fere & take fayre paynemayn or wastel brede & grate it & caste it into boylenge hony, & stere it well togyder faste...”

–14TH CENTURY RECIPE FROM CURYE ON INGLYSCHE

2 eggs	1 ½ teaspoons powdered ginger
1 (8-ounce) container sour cream	¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup molasses	2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger
½ cup firmly packed brown sugar	½ cup melted butter
1 ½ cups cake flour, not self-rising	¼ cup chopped crystallized ginger
1 teaspoon baking soda

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch square pan.

Beat eggs until light in color. Add sour cream, molasses and brown sugar; mix well.

In a separate bowl, sift together cake flour, baking soda, powdered ginger and salt. Add to the egg mixture. Stir well, then mix in fresh ginger. Add the melted butter and beat well. Finally, fold in the crystallized ginger.

Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 30 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean. Makes 12 servings.

COURTESY OF UBIQUIOUS AUTHORS AND HENRY N.ABRAMS, INC.

DIAMOND JIM OYSTER STEW

This simple, but incredibly rich dish can be modified to your own taste by adding more oysters or Tabasco sauce. Indulge yourself by purchasing oysters that have already been shucked.

1 pound shucked oysters with liquor	Salt to taste
¾ cup half-and-half	White pepper to taste
¾ cup heavy cream	4 tablespoons butter
About 5 dashes Tabasco sauce, or to taste	Paprika for garnish

Drain oyster liquor from the shucked oysters and reserve.

In a saucepan, combine half-and-half, heavy cream and oyster liquor and heat over medium-low heat. (If there is more than a cup of liquor, you may not want to use all of it. Start with a cup and then add to taste.)

Add Tabasco, salt and pepper. when cream is very hot, but not simmering, add the oysters. They will cook very quickly. They are done when the edges have begun to curl. Place 1 tablespoon of butter in each bowl before serving. Ladle equal amounts of oysters and broth into each bowl. Sprinkle with paprika. Makes 4 servings.

Serve with buttered toast or oyster crackers.

CRABMEAT CHASSEUR

This luxurious recipe comes from a 1950s handwritten card in the recipe collection of food writer Bernadette Wheeler. It’s a gift from a time when prices were low and calorie counts high.

3 tablespoons butter	Salt and pepper to taste
4 to 5 large mushrooms, sliced (about ¾ cup)	1 ½ teaspoons chopped parsley
3 teaspoons finely chopped shallots	1 teaspoon chopped fresh tarragon or ½ teaspoon dried
2 tablespoons tomato puree	1 teaspoon chopped fresh chives
1 ¼ cup heavy cream, divided	2 egg yolks
1 pound fresh crabmeat, preferably jumbo lump	Generous dash of cognac

Melt butter in saucepan, add mushrooms and cook for 5 minutes. Add shallots, stir and cook until almost all of the mushroom liquid has evaporated.

Add puree and cook 5 minutes more. Pour in 1 cup of the cream, stir and cook until thoroughly blended and mixture starts to thicken.

Gently add crabmeat and season to taste. (Use folding motion to combine crabmeat so the large pieces don’t break up.)

Mix egg yolks with remaining 1/4 cup cream and add to crabmeat with herbs, again using folding motion to mix. Heat until slightly thickened. Add cognac.

Serve on rice or with toast points. Makes an extravagant first course for 4 or main course for 2.