To be fair, Romans borrowed the idea that the world is comprised of atoms – just like they borrowed their gods – from the Greeks. Philosophers like Democritus and Parmenides paved the way for the notion that the universe is composed of particles that are so small as to be invisible to the naked eye. In fact, Democritus went so far as to explain that the size and shape of atoms had a direct impact of taste perception, claiming that: Bitterness is caused by small, angular, jagged atoms passing across the tongue; whereas sweetness is caused by larger, smoother, more rounded atoms passing across the tongue.
But it was the Greek philosopher Epicurus who advanced the theory and really honed it to create an atomistic worldview that explained all objects and phenomena in terms of either atoms or void. Unfortunately, no primary sources of Epicurus’ writing exist, but historians widely regard the Roman poet Lucretius and his epic poem De Rerum Natura (The Nature of Things) to be an accurate mouthpiece for Epicureanism. We’ll return to that term in a moment and discuss its relation to food and drink in particular.
If that epic poem, De Rerum Natura, sounds familiar, you may be recalling it from our “Cocktails in a Tim`e of Plague” episode where I reference its detailed account of the plague of Athens. But aside from that bizarre final chapter, the rest of the poem is much more concerned with unpacking the atomistic nature of the universe. The basic premises of Epicurus’ atomic physics are as follows:
The Universe is comprised entirely of atoms and void
Atoms are unlimited in quantity, but have a limited number of types (like letters in an alphabet)
Different arrangements of atoms create different materials and experiences (like the same letters can be used to make different words)
And finally, all that exists was set in motion by an event he called “the swerve,” which is when one atom changed course and bumped into other atoms, causing a chain reaction of movement and recombination. (Today’s scholars obviously draw very close parallels between this and the Big Bang Theory, but many earlier Christian scholars viewed this as a validation of the idea of Free Will).
Let’s check out Lucretius’ explanation of Epircuean flavor theory. He writes [quote]:
And it is so straightforward to explain the sense of taste
On tongue and palate, that any extra effort is a waste.
First of all, in our mouth we taste the flavors when we chew,
Squeezing out the savor from our victuals as we do,
Just as you might squeeze in your fist a sponge that’s sopping wet
Until it’s almost dry. The flavors we press out then get
Dispersed through pores all over the palate, distributing among
The tortuous passageways of the more loosely textured tongue.
Then, if the particles of flavor that ooze out are smooth,
They sweetly brush against the tongue, and sweetly touch and soothe
All watery and moist places about the tongue. The more they tend
To be prickly, on the other hand, the more the bodies rend
And sting the senses as they are released.
If you know anything about flavor, this is a pretty accurate account of taste receptors, especially considering it was written during ancient times. And what I love most is how down-to-earth Lucretius is with his descriptions. Listen to how he accounts for the different traveling speeds of certain atoms using lightning and thunder as a case study:
Why is it that we hear the thunder after the flash appears
To our eyes? Because the particles that travel to our ears
Always take longer reaching us than those that reach the eyes
And trigger sight. Here’s an example you can recognize:
If you see someone far off with a double-headed axe
Felling a massive tree, you see the strokes before the thwacks
Reach your ears.
The reason I bring all this up is because the Roman empire paved the way for a lot of progress to be made in food and cooking. Their trade networks made it easy for people to access to spices, wines, and ingredients from far-off places. They tended not to completely strangle cultures in the places that they conquered, allowing for the circulation of many different ideas and documents. And of course, out of a society that worshipped gods and idols, we have the emergence of an atomistic worldview eerily similar to our own.
Now, to this day, lots of chefs will explain that cooking – or creating a recipe for that matter – is simply applied chemistry and physics. So it comes as no surprise that in a culture rich in ingredients and wealth and with thinkers who understood that manipulating the building blocks of matter would produce different results emerged a set of recipes greater and more influential than any that had come before.
Enter Apicius, or rather, the Apicii.
This is a surname that refers to a number of noteworthy Roman gourmandes who lived sometime around the first century BCE and were renowned for their culinary taste. Thus, the name became an eponym for anybody who was the roman equivalent of a foodie – kind of like Don Juan is synonymous with being a womanizer. So when a collection of hundreds of recipes began circulating among the wealthy kitchen owners of Rome, Apicius became a pretty good name for the book.
This is truly a snapshot of Roman culture worth looking into, especially because it’s available for free via Project Gutenberg, which I’ll link to in the show notes. In total, the collection contains ten chapters arranged by category that list recipes for everything from Rose Wine, to Ostrich, to stuffed dormouse.
Here’s a recipe for Roman Vermouth:
ROMAN VERMOUTH [or Absinth] IS MADE THUS: ACCORDING TO THE RECIPE OF CAMERINUM YOU NEED WORMWOOD FROM SANTO FOR ROMAN VERMOUTH OR, AS A SUBSTITUTE, WORMWOOD FROM THE PONTUS CLEANED AND CRUSHED, 1 THEBAN OUNCE OF IT, 6 SCRUPLES OF MASTICH, 3 EACH OF [nard] LEAVES, COSTMARY AND SAFFRON AND 18 QUARTS OF ANY KIND OF MILD WINE. [Filter cold] CHARCOAL IS NOT REQUIRED BECAUSE OF THE BITTERNESS.
Here, we begin to see something that resembles today’s recipes, something we might have a snowball’s chance at re-creating if only we could figure out how much a “Theban Ounce” weighs. But unfortunately, the specificity of this recipe is one of very few exceptions in the book – rather than the rule. Check out this recipe for milk fed snails and you’ll see what I mean:
TAKE SNAILS AND SPONGE THEM; PULL THEM OUT OF THE SHELLS BY THE MEMBRANE AND PLACE THEM FOR A DAY IN A VESSEL WITH MILK AND SALT. RENEW THE MILK DAILY. HOURLY CLEAN THE SNAILS OF ALL REFUSE, AND WHEN THEY ARE SO FAT THAT THEY CAN NO LONGER RETIRE [to their shells] FRY THEM IN OIL AND SERVE THEM WITH WINE SAUCE. IN A SIMILAR WAY THEY MAY BE FED ON A MILK PORRIDGE.
