The waiting was excruciating. His mind raced, yet Galileo Galilei remained very still, sitting quietly in a wooden chair, his hands folded in his lap. Confined to a small but comfortable suite inside the Holy Office, he awaited the verdict that would decide his fate. Summoned by the Commissary General, Galileo came to Rome to answer charges of heresy regarding his book "Dialogue on the Two Great World Systems (Dialogo sopra i due Massimi Sistemi del Mondo)". The sixty-six-year old physicist was exhausted. The imprisonment and the accusations against him had taken a toll on his health.

Released in February 1632, Dialogue was stirring up controversy in intellectual and nonsecular circles across Italy. The work, which Galileo considered one of his great achievements, discussed the merits and deficiencies of two conflicting theories on the order of the universe, the Earth-centered Ptolemaic theory, and the sun-centered Copernican theory.

Since the fifteenth century, the Roman Catholic Church and most of Europe embraced geocentrism, which held that a motionless Earth was the center of the universe. Introduced by Aristotle and expounded on by Claudius Ptolemy, geocentrism formed the basis of European thought on astronomy. It also confirmed what was observed by man’s senses.

More important, the Ptolemaic system confirmed what was written in the Holy Scriptures. According to numerous passages in the Bible, the Earth stood still. Psalms 93:1 and 96:10 state, “Yea, the world is established; it shall never be moved.” And Psalm 92:1 declares that God “fixed the Earth upon its foundations, not to be moved forever.” Further, Saint Thomas Aquinas, one of the Church’s most beloved and respected theologians, embraced the Ptolemaic system.

The Copernican theory, on the other hand, contradicted the Holy Scriptures. Astronomer and Catholic cleric Nicholas Copernicus introduced heliocentrism as an alternative to the Ptolemaic system in his seminal work "On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Sphere (De revolutionibus orbium coelestium)". According to the heliocentric, or Copernican theory, the sun was the center of the universe, and the Earth revolved around it. Copernicus, who dedicated the book to Pope Paul III, died on the day Revolutions was published, unaware that a preface had been added that undermined his revolutionary theory. Unsigned, the preface states that the theory is meant as a mathematical tool for calculating the movements of the planets, and it appears to be written by the author. In fact, it was the work of Andreas Osiander, a Lutheran philosopher who oversaw the book’s publication. Although the Roman Catholic Church allowed Revolutions to be published, it had insisted the book carry a disqualifier, explaining that the alternate system was to be considered purely “hypothetical.” To secure permission for publication, Osiander added the preface.


First published in Germany in 1543, Revolutions took Copernicus years to complete and broke new ground. However, upon its release, the work was met with much derision and was largely dismissed by scientists and First published in Germany in 1543, Revolutions took Copernicus years to complete and broke new ground. However, upon its release, the work was met with much derision and was largely dismissed by scientists and theologians. Church reformer Martin Luther condemned it. Less than a century later, Copernicanism would ignite the intellectual passions of the brilliant physicist Galileo Galilei. The theory formed the basis of his Dialogue on the Two Great World Systems.

Presented in the form of a Socratic-type debate between three characters, the Dialogue offered arguments for and against the Ptolemaic and Copernican theories. An enlightened man of science, the character Salviati makes a compelling case in support of the Copernican theory. The neutral Sagredo is a wealthy, knowledge-seeking aristocrat. Simplicio, the third character, is an Aristotelian philosopher, who argues rather ineffectually for the Ptolemaic model of the solar system. Salviati, who represents Galileo’s views, emerges the clear winner of the debate.

Charged with heresy, Galileo could easily have fled Italy and escaped the authority of the Inquisition. Yet, he chose to stand trial and defend himself. The scientist considered himself a good Catholic and felt that heresy was “more abhorrent than death.” After traveling for twenty-three days, Galileo arrived in Rome on February 13, 1633. Ill and depressed, he spent the next two months with friends, recuperating at Villa Medici. In April, he surrendered to the Inquisition. No common prisoner, Galileo was housed in a three-room suite in the Holy Office, and a servant was at his disposal. The physicist was allowed visitors, but he could not leave the premises.

GALILEO’S FALL FROM GRACE

It was a far cry from the triumphant tour of Rome that Galileo made in 1624. His old friend Cardinal Barberini had just been appointed Pope Urban VIII. The new pontiff feted Galileo and encouraged his “favorite son” to continue his work exploring the heavens. The pope fancied himself an intellectual; the idea of sponsoring major scientific discoveries greatly appealed to his vanity.

During a succession of private meetings, Galileo tried unsuccessfully to convince the pontiff to reverse a Church edict against promoting and teaching the Copernican theory. The pope admitted that he did not approve of the edict but felt that because the Copernican theory could not be proven, it must be treated as a mathematical device, not as a factual discovery. He gave Galileo permission to write about Copernicanism but only in hypothetical terms. Pope Urban asked that his own view—that nature, as created by God, is far too complex to be understood by man—be included. He believed Galileo would bring him fame. The pope was right, but it would not be the fame he hoped for.

Galileo spent the next five years working on the "Dialogue on the Two Great World Systems". He submitted the book to the Church and received official approval. Published in 1632, the Dialogue was an enthusiastic, unapologetic endorsement of heliocentrism. Although Galileo’s allies were thrilled with the book, they were also wary. In Galileo’s eagerness to overturn the prevailing geocentric system, he had thrown caution to the wind. Despite his promise to Pope Urban to remain neutral, Galileo zealously defended Copernicanism in the book—albeit through the character Salviati. Described as “the laughingstock of this philosophical comedy” Simplicio is the character Galileo chose to express the pope’s views about the universe — a colossal misstep.

SINCE THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY, THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH AND MOST OF EUROPE EMBRACED GEOCENTRISM, WHICH HELD THAT A MOTIONLESS EARTH WAS THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE.

The Dialogue caused a scandal. Critics claimed it brazenly defied a Church edict forbidding the promotion of Copernicanism. Galileo’s enemies—and there were many—told the pope that he had been ordered by Chief Church Theologian Cardinal Robert Bellarmine not to defend the Copernican theory back in 1616. Galileo had failed to mention the warning during his meetings with the pontiff. His enemies also convinced the pope that the physicist had modeled Simplicio after him. Blinded by his own ambition, Galileo had inadvertently insulted one of his dearest friends. Pope Urban felt humiliated and betrayed. Galileo promptly lost his most important and powerful ally.

THE TRIAL OF GALILEO IN 1633

Galileo was officially charged with defying the Church’s edict forbidding the defense of the heliocentric theory and for publicly “holding as true the false doctrine taught by some that the sun is the center of the world.” The tribunal claimed that he had been personally warned not to teach or promote the theory in 1616 — a charge that is not altogether accurate. According to the written indictment, the Church theologians decreed the following:

1. The proposition that the sun is in the center of the world and immovable from its place is absurd, philosophically false, and formally heretical; because it is expressly contrary to Holy Scriptures.

2. The proposition that the Earth is not the center of the world, nor immovable, but that it moves, and also with a diurnal action, is also absurd, philosophically false, and, theologically considered, at least erroneous in faith.

Ten cardinals heard Galileo’s case. Over a two-month period, officers of the Inquisition interrogated Galileo eighteen times. The prosecution’s case was bolstered by a suspect injunction against Galileo dated March 3, 1616. The injunction, which may have been planted in Galileo’s file by an enemy, states, incorrectly, that Cardinal Bellarmine “had admonished [Galileo] to abandon his opinion which he has held up to that time, that the sun is the center of the spheres and immobile and that the Earth moves, and had acquiesced therein.”

Galileo was understandably flummoxed. He insisted he never saw the letter, nor had he been served with any injunction. In his defense, he said that he had never been forced to abjure his position on heliocentrism, as the tribunal was now claiming. As proof, he offered up a letter from Bellarmine stating that “Galileo has not abjured, either in our hands or in the hands of any other person here in Rome, or anywhere else as far as we know, any opinion or doctrine which he has held; nor has any salutary or any other kind of penance been given to him.”

Galileo also pointed out that Church authorities, including the Supreme Inquisitor, had signed off on the Dialogue. The book was not written in his voice, in the first person, but rather as a dialogue between three men. He did not understand why the book was now being prohibited when it had already received official approval.

Two cardinals, sympathetic to Galileo, worked to spare him and proposed a lenient sentence. Commissary General Father Vincenzo Maculano received permission to approach Galileo extra-judicially with a deal, the seventeenth century equivalent of a plea bargain. For an admission of guilt—an honest acknowledgement that he had erred in defending and advocating heliocentrism in the Dialogue—Galileo would be sentenced to private penance and temporary house arrest. Realizing the odds were against him, he agreed to the deal.

Pope Urban, who was still smarting from his perceived betrayal by his old friend, overruled the sentence and decreed that the Dialogue was to be forbidden and Galileo was to be forced to formally abjure, by threat of torture. Because of his age and ill health, there was little chance that Galileo would be subjected to torture. Galileo was well aware that the threat was an empty one. Still, the sentence, meted out by his old friend, hurt him deeply.

MISTRUTHS, MYTHS, AND MISCONCEPTIONS

The trial and conviction of Galileo Galilei is considered one of the greatest scandals in the history of Christianity. For centuries, Galileo’s name has been used as a battle cry against the perceived tyranny of the Roman Catholic Church. The physicist is consistently portrayed as the voice of science and reason, as an educated man battling an unyielding, unenlightened Church.

Two ironies are at work here. The first is that the Church was responsible for much of the early progress in astronomy; many of the leading astronomers in the seventeenth century were also members of the clergy. The second is that despite his conviction for heresy, Galileo considered himself a good Catholic who strove to square his responsibilities as a scientist with his faith. He would most likely be dismayed to learn that his name was being used to besmirch the Church.

THE MYTH OF GALILEO BEING CONFINED TO A DANK JAIL CELL AND TORTURED IS JUST THAT, A MYTH.

The myth holds that Galileo, the scientist, tried to enlighten the close-minded Church, arguing that reason and science should be given precedent over faith. In reality, both Galileo and his judges believed that science and the Bible must be reconciled, and that they could not stand in contradiction. The Galileo Affair, as it has come to be known, was not a battle of reason versus religion, but of good science versus bad science. We know today that the earth orbits the sun, but Galileo lacked the scientific instruments necessary to prove this fact. It would take another hundred years for such instruments to be developed.

The charges brought against Galileo were motivated by personal vendettas. With his acerbic wit, sarcasm, and refusal to compromise, Galileo had made many enemies, including Pope Urban VIII. He routinely attacked rival theories and the men who proposed them. He mocked his opponents mercilessly and insulted their intelligence. Such bully tactics did not sit well with his victims, many of whom had been former allies. Years after the trial, a Jesuit astronomer remarked that if Galileo had not offended the order, “he would not have fallen into trouble, he would be able to write on any subject he wished, even the rotation of the Earth.” Several cardinals assigned to Galileo’s case believed that the trial was intended not to protect doctrinal purity but to punish Galileo. History bears this out.

GALILEO QUARRELED OFTEN WITH HIS COLLEAGUES, CRITICIZING THEIR THEORIES, DISMISSING THEIR IDEAS, AND REFUSING TO CONCEDE ANY OF THEIR POINTS. HE REFERRED TO THOSE WHO DISAGREED WITH HIM AS “INTELLECTUAL PYGMIES.”

The myth of Galileo being confined to a dank jail cell and tortured is just that, a myth. Galileo was forced to formally abjure, and the Dialogue was banned. While the sentence issued by Urban was unduly harsh, it was never enforced. Galileo’s daughter, a Carmelite nun, was permitted to say his penance for him, and the physicist was allowed to live out his days at home, under a loosely-enforced house arrest. He spent the remainder of his life working on the Discourses on Two New Sciences. Presented as another discussion between the fictional characters Salviati, Sagredo, and Simplicio, the book offered Galileo’s views on kinematics (the study of the motion of objects).

THE MAKINGS OF A BRILLIANT PHYSICIST

Born in Pisa in 1564, Galileo Galilei was the eldest child of Vincenzo Galilei and Giulia Ammannati. Vincenzo was a talented but poor musician who struggled to support his wife and six children. He encouraged Galileo to become a doctor. Galileo enrolled in medical school but dropped out after two years, deciding to study mathematics instead of medicine.

In 1589, Galileo was appointed to the chair of mathematics at the University of Pisa. He was an independent spirit, an iconoclast who eschewed blind philosophical faith. He was drawn instead to reasoned argument. Stubborn and opinionated, Galileo quarreled often with his colleagues, criticizing their theories, dismissing their ideas, and refusing to concede any of their points. He referred to those who disagreed with him as “intellectual pygmies.” Galileo routinely disparaged Aristotle, whose work was widely revered in academia.

“Few there are who seek to discover whether what Aristotle says is true,” he confided to a friend. “It is enough for them that the more texts of Aristotle they have to quote, the more learned they will be.”

The gifted young man quickly alienated himself from the other educators at the University. He also incurred the wrath of Giovanni de Medici, son of the Grand Duke of Tuscany’s son, when he lambasted a machine de Medici invented to dredge the harbor of Leghorn. It seems that Galileo’s capacity for scientific discoveries was rivaled only by his knack for making enemies.

Galileo took a mistress, a local woman named Marina Gamba, with whom he fathered three children out of wedlock. Oddly, the devoutly Catholic Galileo declined to marry his lover and legitimize his offspring. He dispatched of his daughters Virginia and Livia, sending them to live at the convent of San Matteo. Both girls became nuns and lived in abject poverty. Their mother later married an older man who adopted Galileo’s son, Vincenzo. Although a devoted academic and scientist, Galileo was an ineffectual father.

In 1592, he left Pisa for a more prestigious, and lucrative, position at the University at Padua. There, Galileo developed interests in a range of topics including kinematics of motion, optics, astronomy, tidal theory, and instrumentation. He made numerous discoveries in both pure and applied science.

THE DISPUTE OVER THE COSMOS

Galileo had long been interested in Copernican theory. In May 1609 he learned that a Dutchman had invented a new magnifying device to view the heavens. The physicist immediately drew up plans for a device of his own. Galileo’s telescope permitted him to observe the night sky as never before. His celestial discoveries confirmed for him that Copernicus had been right: The universe was a sun-centered system, and the planets, including Earth, orbited the sun. Jupiter’s moons and the phases of Venus showed that the planets—at least not all of them — did not orbit the Earth. This fact disproved the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic system. Galileo assumed the Church would now adopt the Copernican theory. Then again, he still had the Tychonic system to contend with.

Galileo made his first public endorsement of Copernicanism in 1613 with Letters on the Sunspots. He continued to vigorously defend the theory in subsequent letters and debates. Not content to treat Copernicanism as a hypothesis only, Galileo continually trespassed on theological ground—a scandalous thing for a layman to do. He insisted the scriptures be reassessed to incorporate his new discoveries. Galileo argued that the Bible was designed to teach mankind about religion, not the natural world. He cited works from St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas that bolstered his position.

In Galileo’s 1615 "Letter to the Grand Duchess", he wrote, “As to rendering the Bible false, that is not and never will be the intention of Catholic astronomers such as I am; rather, our opinion is that the Scriptures accord perfectly with demonstrated physical truths. But let those theologians who are not astronomers guard against rendering the Scriptures false by trying to interpret it against propositions which may be true and might be proved so.” Many theologians were outraged.

In 1615, Carmelite friar and respected theologian Paolo Antonio Foscarini published a book that attempted to reconcile the Copernican theory with Holy Scripture. News of the work gave Galileo hope that the subject was ripe for reexamination by the Church. He believed that Foscarini’s support was just what he needed. He was wrong. There were now two men openly advocating for Copernicanism. This antagonized the more conservative members of the clergy. A contentious debate over the private interpretation of the Holy Scripture had been one of the reasons behind Martin Luther’s split with the Church in 1517. Now, the Church feared Foscarini and Galileo might stir up a new theological revolution.

Galileo’s rivals claimed, incorrectly, that there were a growing number of “Galileans” promoting Copernicanism on the physicist’s behalf. Still smarting from the Protestant Reformation, the Church moved to assert its authority. Copernicus’s Revolutions was banned until it could be “corrected,” and Cardinal Robert Bellarmine reminded Foscarini and Galileo that the Council of Trent “prohibits expounding the Scriptures contrary to the common agreement of the holy Fathers.”

Bellarmine, an educated, calm, and fair man, met privately with Galileo and counseled him to treat the theory as a mathematical device, a hypothesis only. The Church was not banning the theory, he explained, but would only accept it as fact if it could be proven conclusively. In that event, the Church would need to reexamine its interpretation of the Holy Scripture, Bellarmine allowed. Galileo was not officially enjoined from discussing Copernicanism. He was, however, in a difficult position. Convinced the theory was correct, Galileo could not possibly prove it to be so. To the naked eye, the stars appeared to remain still. This reinforced contemporary consensus that the Earth was immobile. Galileo’s telescope was too weak to observe the star’s parallax shifts as the Earth orbited around the sun.

POISON PEN LETTERS AND THE LEAGUE OF PIGEONS

Galileo’s unorthodox views, predilection toward sarcasm, and increasing preoccupation with heliocentrism made him a controversial celebrity. He continued to make enemies and became embroiled in a series of bitter disputes with members of the scientific community. His archrival Lodovico delle Colombe was determined to ruin Galileo’s reputation. He was joined by a group of theologians Galileo dubbed the “Pigeon League” (Colombe means “dove” in Italian). In terms of achievement and intellectual brilliance, the group was no match for Galileo. The group could not best the physicist intellectually; it decided to bait him with a scriptural argument. The ploy worked. Galileo was too stubborn and too vain to remain silent on the issue.

Galileo counted the Jesuits among his allies, but his hubris and sarcasm soon alienated the order. Galileo claimed credit for the discovery of sunspots, despite the fact that the Jesuit astronomer Christopher Scheiner had written about them two years earlier. Scheiner proposed that sunspots were really small stars orbiting and eclipsing the solar body. Galileo not only disagreed with him, but viciously attacked the Jesuit in print, writing the following in his first book, The Assayer:

“Others, not wanting to agree with my ideas, advance ridiculous and impossible opinions against me; and some, overwhelmed and convinced by my arguments, attempted to rob me of that glory which was mine, pretending not to have seen my writings and trying to represent themselves as the original discoverers of these impressive marvels.”

In reality, neither man discovered sunspots. That honor belonged to Johann Fabricius, a German whose pamphlet on the subject was published months before Scheiner’s.

Galileo’s stunning rebuke of Scheiner deeply offended Jesuits. The belligerent physicist also engaged in a heated debate over comets with Jesuit mathematician and astronomer Horatio Grassi. Once again, Galileo used his pen as a sword, writing in "The Assayer", “Let Sarsi [Galileo’s pseudonym for Grassi] see from this how superficial his philosophizing is except in appearance. But let him not think he can reply with additional limitations, distinctions, logical technicalities, philosophical jargon, and other idle words, for I assure him that in sustaining one error, he will commit a hundred others that are more serious, and produce always greater follies in his camp.”

Up until this point, the Jesuits had been Galileo’s biggest supporters. His vicious attacks on members of their order would cost him dearly. The Jesuits remained silent when Galileo’s enemies, led by the League of Pigeons, repeatedly urged Church authorities to bring charges against him for heresy. Their determined campaign eventually led to Galileo’s trial in 1633.

GALILEO’S ENDURING LEGACY

On April 30, 1633, Galileo recanted his belief in heliocentric system before the Inquisition. He said:

"I have been judged vehemently suspected of heresy, that is of having held and believed that the Sun is at the center of the Universe and immovable, and that the Earth is not at the center and that it moves. Therefore, wishing to remove from the minds of your Eminences and all faithful Christians this vehement suspicion reasonably conceived against me, I abjure with a sincere heart and unfeigned faith these errors and heresies, and I curse and detest them as well as any other error, heresy or sect contrary to the Holy Catholic Church.

And I swear that for the future I shall neither say nor assert orally or in writing such things as may bring upon me similar suspicions; and if I know any heretic, or one suspected of heresy, I will denounce him to this Holy Office, or to the Inquisitor or Ordinary of the place in which I may be."

Contrary to popular belief, Galileo did not mutter defiantly, “And yet it does move!” (Eppur si muore!”) After abjuring, he was sentenced to house arrest for the remainder of his life and ordered to recite daily penance. Galileo spent his remaining years working on his final book, Discourses on Two New Sciences, which recounted many of his scientific discoveries. While writing the book, the physicist lost his sight. He died in 1642 in Florence.



UNRAVELING THE MYSTERIES OF THE HEAVENS

In 1608, Dutch lens crafter Hans Lippershey invented the first practical telescope. Dubbed the “Dutch perspective glass,” Lippershey’s telescope could only magnify objects thrice. The lens crafter’s designs were disseminated around Europe. Galileo received news of the telescope in Padua and immediately set out to build one of his own. The telescope he created was much more powerful than Lippershey’s and, according to Galileo, magnified objects “nearly one thousand times larger and thirty times closer than when seen with the naked eye.”

Galileo used his new instrument to study the heavens. What he saw astounded him. The moon was not smooth, nor perfectly round as was believed; it had valleys and crevices and its surface resembled the Earth.

Jupiter had a quartet of satellites circling it! He observed Venus and discovered that the planet was revolving around the sun, not the Earth. This led Galileo to believe that the Earth was neither motionless, nor the central focus of the solar system. These discoveries turned the Ptolemaic theory of the cosmos on its head.

The up-and-coming astronomer described his exciting discoveries in "Starry Messenger" (Sidereus Nuncius), a pamphlet he dedicated to Cosimo II de Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. He named Jupiter’s moons the “Medicean Stars” in the Duke’s honor. The Duke was flattered and appointed him mathematician and philosopher of his court. Galileo would continue his celestial observation under the patronage of the Duke.

"Starry Messenger" was widely circulated in Italy. The text contradicted the accepted geocentric view of the cosmos, and it naturally caused a sensation. Galileo’s discoveries, like Copernicus’ before him, were met with skepticism. However, once the leading Jesuit astronomers obtained a telescope, they confirmed Galileo’s claims. The Jesuits gave him their support. Still, they were not willing to abandon geocentrism. Instead, they compromised, adopting the system proposed by Tycho Brahe.

Danish astronomer Brahe had rejected the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic system as well as the Copernican theory. According to Brahe, all the planets orbit the sun, while the sun and the moon revolved around a motionless Earth. Unfortunately for Galileo, his celestial discoveries fit just as well in the Tychonic system as they did in the Copernican one. What’s more, the Tychonic system did not contradict the Holy Scripture, making it especially appealing to the Church. Galileo was clearly frustrated. He was also a man on a mission. Although he could not prove the Copernican theory, he was determined to convince the world of its accuracy.

In 1611 Galileo traveled to Rome to discuss his celestial discoveries with the leading scientists and theologians. He received a warm welcome, and he was even granted a private audience with Pope Paul V.



THE CHURCH APOLOGIZES

In 1822, the Catholic Church lifted the ban against Copernicus’s On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Sphere and allowed heliocentrism to be defended as fact. In 1979, Pope John Paul II reopened the Galileo case. In 1992, the Church investigation concluded that:

“Certain theologians, Galileo’s contemporaries, being heirs of a unitary concept of the world universally accepted until the dawn of the seventeenth century, failed to grasp the profound, nonliteral meaning of the Scriptures when they described the physical structure of the created universe. This led them unduly to transpose a question of factual observation into the realm of faith.

“It is in that historical and cultural framework, far removed from our own times, that Galileo’s judges, unable to dissociate faith from an age-old cosmology, believed quite wrongly that the adoption of the Copernican revolution, in fact not yet definitively proven, was such as to undermine Catholic tradition, and that it was their duty to forbid its being taught. This subjective error of judgment, so clear to us today, led them to a disciplinary measure from which Galileo had much to suffer. These mistakes must be frankly recognized, as you, Holy Father, have requested.”

Pope John Paul II officially acknowledged that the Earth moved and issued a formal apology for the prosecution of Galileo.

Today, Galileo Galilei is considered to be the father of modern science. His work and his intellect have inspired countless scientists, artists, intellectuals, and even musicians. A spacecraft, the four large moons of Jupiter, a pop song, and a play by esteemed dramatist Bertolt Brecht have been named in his honor. Galileo’s final work was “so great a contribution to physics,” maintains the award-winning physicist Stephen Hawking, “that scholars have long maintained that the book anticipated Isaac Newton’s laws of motion.”

By William Weir in "History's Greatest Lies", Fair Winds Press, USA, 2009, excerpts chapter 6. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Over the last half century or so there have been a couple of major culinary movements that have left their indelible mark on the way in which we think about food today. The first of these was Nouvelle Cuisine which emerged in France during the 1960s. In the early 1990s, molecular gastronomy arrived with a bang (often literally). Let’s take a brief look at these movements in order to get a better sense of the culinary landscape in which we find ourselves today.

“Periods of gastronomic change are inevitably periods of gastronomic controversy. When there is no controversy, there is no inventiveness, because controversy of course doesn’t appear if there is no tension between tradition and innovation, or the other way, between innovation and academic conventions.” (Revel 1985, on the introduction of the Nouvelle Cuisine)

Nouvelle Cuisine

The term itself dates from the 1730s–1740s when French writers used it to describe a break with the traditional way of cooking and presenting foods (Hyman and Hyman 1999). However, the culinary movement that now bears the name really took on a life of its own in the 1960s when the French food critics Christian Millau and Henri Gault used the term to describe the new culinary style that was then just starting tomake its appearance in the kitchens of some of France’s top chefs.

Nowadays, the term nouvelle cuisine is used to refer to the use of seasonal ingredients with a focus on natural flavours, light textures (e.g. sauces that have not been thickened by the addition of flour and fat) together with a visual aesthetic that focuses on a presentation that is both simple and elegant. The French chefs who were instrumental in developing this new type of cuisine, including Paul Bocuse and Jean and Pierre Troisgros, were undoubtedly influenced by the minimalist Japanese style that placed a value on serving smaller portions. Indeed, the opening of the first French culinary school in Japan in 1960 by chef Shizuo Tsuji resulted in a much greater cultural exchange between Japanese and leading French chefs, including Paul Bocuse and Alain Chapel. The latter also embraced the use of ingredients sourced from many different parts of the world. In fact, this is also why it was so natural for nouvelle cuisine to morph seamlessly into ‘fusion’ food.

“Really, the concern with how the food looked can be traced back to the emergence of nouvelle cuisine. The pictures of these dishes have set themselves in the mind of the public. Nouvelle cuisine was essentially photogenic …Think of the glorious coloured photographs of these dishes, which have become eponymous with the purveying of recipes.” (Halligan 1990, p. 121)

It was precisely this emphasis on the visual appearance of food that led Alexander Cockburn, in a 1977 article that appeared in the New York Review of Books, to introduce the term ‘gastroporn’. This term, which has now made it into the Collins English Dictionary, is defined as ‘the representation of food in a highly sensual manner’. It should therefore be noted that even food writing can qualify for this epithet.

The rise of molecular gastronomy

There can be no doubt that the fusion of the physical sciences with culinary artistry has fundamentally changed the fine dining landscape over the last couple of decades or so (Belasco 2006; Roosth 2013) and has been enthusiastically covered in the press under the title of ‘molecular gastronomy’. This revolutionary new approach to cuisine is one that has attracted a phenomenal amount of media interest from pretty much every corner of the developed world (see Barham et al. 2010). The term itself was first coined by the Oxford-based Hungarian physicist Nicholas Kurti (who back in 1969 gave a presentation at the Royal Institute in London entitled The Physicist in the Kitchen; see Kurti 1969; Kurti and Kurti 1988). Particularly influential here was also a paper that Kurti wrote together with the French physical chemist Hervé This in the popular science magazine Scientific American (Kurti and This-Benckhard 1994a, b).

But what exactly is molecular gastronomy? McGee (1984) talks in terms of “the scientific study of deliciousness”. Perhaps a more precise, albeit less grammatical, definition comes from Roosth (2013, p. 4) who describes it as “a food movement whose practitioners – chemists who study food and chefs who apply their results – define [sic] as the application of the scientific method and laboratory apparatuses [sic] to further cooking.”

Nowadays, there is certainly a bewildering array of new techniques and ingredients, some natural, others much more artificial/processed, available to the budding modernist chef, no matter whether operating in the restaurant or home environment (e.g. see Blumenthal 2008; Myhrvold and Young 2011; Youssef 2013). Harold McGee, the brilliant North American author on kitchen science, has written a number of influential books in which he explores the science underpinning the practice of molecular gastronomy (McGee 1984; 1990). There he investigates such things as culinary proverbs, sayings and old wives’ tales. He has done more than perhaps anyone else to explore the physics and chemistry that lie behind a host of everyday culinary phenomena such as, for example, the Maillard reaction (McGee 1990).

Named after the French doctor Louis-Camille Maillard who “discovered that when amino acids are heated in the company of sugar, the reaction produces hundreds of new molecules that give cooked food its characteristic color and much of its smell.” (Pollan 2013, p. 88).

Fortunately for us there are already many great chefs and eminent scientists, not to mention flavour houses, working on the physics and chemistry of flavour (e.g. Barham 2000; Alícia and elBullitaller 2006; Konings 2009; Barham et al. 2010; Chartier 2012; Humphries 2012). We are therefore not going to cover these aspects of molecular gastronomy in any detail in this book (see McGee 1990; This 2005, 2012, 2013, for detailed coverage of this theme). We will, however, be taking a closer look at some of the most intriguing dishes to have emerged from these modernist kitchens over the last couple of decades. We will discuss some of the legendary dishes from the elBulli restaurant in Spain and The FatDuck in Bray (UK).We’re going to dissect a number of the dishes from the Chicago School of Restaurants; think Grant Achatz’s Alinea and Homaro Cantu’s Moto.We’ll also be taking a look at a few of the dishes championed by those innovative new restaurants that have sprung up across Spain in recent years (part of la nueva cocina movement; Lubow 2003; Steinberger 2010).

However, our interest in discussing many of these amazing dishes will not be the culinary magic underlying the preparation of the ingredients on the plate, but rather to try and understand some of the key psychological and neuroscientific principles that lie behind the wonderful experience of eating them. And having got a handle on these fundamental insights, the challenge will then be to demonstrate how they can be used in everyday life, for example, to provide tips to help any one of us eat a little more healthily without having to compromise on the sensory pleasure of the experience.

Molecular gastronomy or modernist cuisine?

A number of the chefs with whom we collaborate most closely have something of a love/hate relationship with the term ‘molecular gastronomy’ (e.g. Blumenthal and McGee 2006; McGee 2006; Rayner 2006; Blumenthal 2008;Gopnik 2011). In fact, many of those working in the field would much rather have you refer to what they do as ‘modernist cuisine’. There are a number of reasons behind this terminological debate that are perhaps worth mentioning here. First, many chefs object to the term ‘molecular gastronomy’ because they feel that what has been happening in the kitchen in recent years is about so much more than merely playing with molecules, films, foams (or espumas as the Spanish like to call them) and gels, etc. In the pages that follow, you’ll see this is a view with which we most wholeheartedly agree.

What is more, many of those working in this area are also sensitive to the criticism that what they deliver can be seen as nothing more than a form of elitist cuisine. This notion, at least to those who worry about such things, is strengthened by the term ‘gastronomy’. As Heston Blumenthal put it in an interview back in 2006:

“Molecular makes it sound complicated ... and gastronomy makes it sound elitist... We may use modern thickeners, sugar substitutes, enzymes, liquid nitrogen, sous vide, dehydration and other non-traditional means but these do not define our cooking. They are a few of the many tools that we are fortunate to have available as we strive to make delicious and stimulating dishes” (Rayner 2006)

The preference among many of those practitioners working in the kitchen is therefore for the more inclusive and less overtly chemical label of ‘modernist cuisine’.

What with so much baggage associated with the term ‘molecular gastronomy’, it should perhaps come as little surprise that Myhrvold and Young (2011), in what The Independent newspaper described as “the most spectacular cookbook the world has ever seen” (Walsh 2011, p. 11), chose to title their 3000-page masterpiece Modernist Cuisine. This 5-volume shelf-filler is undoubtedly a veritable feast for the eyes, detailing with absolutely stunning photography pretty much every tool and technique of the new art and science of the table (those with an addiction to gastroporn take note). That said, ‘molecular gastronomy’ would appear to be the term that has stuck in the public consciousness. Indeed, a quick search on Google Scholar on 24 August 2013 brought up 1080 hits for the term ‘molecular gastronomy’ as compared to just 123 for ‘modernist cuisine’. Furthermore, many other up-and-coming young chefs such as Josef Youssef (who like many others trained for a while in the kitchens of The Fat Duck) appear to have no qualms about using the term ‘molecular’ (as Youssef himself does in the title for his new book; see Youssef 2013).

Deciding on the right name for this global culinary movement would seem to be a debate that is going to run and run. As such, we trust that you will forgive us for using the two terms fairly interchangeably in this book, although we also acknowledge the fact that ‘molecular gastronomy’ fails to capture many of the most important innovations that have permeated the research kitchens of some of the world’s top restaurants over the last few years (see also McGee 2006; Schira 2011).

What is more, Hervé This – one of the scientists credited with coining the term ‘molecular gastronomy’ – has already pronounced the movement dead (see Ashley 2013)! For This (2012), the future is all about note-by-note cuisine, which he defines as: “a culinary trend in which no plant (vegetables, fruits) or animal (meat, fish) tissues are used, because these traditional food ingredients are mixtures of compounds giving poor control to the cook. Instead, note-by-note cuisine makes use of “pure” compounds in order to build all aspects of dishes: taste, odor, color, texture, and so on.” (This 2012, p. 243). Sounds tasty?


In the pages of this book, we will repeatedly see how many of the most interesting things that have been going on recently in the world’s top restaurants are about so much more than merely innovative food chemistry (especially in the area of novel gelling agents such as methylcellulose, xanthan gum and alginate) and kitchen technology (here we are thinking of devices such as the RotoVap, Pacojet, Thermomix and Gastrovac). Rather, the table of the future will likely involve the delivery of marketable (and hence branded) multisensory dining experiences: experiences that are as much about theatrical performance, entertainment and, increasingly, interaction as they are about the delivery of nutritious and filling food to the hungry and soon-to-be rather poorer diner (Berghaus 2001). In addition, as far as we can tell, technology is also going to be an ubiquitous feature of our fine (and possibly also home) dining in the years to come.

“They work on extracting the essence of the ingredient, and they play with the sense and textures,” Remolina says. “All the senses are involved. Now food is a show.” (Park 2013 interviewing Remolina)

Of course, not everyone is convinced by the turn that so many top-end dining experiences are taking (e.g. Gill 2007; Poole 2012). And that’s fine too (to be expected, even; see the earlier quote from Revel). As we hope to show in this book, even if you plan never to set foot in a modernist restaurant, there are still insights to be gained from studying the food that is being served in such venues nowadays – insights that can be applied no matter your favourite food or style of cuisine. Even the slowest of slow food (see Petrini 2007) still has to be served somewhere, and will most likely be eaten with the aid of some sort of cutlery. It is crucial to remember, then, that the atmosphere affects what we think about the food no matter where we happen to be or what we happen to be eating (slow food or modernist cuisine).

The same applies when we start to think about the cutlery, the company and even the naming of the dishes that we order. The key point to note here is that while our growing understanding of the new sciences of the table may well be best advanced by looking at what is being served at the top modernist restaurants, the insights that will be uncovered there can hopefully be applied wherever we happen to eat and no matter what we happen to be eating.

On the rise of the celebrity chef

While nouvelle cuisine and molecular gastronomy have swept the world stage, another profound change in the balance of power within the restaurant sector has also taken place. Traditionally, all of the activity in a fancy restaurant would revolve around the front of house. Just think back to the time when the omnipotent restaurateur would meet and greet his guests by name as they arrived, wielding the power to decide who would get to sit at the best tables (Steinberger 2010). Meanwhile, the anonymous chef would normally keep a low profile out back doing exactly as he or she was told. In fact, should the chef in one of these restaurants change, the diner might well not know about it; even if they did, they likely wouldn’t care too much. However, the last couple of decades have seen a fundamental shift of power from the front of house to the back (which is no longer always to be found out back).

The rise of the glass-screened kitchen, which has become such a signature feature of so many restaurants nowadays, can be seen as an architectural acknowledgement of this transition. For those who have had the opportunity to dine there, think of the glass-screened kitchen that forms the centrepiece of Heston Blumenthal’s Dinner restaurant in theMandarin Oriental Hotel in London. There is simply no way that the diner can get to their table without catching an eyeful of the action taking place in the kitchen (including all of those pineapples slowly spit-roasting). It is certainly hard to imagine that there has ever been a time previously when anyone would have thought it worthwhile to beam the action live from the kitchen direct to the diners’ table (as Daniel Facen now does in his Italian restaurant; see Schira 2011). And never before has the celebrity chef been guaranteed to pack out stadium after stadium (as happened to Heston Blumenthal during his recent tour of Australia) while talking about and demonstrating the latest culinary creations from their kitchens.

The search for novelty and surprise

Before taking a look at the relevant science underlying the field of gastrophysics, it is perhaps worth dwelling for a moment on the search for novelty that is such a signature feature of so much of contemporary cuisine (and that includes, obviously, nouvelle cuisine but also modernist cuisine). This search very often seems as if it were a recent phenomenon. However, Beaugé (2012) makes the case that diners have actually been interested in all that is new for well over a century now.As proof, just take the following: “It is an exceedingly common mania among people of inordinate wealth to exact incessantly new or so-called new dishes … Novelty! It is the prevailing cry; it is imperiously demanded by everyone.... What feats of ingenuity have we not been forced to perform, at times, in order to meet our customer’s wishes? Personally, I have ceased counting the nights spent in the attempt to discover new combinations.” While this might well sound like something that came from the keyboard of one of today’s overworked celebrity chefs, the words were actually penned more than a century ago by Auguste Escoffier, head cook of the Paris Ritz and London Savoy (Escoffier 1907, p. vii).

The key point, then, is that we shouldn’t think of the search for novelty as being a late twentieth century phenomenon. The desire, at least at the top end of cuisine, has been with us for a very long time. That said, an argument can be made that there probably hasn’t been a time previously when the appetite for anything and everything newwas quite as strong as it is today, nor found across such a broad section of the dining public. But where exactly does this overriding search for novelty, for the unusual, for the surprising and for the latest ‘new thing’ come from? According to Baumann (1996, pp. 116–121), contemporary dining can be seen in terms of the post-modern ‘consuming body’: the modernist diner as the receiver of sensations. In fact, in his book Life in Fragments, Baumann stresses how we currently live in a period of uncertainty: we live in a world where we are unsure if what we are getting is really the best of all possible sensations. The problem for the diner, then, is that it simply isn’t possible to measure those sensations and experiences objectively in order to know whether or not they really are the very best.

“Novel or strange edibles are no longer scorned but prized, dinner-party fare is judged according to its surprise value.” (MacClancy 1992, p. 209)

This uncertainty, then, leads the diner – and the modernist chef preparing the food for that diner – to search for the new products and improved food experiences that just might live up to the promise of delivering heightened sensory pleasures at the table (Baumann, 1996, pp. 116–117, as cited in Sutton, 2001, pp. 117-119). Notice here how novelty comes in many forms: from sourcing the most unusual and/or exotic of ingredients or outré vegetables from the very furthest corners of the globe (MacClancy 1992; Baumann 1996, p. 121; Sutton 2001; Bourdain 2002); from presenting familiar ingredients and flavours in formats that are entirely unfamiliar; or from the introduction of unusual new elements into the dining experience, be it technology at the dining table, dining-in-the-dark or the addition of elements of theatre or magic to the gastronomic proceedings.

We believe that the delivery of novel culinary experiences that diners find both satisfying and multisensorially stimulating is increasingly going to be facilitated by our rapidly growing knowledge about how the diner’s brain integrates the various sensory and conceptual elements in a dish, by understanding that taste and flavour resides in the mind (and not the mouth) and, of course, by taking this science to the table. As Gill (2007, p. 119) notes “...taste is something that happens in your head and not, as you might imagine, on your tongue.” Marion Halligan (1990, p. 209) makes a similar point: “Chefs, whose livelihood is others’ eating, know that the best food begins in the mind”... to which we would like to add that that is where the best food experiences end up as well!

At the same time, however, it is worth remembering that the search for novelty can have some unexpected consequences. Although we may be willing to try anything once (Abrahams 1984, p. 23), as least if we happen to be a neophile (Rozin 1999), much of contemporary cuisine cannot really be described as comfort food (Rayner 2008, p. 193; Stuckey 2012, p. 65). What is undoubtedly also the case is that culinary surprise never tastes as sweet the second time around. In fact, we may find ourselves in the bizarre position of having a truly wonderful meal at the hands of a modernist chef (who knows, perhaps even the perfect meal), while at the same time having absolutely no desire to want to repeat the experience ever again (cf. Stuckey 2012, on this theme). Take the following from a recent review of the London eatery Restaurant Story:

“Still, Sellers is a serious talent, and his achievement in launching a restaurant this fine at the age of 26 is worth celebrating. Like a good book, Restaurant Story left me feeling stimulated, satisfied and wanting to tell my friends about it. It also left me with a suspicion that, much as I’d enjoyed it, I would probably never need to return.” (MacLeod 2013)

The taste of expectation

Expectations are a key point when talking about novelty and surprise. It has been demonstrated that, generally speaking, we tend to like food and drink more if they meet our expectations than if they do not (see Peterson and Ross 1972; Pinson 1986; Lee et al. 2006; but see also Garber et al. 2000).Whenever we eat and drink in fact, even before we have taken the first mouthful, our brains will have made a prediction about the likely taste/flavour of that which we are about to ingest (Small 2012). They will also have made a judgment call about how much we are going to like the experience (this is known as hedonic expectancy; Cardello and Sawyer 1992;Woods et al. 2011). Note also that the appearance sets up expectations regarding the likely satiating properties of a food too, which can also impact on a diner’s subsequent feelings of satiety (Brunstrom and Wilkinson 2007; Brunstrom et al. 2010).

“A great deal of the pleasure of food is expectation.” (Gill 2011, p. 13)

Food scientists have demonstrated that when a food or beverage item fails to meet our expectations we are likely to evaluate it, both immediately and for a long time thereafter, more negatively than if our expectations had been met (e.g. Cardello 1994; Deliza and MacFie 1996; Schifferstein 2001; Raudenbush et al. 2002; Deliza et al. 2003; Zellner et al. 2004; Yeomans et al. 2008). It turns out that we may be especially sensitive to disconfirmed expectation when it comes to our experience of food and drink, since these are the stimuli that we actually take into our mouths (Koza et al. 2005). As such, we need to take special care to avoid the risk of poisoning.

Such findings are once again of fundamental importance to the modernist chef who may well be thinking about deliberately confounding his or her diners’ expectations. Take the following example to illustrate the point: when Heston Blumenthal and his colleagues served a savoury ice-cream that looked like sweet strawberry to unsuspecting diners in the setting of the laboratory, those who hadn’t been forewarned that it might be salty rather than sweet liked the dish far less both at the time and when tested several weeks thereafter than those who had been told (by the name of the dish) to expect a savoury flavour. In fact, simply giving the dish the name ‘Food 386’ helped to prepare diners for surprise, to expect the unexpected and so keep their mind open to new experiences. Just how many great-tasting dishes have been spoiled, one wonders, by the failure to get the name of the dish right.


“I watched the Blonde get her first course, a neat timbale of salmon hash, beet-cured salmon and sweet dill dressing (what’s beet-cured salmon, please?). Her pretty face was a picture of serene expectation. Then, a moment later, it was as if she were [sic] sitting still, but her head were [sic] travelling at Mach three.

She let out a small, strangulated mew and coughed: ‘Cat food.’ What, it’s like cat food? ‘No, it is cat food. It’s Rory Bremner beethinied salmon doing such a good impression of cat food, it’s uncanny’.” (Gill 2007, p. 108)

Of course, any self-respecting modernist chef wouldn’t climb very far up the international San Pellegrino rankings if they were to listen to advice such as ‘We really do think that you shouldn’t surprise your diners! Laboratory-based research unequivocally suggests that people just don’t like it.’ This is one of the key areas where the results of laboratory research differ from what happens in many Michelin-starred restaurants. Now, when it comes to surprising the diner (which often involves trying to disconfirm or confound their expectations), this is something that the modernist chef excels at (in a positive way). Indeed, to be surprised is something that many diners have now come to expect when dining at one of the modernist temples to haute cuisine (Rayner 2008). However, our enjoyment of surprise, especially when it comes to food and drink – that is, the stuff that goes into our mouths and that we may swallow and which, as was just mentioned, has the potential to poison us – is going to be very much context dependent.

While surprise can undoubtedly be a very enjoyable and exciting experience if the diner knows that they are safe in the hands of one of the growing number of culinary artists who has specifically designed the experience to be ‘just so’, it can be far less pleasant when dining at a friend’s house or if you find yourself taking part in a culinary experiment in the context of the research laboratory. Understanding the role of expectations in our dining experiences is therefore going to be absolutely crucial to approaching the perfect meal.

“Standing in Ferran Adrià’s kitchen at elBulli, it is easy to believe that you have slipped down the rabbit hole. Adrià, who would have been the caterer of choice for the Mad Hatter, invents food that provokes all the senses, including the sense of disbelief. His success is almost as amazing as his food.” (Lubow 2003)

Food as theatre: the multisensory experience economy meets cuisine

In this book, we are going to see how the new art of the table is increasingly as much about the theatre of the overall experience as it is about the taste of the food on the plate (in a way, building on Pine and Gilmore’s 1998, 1999 influential work on ‘the experience economy’; see also Kotler 1974; Hanefors and Mossberg 2003). At this point in history and for the foreseeable future, should we be lucky enough to stumble across it or search it out (as one of the growing number of food tourists; Boniface 2003; Hall et al. 2003; Rayner 2008), the perfect meal will likely involve some combination of great (and probably novel) culinary sensations together with a healthy dose of theatre/story-telling in what will be a truly immersive multisensory dining experience (Blumenthal 2013).

“It is food as theatre.” (Elizabeth Carter, Good Food Guide editor, cited in BBC News story ‘Fat Duck wins award despite scare’)

The brain on flavour

At this stage in the proceedings, it should be clear that the perfect meal involves so much more than merely how the food on the plate tastes. As such, it suddenly becomes clear that we need to draw on a whole new range of scientific disciplines/insights in order to really understand what is going on in the diner’s mind in response to the all-new multisensory experiences that they find themselves exposed to.

Now, it isn’t strictly true to say that scientists have not been studying the experience of flavour; they have. More often than not however, this study is carried out in a very basic way typically at the behest of one of the large food or drink companies (Meiselman 2013). The results that emerge from such research may well have been of interest to the company who wants to know how to reduce the salt in their breakfast cereal without the consumer detecting it (Stuckey 2012), or else answering a company’s queries about exactly how much fish meal you can feed a chicken before the average supermarket consumer will taste it in the breast meat. However, while such research is undoubtedly worthy, it fails to address many of the most pressing questions about how to deliver the most stimulating and memorable multisensory dining experiences with which we are concerned in this book. We are fortunate here that our understanding of how the brain experiences flavour have benefited greatly from the recent emergence of a new field of research that goes by the name of ‘neurogastronomy’.

Neurogastronomy

Neurogastronomy – the study of the complex brain processes that give rise to the flavours that we all experience when eating or drinking – really emerged as a scientific discipline in the first years of the twenty-first century. The term itself was first coined by Gordon Shepherd, a distinguished professor at Yale School of Medicine (Shepherd 2006, 2012). We certainly believe that a number of the studies that have investigated which parts of the brain light up when a participant, lying in the brain scanner, is fed something or other (often some liquid or purified foodstuff delivered by means of a tube inserted into their mouth) have generated some fascinating results (e.g. St-Onge et al. 2005). Neuroimaging studies have, for example, enabled researchers to understand why exactly it is that people think that a drink tastes better when they have been told that it costs more (Plassman et al. 2008; Spence 2010). They have also highlighted the way in which different brands of soft drink (e.g. Coke vs Pepsi) can end up recruiting different brain networks (McClure et al. 2004; see also Kühn and Gallinat 2013).

Neuroimaging has also been used to investigate whether wine experts use more of their brain when tasting than the rest of us do; the answer, it turns out, depends on which study you read (Castriota-Scanderbeg et al. 2005; Pazart et al. 2011). Furthermore, surprising though it may seem, more of our brain lights up when we merely think about (or anticipate) food than when we actually get to taste it (O’Doherty et al. 2002; see also Pelchat et al. 2004). Researchers have even started to delve into the question of which parts of the brain become more active when we decide whether or not we would like to taste a particular novel combination of ingredients (i.e. something that we have never eaten or come across before; Van der Laan et al. 2011; Barron et al. 2013).

For example, do you think that you would like the taste of a raspberry and avocado smoothie? Or how about a green tea jelly, or beetroot custard? Only future research will tell whether today’s modernist chefs exhibit increased neural activation in areas such as the medial prefrontal cortex (mPFC) that have been shown to light up when we perform such a task, given all the practice they have undoubtedly had in terms of imagining weird and wonderful combinations of ingredients with which to assault their diners’ senses (Maguire et al. 2000).

It turns out that food really is one of the most effective stimuli in terms of modulating brain activity. This is especially true if we happen to be hungry. For example, in one neuroimaging study, a 24% increase in whole brain metabolism was observed when a group of hungry participants were shown, and allowed to smell, their favourite foods (e.g. a bacon, egg, cheese sandwich or cinnamon buns; see Wang et al. 2004). This is a massive change in brain activity in what is by far the body’s most blood-thirsty organ (e.g. Wrangham 2010; Allen 2012), especially when compared to the 1–2% signal changes that are typically reported in the literature.

“... on a day-to-day basis, from the moment we are born until the moment we die, there is nothing that concerns us more than food.” (Allen 2012, p. 180)

At this point, we can only speculate as to whether there might be a link between the profound neural and physiological changes that can be triggered when a person looks at (and/or smells) an appetizing plate of food and the recent growth of gastroporn. Indeed, the growing importance of the visual appearance of food, a trend that as we have seen already was really promoted by the emergence of the nouvelle cuisine movement, seems to make perfect sense once it is realized that ‘eye appeal’ really is half the meal (or as Apicius, the first century Roman gourmet is purported to have said: “The first taste is always with the eyes”). Given just how important the sight of food is, we are clearly going to need to learn as much as we can about the visual aesthetics of plating.

In fact, one of the most fascinating examples of the way in which our brain controls our food behaviours actually comes not from neuroimaging research but rather from neuropsychology (that is, from the study of patients suffering from brain damage). Take the bizarre case of those patients afflicted by Gourmand Syndrome (Regard and Landis 1997; Steingarten 2002). This is a rare neurological condition in which a stroke (one that typically affects the insula) results in an individual suddenly acquiring a profound and all-consuming interest in fine food! This can sometimes happen to those who previously expressed no interest in food whatsoever (i.e. those would eat to live rather than vice versa). Seemingly overnight, these patients develop an overriding passion for fine gastronomic cuisine. Such curious examples left Jeffrey Steingarten (2002), the famous North American food critic, to ponder:

“With nearly every bite I take, in the back of my mind there looms the same nagging question: Who is having all the fun? Is it my brain or is it really me?”

Do neurogastronomists make great-tasting food?

Given the importance of the brain to multisensory flavour perception, one question that would likely spring to mind here is whether you are likely to have your perfect meal while sitting in a restaurant serviced by a chef practicing neurogastronomy. This is no longer a purely hypothetical question. For while he may not have come up with the term, the credit for first combining culinary science with brain science should probably go to Miguel Sánchez Romera, a friend of Ferran Adrià. For a while, Sánchez Romera combined two careers, one as a neurologist by day and the other as a practicing chef by night. Somehow, he even found time to write the intriguing book La Cocina de los Sentidos in which he combines his two passions (Sánchez Romera 2003). He eventually closed his Spanish restaurant situated close to Barcelona, L’Esguard de Sant Andreu de Llavaneres, and moved to New York City’s Chelsea district to open another one named Romera (McLaughlin 2011). Miraculously, it looks like the restaurant has managed to survive the excoriating review it received from Frank Bruni in The New York Times (Bruni 2011).

“Its chef, Miguel Sánchez Romera, is a doctor who worked for years as a neurologist. He has coined a whole new genre for his cooking, which favors squishy textures, kaleidoscopic mosaics of vegetable powders, and a wedding’s worth of edible flowers. He calls it neurogastronomy, which “embodies a holistic approach to food by means of a thoughtful study of the organoleptic properties of each ingredient,” or so says the restaurant’s Web site. Organoleptic means ’perceived by a sense organ’. I looked it up.” (Frank Bruni on Romero, one of the world’s first neurogastronomy restaurants in Chelsea, New York City; Bruni 2011)

Of course, it is unlikely that the neurogastronomy movement will lose momentum simply because of the activities of any one of its practitioners (or because of a negative review, no matter how bad it might be). We would, however, argue that this example helps to illustrate the more fundamental point that neurogastronomy –understanding the brain on flavour – provides insights about only a small part of what makes a wonderful meal truly great. It should always be remembered that sticking people into the noisy claustrophobic coffin that is the contemporary functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) brain scanner is a most unnatural activity. And when itcomes to the study of flavour, things rapidly get much worse (see Spence 2012a). To get a sense of the gulf that separates neurogastronomy research from the real world of dining experiences that we are trying to understand in this book, just imagine yourself lying with your head clamped absolutely still. You have a tube inserted into your mouth pumping in who knows what liquid or puréed concoction as you lie flat on your back. Worse still, each squirt of real flavour is typically washed down with a gob of artificial saliva. (OK, that may not be what the scientists conducting these studies call it, but that is essentially what it is – the most neutral of mouth washes!)

Can such research really provide useful insights about the organization of the flavour perceptual system in the human brain? Absolutely! Just see Small (2012) for a summary of the current state of the art in this regard. That said, it is important not to lose sight of the fact that the situation of the isolated participant being scanned in a noisy neuroimaging machine in a science faculty is very far removed from the social interaction of eating a great meal in a wonderful location surrounded by your close friends. As in so many other areas, one needs to be cautious about the ‘neuromania’ (the term coined by Legrenzi and Umiltà 2011) that has swept the cognitive neurosciences (and many other fields of research) in recent years.

As the results reviewed above have shown, research in the field of neurogastronomy is really starting to help researchers understand a little more about the fundamentally important role of food in the organization and responsiveness of the human brain. However, while knowing more about how the brain processes flavour is one thing; understanding the key factors contributing to the perfect meal is quite another.With that clearly in mind, let us then move on to look at the other new sciences of the table that will make their appearance in the pages ahead.

Food and the perception of everything else

How much of our pleasure in savouring a great meal resides in the quality, freshness and seasonality of the ingredients and how they have been prepared, and how much depends on ‘the everything else’, that is, the tablecloths, the feel of the cutlery, the name of the dish and the atmosphere and ambiance? This is a debate that we have had with a number of chefs. Every one of us, whether a chef, a diner or even a food critic, likes to think that we can taste the quality of the food. That is, we all (and this includes experimental psychologists and budding gastrophysicists alike) believe that we can evaluate the merits of a food or dish and ignore the ‘everything else’. However, a very large body of empirical evidence suggests that this is simply an illusion: a convincing one, granted, but an illusion nonetheless.

In fact, the field of experimental psychology research is filled with exposing just such misperceptions that permeate so many aspects of our daily lives (e.g. Chabris and Simons 2011; Kahneman 2011). Certainly, when the scientists investigate what happens to people’s ratings of food and drink when they change the colour of the plate, the ambient lighting, the music, the cutlery, etc., they often find that those ratings change significantly. This is not only true for the sensory-discriminative qualities of what a diner happens to be eating (e.g. what it tastes of and how intense the flavour is), but also for their hedonic responses (i.e. how much do they like the experience). But when you ask people do you think that the colour of the plate or the weight of the cutlery had any influence on your experience of the dish, we all say “Of course not. Are you crazy?”

“How much of our enjoyment of a great meal originates in the food and drink itself and how much comes from the ‘everything else’?” is a question that we are frequently asked by journalists hungry for a figure or better still a percentage to put in their columns. Now the serious scientist is loath to provide such a number; it obviously depends on so many different factors (and whatever number you give, you will undoubtedly be criticized by your academic colleagues for having simplified matters too much or for having failed to consider some or other factor or issue). Nevertheless, when you combine all of the evidence outlined in the pages that follow, it’s hard not to come away from the research convinced that a ‘good half’ of our experience of food and drink is determined by the ‘everything else’. We are going to come across a lot of research showing how pretty much every conceivable factor can make a difference to the way in which we perceive, respond to and remember food (and drink).

Of course, the food itself is absolutely critical. No one can argue with the claim that sourcing the best, the freshest and the most flavourful ingredients and having the culinary skills to allow those components to show their full potential and to harmonize them with whatever else happens to be on the plate is going to be a necessary precondition for the perfect meal. However, if that wonderful food is served up at 35,000 ft in an airplane or in a grotty work canteen, it simply will not taste the same.

We can’t deny that the claim that so much of the experience of a great meal depends on the ‘everything else’ comes as anathema to many of the chefs we work with. In fact, we have known some of them to get more than a little agitated when we start to talk to them about how important the ‘everything else’ really is.

Many chefs, especially those of a more traditional persuasion, will tell you that great food is nothing more than simply the freshest, tastiest of ingredients, skilfully prepared and beautifully presented. For many of them, there really is nothing else. Very often however, these are the very same chefs who have their restaurant situated in a converted knitting museum or who are happy to let the duty manager make the musical selection by blasting every diner in the restaurant with their own personal iPod selection. Others that we have spoken to start muttering something like “You mean that you can serve dog food, and people will like it if you just play the right music?”  the blood rushing to their faces. We honestly believe that that is unlikely to be the case (Chossat and Gergaud 2003). What we are really much more interested in is making sure that wonderful food is really shown at its best.

By Charles Spence & Betina Piqueras-Fiszman in "The Perfect Meal : The Multisensory Science of Food and Dining", John Wiley & Sons, UK, 2014, Excerpts pp. 2-17. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Introduction

Japan is an island nation surrounded by the sea, which is made up of 4 main big and more than 6800 small islands, located in the east of the Sea of Japan and in the west of the Pacific Ocean. The climate is predominantly temperate but varies greatly because the area lies about 3300 km north to south, from latitudes 24° and 46°N. According to the Köppen climate classification, it is classified as Dfa (cold, without dry season, warm summer) in Hokkaido, Dfb (cold, without dry season, hot summer) in northeast of Honshu, Cfa (temperate, without dry season, hot summer) in other regions except in several southern islands, and Am (tropical, monsoon) (Peel et al. 2007). The main ethnicity group is Japanese (98.5 %) including very small number of minority groups known as the indigenous Ainu, 0.5 % Koreans, 0.4 % Chinese, and 0.6 % others (The World Factbook 2015). Almost 70 % of the land is mountain area or covered with forest and agricultural land is only 12.5 %. The most important agricultural and fishery product is Japanese cultivar of paddy rice (8.6 million ton (mt)), and other important ones are vegetables (12 mt), potato (3.3 mt), fruits (3.1 mt), milk and milk products (7.3 mt), meats (3.3 mt), egg (2.5 mt), and fish and shellfish (4.3 mt) (Food Balance Sheet, MAFF 2014).

Until the end of the nineteenth century, Japanese people had not usually eaten mammal meats because of a religious practice, and then a special food culture called Washoku has been developed. The Washoku cuisine is based on a large variety of vegetables, edible wild plants, fish, and shellfish products which are the gifts from the natural feature of various climates in Japan as shown above. The Washoku was added to UNESCO’s roster of intangible cultural heritages in December 2013 with the backgrounds of traditional cultures (UNESCO 2013). The centerpieces of taste and cooking for Washoku cuisine are fermented condiments such as miso and shoyu, and fermented foods such as tsukemono, natto, and/or shiokara are additionally garnished to enhance the taste of cooked rice.

Fermentation can be considered as one of the beneficial results of long-standing efforts to preserve food materials and utilize them with minimal loss. Various fermented foods were created by taking advantage of domesticated microorganisms, which had been selected and bred for safe and suitable fermentation through ancestral wisdom and trial and error. For example, it was shown by genome analysis that Aspergillus oryzae, one of the main koji mold strains which has been used in the brewing of miso, shoyu, sake, etc., is completely lacking the ability of aflatoxin production because of multiple mutations and deletions in the ortholog of aflatoxin biosynthesis genes (Kusumoto et al. 1998, 2000; Matsushima et al. 2001), although it is a closely related species to A. flavus, an aflatoxin-producing one. On the other hand, A. oryzae is assumed to have 1.3–2 times more copies of genes for proteolytic and saccharolytic enzymes which help to bring out the taste and flavor of fermented foods than closely related Aspergillus species (Machida et al. 2005). These facts show that strains with phenotype useful for brewing had been selected in the long history of domestication. Koji molds (A. oryzae, A. sojae, A. luchuensis, and A. luchuensis mut. kawachii) were authorized as national microbes of Japan in 2006 by the Brewing Society of Japan, because they are especially important for the living and culture of the Japanese, the industries of foods and alcoholic beverages, and also the field of biotechnology in Japan (Brewing Society of Japan 2006).

Miso and shoyu are thought to derive from the cereal jiang of ancient China, which was mentioned in Zhou-li compiled around two thousand years ago and instructed in Qi-min Yao-shu, the oldest agricultural text written around 540 AD, and then have developed independently in Japan (Yoshizawa 2002). Besides sake, nare-zushi, shiokara, and gyosho were also described in the text, so recipes for archetypes of these foods and beverages are also assumed to be introduced from ancient China. But present Japanese ethnic fermented foods and beverages have been localized and evolved independently by adapting to Japanese natural features, regional food materials, and customs, and then this unique food culture has been formed. This chapter introduces comprehensive Japanese traditional fermented foods and beverages that have been supporting Japanese dietary customs as a pivotal role of Washoku taste.

Miso: Soybean Paste

Outline

Japanese soybean paste, miso in Japanese, is one of the traditional, salted fermented foods mainly made from soybeans, rice, or barley. Japanese people had been eating this food for several hundred years, as miso soup or seasonings. There are varieties of miso in Japan, according to each district. The main varieties of miso are rice miso, barley miso, and soybean miso. The key for variation is type of koji (solid fermentation culture of koji mold, A. oryzae) (Imai 2009). In case of using steamed rice for the solid-state fermentation of koji mold in manufacturing of miso (this type of koji is called rice koji), the product is called rice miso. In case of using barley koji, it is called barley miso. In addition, soybean miso is unique as it is made of koji by using soybean itself as solid fermentation substrate of A. oryzae. There are several mixed types of miso, i.e., mixture of rice miso and the barley one and mixture of the rice one and soybean miso. Sometimes the manufacturers produce miso using koji fermented with wheat, buckwheat, Japanese millet, and coix seed. Miso is also classified by characteristic of its physical property. Miso where the grain shapes of steamed soybean remain is called “tsubu-miso” (granular soybean paste). Miso after the fermented materials are ground finely is called “koshi-miso” (ground soybean paste). Miso where the grain shape of rice koji remains is called “koji-miso” (koji soybean paste).

Methods of Preparation, Mode of Consumption, Culinary, and Microorganisms

The method of preparation for rice miso is described as an example. The raw materials for manufacturing miso are soybeans cooked by steaming or boiling, rice or barley cooked by steaming, and salt. The amount of soybean used for the fermentation of miso is 120 k ton (during 2009, speculated) (Japan Federation of Miso Manufacturers Corporation 2014a). Ninety percent of them are imported from the USA, Canada, and China (ibid.). Recently, the use of soybean made in Japan increases slightly. The properties of the soybean used in miso, necessary for manufacturing miso, are large grain, thin skin, light color in the navel, high absorption of water, easy softening of the grain after steaming, light color (bright yellow) of the grain after steaming, and good fragrance after steaming. The other points are high contents of total sugar and low lipid content.

The total amount of rice used in the manufacture of miso is subject to making koji. It is not necessary for the rice to have a specific property like rice wine. The degree of polishing of rice is the same as the one for eating. The salt containing low content of iron and copper is used. The grade of the water for miso should be drinkable, and it should contain low content of iron and copper, manganese, and calcium ions. The koji starter microorganism is A. oryzae. The conidia of this fungus are delivered from companies having special technique for preparing and maintaining koji mold and its conidia. For sweet miso, the A. oryzae strain producing strong amylase activity should be selected, and the strain producing strong protease is for salty paste.

The main process contains koji making, treatment of soybeans, material mixing, fermentation and aging, and adjustment of product. Traditionally, in the manufacturer’s saying, the most important step for production of miso is koji manufacture. The second one is boiling soybeans. The third one is material mixture. Especially the quality of koji directly concerns the quality of the final product in the process of koji making (Imai 2009). The koji making contains rice treatment including polishing, rinsing, soaking, steaming, and cooling, inoculating the koji mold, fermenting the koji mold, and stopping the fermentation by adding salt which is one third of the total amount. The degree of polishing is approximately 10 %, i.e., the weight of the removed bran is 10 % of the unpolished rice. The polished rice is subject to soaking in water to let them absorb water completely.

After steaming and cooling, conidia of the koji mold are inoculated and mixed with the soaked rice. Then they are incubated at around 30 °C, which is dependent on the engineer of each company. The temperature increases up to 40 °C after some hours of inoculation due to breathing. At this point, the mycelia of the koji mold prolong and invade the inside of rice grain. If the degree of invasion is appropriate, enzyme activities necessary for miso are supposed to be enough. For the sweet and white to bright yellow type of miso, the maximum temperature should be above 35 °C to increase amylase activity. For the salty and deep-colored one, the temperature should be below 30 °C to increase protease activity. The difference of these temperature controls is partly dependent on the gene expression profile of the enzymes. Moreover, manufacturing of sweet miso needs koji mold of low condition in order to avoid deep coloration. In the history of manufacturing miso, koji making was performed with multiple sets of wooden tray called “koji buta” (koji-making tray). Nowadays the manufacturers introduce the automatic koji-making machine.



Treatment of soybeans begins with removing any dust, soil, and hull. Then sometimes soybean grains may be polished and husks are removed to display the beautiful color of miso. After rinsing, the grains are soaked in water for a certain number of hours. During soaking, pigments or its precursors (pentose polymer, etc.) are eluted from the grain. Soaked soybean grains are then steamed to denature the protein derived from soybeans, including trypsin inhibitor. After cooling down, the steamed grains are milled with a chopper machine. Then the milled soybeans, rice koji mixed with salt, additional water, and the remaining salt are mixed together. This mixture is called moromi. In many cases, the starter microorganisms such as salt-tolerant yeast (Zygosaccharomyces rouxii) and/or lactic acid bacteria (Tetragenococcus halophilus) are simultaneously added in the moromi (Imai 2009). They are packed into barrels and kept at atmospheric temperature or sometimes at the warmer condition. At the packing process, it is necessary to remove air from the moromi in order to keep an anaerobic condition. Then they are covered with a sheet such as polyethylene and pressed with stone weight on the lid. The moromi is fermented for several months to sometimes 1 year or more. This period depends on the type of each product. During late stage of fermentation, Candida versatilis and C. etchellsii are grown, and they are related to produce fragrance specific to well-fermented miso (Suezawa and Suzuki 2007).

The rice miso shares ca. 80 % among total miso in Japan and is consumed around the whole area of Japan. It is mostly used in miso soup with dashi (Japanese soup stock made from fish and/or kelp). It is also used as seasoning for cooking of fish or meat. However, interestingly, the taste is different among each district. People living in the northern and eastern part of Japan including Hokkaido, Akita, Sendai, Tokyo, and Nagano prefer dark yellow- to orange- and sometimes brown-colored miso, which tends to be salty according to the low ratio of rice koji against soybean and salt. People in the Kansai area (including Kyoto and Osaka) prefer white- to light yellow-colored miso. It is sweet according to the high ratio of rice koji. In the Tokyo area, there is a sweet type of rice miso called “edo-ama-miso.” “Edo” is the ancient name of Tokyo and “ama” means sweet taste. The color of this type is deep, dark brown, according to the soybeans steamed deeply and the high ratio of rice koji (twofold of soybean amount). “Edo-ama-miso” is used as seasoning for cooking of seafood (fish, shellfish) and meat (beef, horse, etc.). Soybean miso is produced and consumed in the middle area of Japan, that is, Chubu area, including Nagoya. The characteristic of this type is salty and astringency, rather than sweet, taste. The people living in this area prefer this miso, and they use it, for instance, as seasoning in the soup of Japanese noodles and sauce of fried breaded pork cutlet, in addition to miso soup. Barley miso is produced and consumed in the Kyushu area. It includes both the sweet type and salty type and is used mainly in miso soup.

Biochemistry, Nutritional Composition, and Functionality

Koji mold secretes several kinds of enzyme responsible for degradation of starch, protein, and lipid, i.e., amylase, protease, and lipase. Therefore, the contents of miso include amino acids, peptides, glucose and related oligosaccharide, glycerol, fatty acids, lactic acid (from lactic acid bacteria), and salt (Watanabe 2009a). There are several studies going on for the functionality of miso against human health. Some studies are based on the results of in vitro tests, and some are on the epidemiological studies. During recent 50 years, the production of miso decreases about half according to the decrease of consumption (413 k ton on 2013) (Japan Federation of Miso Manufacturers Corporation 2014b). Those functional studies of miso hopefully affect to increase the consumption of miso.

Shoyu: Soy Sauce

Outline

Shoyu (soy sauce) is a liquid seasoning made from soybeans, wheat, and salt water by brewing using fermentation technology. It is one of the basic seasonings in Japanese cuisine. Although the seasoning named “soy sauce” is widely used in ethnic cuisine of East Asian countries, its material and manufacturing method are different from each culture and country. Japanese soy sauce is known as Japan’s taste that has been exported to more than 100 countries (Japan Soy Sauce Association 2012). On the other hand, Chinese soy sauces are primarily made from soybeans, with relatively low amounts of other grains. They can be roughly split into two classes: brewed or blended. For making the brewed-type one, the teien kotai hakko method is mainly used. The method is characterized by high temperature (about 45 °C) and short-term fermentation (about 20 days) and is quite different from the Japanese soy sauce production method (Hayashi 1988).

There are five types of shoyu roughly classified by the features, “koikuchi shoyu” (common soy sauce), “usukuchi shoyu” (light-colored soy sauce), “saishikomi shoyu” (re-fermented soy sauce), “tamari shoyu” (tamari soy sauce), and “shiro shoyu” (extra-light-colored soy sauce), (Soy Sauce Information Center 2014; Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, Japan 2014).

Each individual shoyu’s features is described in detail at the final section of this chapter. There are also three different types of production method. First one is “hon-jozo” (regular fermenting method), next one is “kongo-jozo” (mixed fermenting method), and last one is “kongo” (mixture method) (Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries 2014).

Methods of Preparation

The method of preparation of shoyu manufacturing process by hon-jozo of koikuchi shoyu, which is the most popular in Japan, is described as follows Soy Sauce Information Center 2014):


1. Material processing step: Soybeans are soaked in water and cooked over a pressure until they are swollen. After roasting, wheat is crushed. This thermal denaturation treatment is used to facilitate the decomposition of the raw materials by koji mold such as A. oryzae and A. sojae.

2. Koji-making step: The cooked soybeans and crushed wheat are mixed in similar amounts and by adding the koji mold thereto and are cultured for 3–4 days under high humidity. The resulting culture is referred to as the shoyu-koji.

3. Fermentation step: After breaking lumps of the shoyu-koji, salt water is added to the shoyu-koji and mixed, and then it is transferred to charge in the brewing tank. The shoyu-koji and salt-water mash is called moromi. While stirring according to the situation, it is matured for a few months to a year in the tank. During maturation, enzymes from shoyu-koji break down protein and starch from grains to amino acids, a low molecular peptide, and glucose, respectively. In addition, first shoyu lactic acid bacteria and then shoyu yeast are grown in the mash. The resulting organic acid such as lactic acid, ethanol, and various aromas which are essential components in the taste and fragrance of soy sauce are produced by their action.

4. Squeezing step: By a “squeeze cloth” made of durable material such as nylon, the mixture is weighted and wrapped (moromi) to separate the solid and liquid. The resulting clear liquid is referred to as “kiage-shoyu (raw soy sauce).”

5. Heat treatment and refining step: The raw soy sauce obtained in the previous step is heated in order to add with the characteristic soy sauce aroma as well as sterilize the microorganisms. The precipitation which is insolubilized by heat denaturation is allowed to settle, and the insoluble is removed by filtration to obtain a clear liquid. After component adjustment, the soy sauce is packed in containers.

Mode of Consumption and Culinary

Shoyu is used in a wide variety of food and cuisines. This includes, of course, Japanese cuisine, which was added to UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list in 2013. In general, shoyu is used for “tsuke-kake use (dipping-sprinkling)” and “ni-taki use (boiling-cooking).” “Tsuke-kake use” means that in the menu, such as sushi, sashimi, and tofu, we directly dip or soak them in a small amount of shoyu. On the other hand, “ni-taki use” means that in the menu, such as nikujaga or nimono dish, we boil or cook meat, fish, or vegetables with shoyu. For another use, it is also widely used as “tsuyu, the base sauce for noodle or tempura (fried fish and vegetables).” These findings show that shoyu is an essential condiment for the Japanese cuisine.

Microorganisms

Microorganisms which relate to shoyu manufacture can be roughly divided into koji mold, shoyu yeast, and shoyu lactic acid bacteria (Nakadai 2006a, b, c, 2007a, b). First A. oryzae and A. sojae, which belong to Aspergillus genus and have yellow spores, are known as koji molds (Nakadai 2006a). Both the genomes of the representative strains have been decoded (Machida et al. 2005; Sato et al. 2011). Although their genome sequence resembles that of A. flavus, an aflatoxin-producing microorganism, their genome information has demonstrated that the aflatoxin synthetic pathway of koji molds is incomplete (Nakadai 2006b; Matsushima et al. 2001). We have known two types of shoyu yeast. One is Z. rouxii, called main fermentative yeast, which mainly produces ethanol and 4-hydroxy-2 (or 5)-ethyl-5(or 2)-methyl-3(2H)-furanone (HEMF) and the main soy sauce aroma (Nakadai 2006c). The others are C. versatilis and C. etchellsii, called ripening yeasts, that mildly produce various aromas like 4-ethyl guaiacol and 4-ethylphenol in the late fermentation (Nakadai 2007a). Shoyu lactic acid bacteria, although there is a diversity of catabolism of sugar, are only known as T. halophilus (Nakadai 2007b).

Functionality and health benefits (Soy Sauce Information Center 2014)

Deodorizing: Shoyu has the effect of masking odor. Shoyu arai (rinsing with soy sauce) is a Japanese food preparation technique used to neutralize the raw smell of fish and meat.

Heat cooking effect: The sugar and amino acid content in shoyu reacts with each other when heated, in what is called an amino carbonyl reaction. This creates a unique fragrance.

Bacteriostatic effect: Shoyu contains salt and organic acids that help to prevent the growth of bacteria such as E. coli bacteria and even reduce them.

Contrasting effect: By adding a little shoyu to complete a dish, the sweetness of the flavors is accentuated. We call this the “contrasting effect.”

Salty mitigation effect: Add a few drops of shoyu to anything salty, like pickles that have been pickled for too long, and the organic acids will help to soften the saltiness.

Synergistic effect: The glutamic acid in shoyu and the inosinic acid in dried bonito flakes, katsuobushi, work together to create a deep umami. We call this the “synergistic effect flavors.”

Ethnical Value and Socioeconomy

Shoyu is produced in different regions of Japan, and each region has its own preferences and history of manufacture, producing unique characteristics (Soy Sauce Information Center 2014). Koikuchi shoyu is a common soy sauce which accounts for approximately 84 % of all shoyu consumed in Japan. It is a perfectly balanced seasoning with regard to flavor, color, and aroma. Usukuchi shoyu was born in the Kansai area, and this shoyu is lighter in color. Usukuchi shoyu contains about 10 % more salt than koikuchi shoyu and is used to preserve and enhance the natural color and flavor of food. Tamari shoyu is characterized by the grist which is almost soybeans.

This soy sauce is also characterized by its thick, umami-rich flavor and distinctive aroma. Mainly manufactured in the Chubu area, it is used both in cooking and in making other products, such as rice crackers. Saishikomi shoyu is a specially produced shoyu that is produced between the San’in area and Kyushu. Using kiage-shoyu instead of the salt water, the fermentation step is the most unique step in this soy sauce. Rich in color, flavor, and aroma, this shoyu is used mainly as a table condiment. Shiro shoyu is characterized by the grist which is almost not soybeans but wheat. This shoyu is the lightest in color of all shoyu, with a distinctive aroma, mainly produced in the Hekinan district of Aichi Prefecture in the Chubu area.

Natto: Fermented Soybean

Outline

Natto is a non-salted fermented soybean, which has been produced and consumed in Japan for over a thousand years. Natto is characterized by the offensive odor of ammonia and branched short-chain fatty acids and a very viscous polymer, polyglutamate (PGA). Although natto is eaten usually with cooked rice, it is also used as an ingredient in many dishes (sushi, soup, etc.) these days. Natto inherits nutritional advantages from soybeans, and moreover B. subtilis (natto), a sole fermentative microorganism of natto, produces some functional substances (Nagai 2015). Noteworthy substances are nattokinase, which is a serine protease activating a human fibrinolytic system, and vitamin K, which is essential to bone metabolism and blood coagulation. On the other hand, oligosaccharides, which favor the growth of lactic acid bacteria in intestines, in soybeans are consumed by B. subtilis (natto) during fermentation. Instead, B. subtilis (natto) itself seems to enhance the growth. B. subtilis (natto) also inhibits the growth of some pathogenic microorganisms. Natto was a highly localized foodstuff restricted to Japan, but now natto comes to be accepted as worldwide foodstuff, maybe because of its health-promoting benefits.

Methods of Preparation, Mode of Consumption, and Culinary

Before modernization of natto fermentation, natto was produced by packing boiled soybeans in bags of rice straws. Natto bacteria, B. subtilis (natto), habit in rice straws, and the bacteria grow on the soybeans packed in rice straws for 2 or 3 days, depending on ambient temperature, and ferment them to natto. Rice straws are used as both a source of natto bacteria and packing material. At the present day, the rice straws are replaced with a clean polymer container, and a spore suspension of B. subtilis (natto) is inoculated onto boiled soybeans. The fermentation is carried out under controlled conditions. Natto is eaten with cooked rice in many cases, especially at breakfast. Natto is also used as an ingredient in sushi, soup, pizza, spaghetti, and other dishes.

Microorganisms

Natto is fermented only by Bacillus subtilis (gram-positive, spore-forming, rod-shaped, aerobic bacteria), which was formerly named as B. natto by Sawamura (Sawamura 1906).

Because typical strains of B. subtilis (e.g., a Marburg strain) cannot make natto at all, a group of natto-fermenting B. subtilis strains are often referred to as B. subtilis (natto) for industrial reasons (Nagai 2015).

Biochemistry and Nutritional Composition

Nutritional composition per 100 g of natto is as follows: energy 200 kcal, water 59.5 g, protein 16.5 g, lipid 10.0 g, carbohydrate 12.1 g, and ash 1.9 g (Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, Japan 2014). The composition is almost equal to that of boiled soybeans. A prominent increase during fermentation from boiled soybeans is observed in a content of vitamin K (from 7 to 600 μg). As the high content of vitamin K inhibits the action of warfarin, an anticoagulant, patients administered with warfarin should not take natto (Kudo 1990). The most remarkable property of natto is production of PGA. The molecule is composed of both D- and L-glutamate, which are linked between an amino group and a γ-carboxyl group. PGA is estimated to be 106 Da (Nagai et al. 1997). The genes for PGA production were cloned in E. coli and sequenced, revealing that the PGA-producing enzyme exists as a membranous enzyme complex composed of three polypeptides (Ashiuchi et al. 1999). B. subtilis (natto) produced many kinds of enzymes, in which proteases are the most important because of their contribution to the taste of natto. Moreover, it is worth noted that the enzymes decompose allergen proteins in soybeans, resulting in the reduction of the allergic risk in soy proteins (Yamanishi et al. 1995).

Functionality and Health Benefits

Besides nutritional components, natto has a wide variety of functional compounds, which are produced by B. subtilis (natto) or inhered from soybeans (Nagai 2015). And nattokinase and probiotic effects of natto are attracting more attention of consumers. From natto, a urokinase-like enzyme was discovered and named nattokinase. The enzyme is a serine protease produced by B. subtilis (natto), and the function of nattokinase might be due to activation of a human fibrinolytic system rather than to direct decomposition of fibrin in blood vessels (Sumi 1991). Many reports on antibiotic activities of natto have been published since 1931, when Salmonella was successfully cured in a patient by oral administration of natto. One candidate of the antibiotics is dipicolinic acid contained in spores of B. subtilis (natto). Natto or B. subtilis (natto) has also probiotic activities. Oligosaccharides in soybeans favor the growth of lactic acid bacteria, but the oligosaccharides are consumed during natto fermentation. Instead, B. subtilis (natto) itself functions as probiotics in intestines (Hosoi et al. 1999).

Ethnical Value and Socioeconomy

It is thought that natto was already consumed around 1000 AD when the earliest description on natto appeared in Japanese classic literature (Watanabe 2009b). There are several legends on the origin of natto: the most famous one says that boiled soybeans packed in a bag woven with rice straws turned to natto on the back of a troop horse in a civil war (1083–1087 AD) which occurred in the northern area of Japan. This might be supported by the fact that natto is consumed more in the northern area of Japan than in the southern or western areas (Kansai area or Kyushu Island), though the regionality is dissolving today. Natto-like fermented soybeans using Bacillus sp. are produced in many areas of Asia (Nagai and Tamang 2010). Though viscous polymer often was not seen on the final products in the areas, PGA-producing strains were isolated from the products, the existence of which might indicate that natto and these foods are essentially the same. In 2005, 236,000 tons of natto were produced in Japan, soybeans of which were mainly imported from the USA, Canada, and China (Watanabe 2009b). The price of one container of natto (40 g) is about 30 yen and that of natto made of domestic soybeans is higher in Japan.

Su: Vinegar

Outline

Su is a vinegar in Japanese which is composed of fermented and synthetic vinegar. In general, fermented vinegar is usually produced from cereal or fruit, while, on the other hand, synthetic vinegar is generally produced from glacial acetic acid. In Japan, cereal vinegar is mainly consumed, and rice vinegar is the main category of cereal vinegar. Rice vinegar is defined as cereal vinegar using rice more than 40 g/l. Recently “rice black vinegar” is newly divided from “rice vinegar.” Rice black vinegar is defined as rice vinegar using rice more than 180 g/l, and color of that vinegar should be changed to bark or black via fermentation and maturation. Here, we describe the rice vinegar, especially the rice black vinegar (Yanagida 1987).

Rice vinegars are usually made directly from rice and koji, molds cultured on the steamed rice, and they are produced in stainless or rarely wood tanks without mixing and aeration. Saccharification and alcoholic fermentation were usually separated from acetic acid fermentation in rice vinegar production (Entani 2001). On the other hand, Fukuyama pot vinegar is made in pot. Fukuyama pot vinegar is one of the most traditional types of rice black vinegar in Japan produced for more than 200 years in Kagoshima Prefecture in Kyushu, the southeasternmost large island in Japan. Here, saccharification, alcohol fermentation, and acetic acid fermentation are conducted in one pot (Yanagida 1990, 2001).

Methods of Preparation

Fermentation of Fukuyama pot vinegar is conducted in loosely capped pots laid on the ground of open-air fields. Here we describe the production process and the fermentation mechanism of Fukuyama pot vinegar. At first, steamed rice, rice koji, and water were put into a pot, and then floating koji, well-dried rice koji, is scattered onto that surface. Then a roughly capped pot was laid on the plane for more than 90 days without specific manipulation, and rice vinegar with brown color is completed. Alcoholic fermentation is conducted in an anaerobic environment, and acetic acid fermentation is conducted in an aerobic environment.

However, there were no additional microorganisms and specific manipulation for controlling the complex fermentation of Fukuyama pot vinegar. Rice vinegars in Japan are usually made from rice and koji, and saccharification and alcoholic fermentation processes are usually separated from acetic acid fermentation processes. On the other hand, in Fukuyama pot vinegar, saccharification, alcoholic fermentation, and acetic acid fermentation processes proceed sequentially and partly in parallel in one pot (Koizumi et al. 1987). Here, floating koji, well-dried rice koji, described above plays an important role in Fukuyama pot vinegar. Floating koji covers the surface of fermentation mixture, inhibiting the formation of pellicle by acetic acid bacteria. After alcoholic fermentation, floating koji settles out spontaneously, and pellicle of acetic acid bacteria was formed on the fermentation mixture. Therefore, the settling out of floating koji brought about the natural transition of anaerobic alcoholic fermentation to aerobic acetic acid fermentation. Therefore, spontaneous settling out of floating koji is the most important point in the particular fermentation process of Fukuyama pot vinegar (Koizumi et al. 1988).

Increase of the weight of floating koji or change of the interfacial activity of fermentation mixture or other reasons would induce the settling out of floating koji; however, the mechanism of the settling out of floating koji is unclear. This should be clarified in the future.

Mode of Consumption and Culinary

Vinegar is usually used for flavoring, controlling microorganisms, and lowering pH. Rice vinegar is usually used for seasoning the sushi rice and also used in various Japanese dishes. Fukuyama pot vinegar is usually drunk directly for health and also can be used in various Japanese dishes (Kanie 1990).

Microorganisms

A. oryzae is used for producing koji and S. cerevisiae is used for alcoholic fermentation in rice vinegar (Koizumi et al. 1988). Acetobacter aceti or A. pasteurianus are usually used for rice vinegar fermentation (Ameyama and Ohtsuka1990). In addition, lactic acid bacteria would also contribute to the rice vinegar fermentation (Entani and Masai 1985a). In Fukuyama pot vinegar, A. oryzae is also used for producing koji and S.cerevisiae also contributed to alcoholic fermentation (Furukawa and Katakura 2012; Haruta et al. 2006). In addition A. aceti or A. pasteurianus also contributed to acetic acid fermentation. There were various lactic acid bacteria, such as Lactobacillus, Lactococcus, and Pediococcus species, which are detected from the mush of Fukuyama pot vinegar, and contribution of lactic acid bacteria to lactic acid fermentation would be important for Fukuyama pot vinegar fermentation to controlling the contamination in the early phase of fermentation (Furukawa et al. 2008a, 2008b, 2013, 2014; Okazaki et al. 2010; Koizumi et al. 1996).

Biochemistry Composition

Total nitrogen content, mainly amino acid, and organic acid content, mainly lactic acid and pyroglutamic acid (Tayama 2012), of Fukuyama pot vinegar are generally higher than other rice vinegars. These characteristic properties of chemical composition would bring about the higher umami and balmy acid taste of Fukuyama pot vinegar (Koizumi et al. 1987; Entani and Masai 1985b).

Functionality and Health Benefits

It was indicated that vinegar has some health functions: inducing saliva secretion and supporting digestion, recovery from fatigue, repressing elevation of blood sugar level, and promoting calcium absorption (Tayama 2012). Rice vinegar and Fukuyama pot vinegar also have the above health functions, and Fukuyama pot vinegar would have some other health functions (ibid.).

Ethnical Value and Socioeconomy

Fukuyama pot vinegar is now produced just in Japan, but it is thought to have handed down from surrounding countries sometime between the fourth and nineteenth century (Furukawa et al. 2008b). Fukuyama pot vinegar is produced in Kyushu Island, the southeastern most large island in Japan, and there were resembling vinegars fermented in pots in the west side of Kyushu Island. Fukuyama pot vinegar is produced in small pots and this contributes to the risk distribution. Fukuyama pot vinegar production is so economic because it needs no specific manipulation in its fermentation process, and therefore, only the Fukuyama pot vinegar survived as a commercial product in Kyushu also in Japan (Higashi 1981).

Tsukemono: Fermented Vegetables

Outline

Tsukemono is pickled vegetables of Japan which includes two categories: traditional fermented vegetables and unfermented ones. Fermented vegetables with salt and seasonings were traditionally used to extend shelf life and enhance taste and flavors. Due to development of cold chain and health considerations, salt concentration becomes lower, and fermentation is omitted from the production process in most of commercially supplied tsukemono. Nevertheless, traditional fermented vegetables and homemade fermented vegetables are still consumed at the tables in Japan. In this section, the traditional fermented vegetables are described (Miyao 2002; Koizumi 2000). Most of the vegetables, even some fruits, are used for tsukemono, for example, Japanese radish (daikon), cucumber, eggplant, and Chinese cabbage (hakusai), and these are often named as seasoning materials for pickling.

One of the representative seasoning materials is a nukadoko, which is a pasty mixture of rice bran, salt, spices, and water. Vegetables pickled in nukadoko are called nuka-zuke. Fermented nukadoko contains various lactic acid bacteria which produce lactic acid, flavors, and, in some cases, antibacterial substances called bacteriocins (Irisawa et al. 2014; Kato et al. 2014; Nakayama et al. 2007; Ono et al. 2014). Several fermented products made from local vegetables specified for tsukemono are named from the name of the vegetables. During pickling process, vegetable cells are killed in the presence of salt, and self-digested cellular materials are fermented by lactic acid bacteria, resulting in good taste, flavors, and acidification to prevent the products from spoilage bacteria.

Methods of Preparation

The methods to make tsukemono vary from a simple salting to more complicated processes involving preparation of vegetables and of fermented materials such as koji, miso, and shoyu. To make nuka-zuke, vegetables are washed and directly pickled in nukadoko. Nukadoko is made from rice bran, salt (10–15 wt.% of rice bran), seasonings (dried kelp, red pepper, Japanese pepper), and water (100 wt.% of rice bran). It is important to mix the nukadoko to stabilize the microflora and to balance anaerobic fermentation by lactic acid bacteria with aerobic fermentation by yeasts. It takes more than a week to activate microbial growth and to mature the nukadoko (Ono et al. 2015).

In the case of food manufacturers, fresh vegetables are at first brined in the presence of ca. 20 wt.% of NaCl (Miyao 2002). Figure 9.14 shows takuan-zuke in a food manufacturer, for example. Fresh daikon are washed, pickled, and weighted for several months. During fermentation, daikon turns to yellow, the specific color of takuan, by chemical change of an isothiocyanate component (Matsuoka et al. 2002, 2008). Brined daikon are washed, cut, desalted to suitable salt concentration, and packed with seasonings. Other than shio-zuke, brined vegetables are desalted and pickled with various seasonings or materials such as miso, sake, lee, etc. Most products are packed in plastic bags or containers, followed by sterilization, and put on the market.

Mode of Consumption and Culinary

A set of rice, miso soup, and a small dish of tsukemono is served practically in every traditional meal with other side dishes or after drinking sake. Japanese eat rice as their staple diet. Salty tsukemono is necessary when eating cooked rice without taste and is valued for their unique flavors. Tsukemono is a kind of ready-to-eat food without cooking and is served with Japanese tea as a snack. Some fermented vegetables, such as hakusai-zuke, takuan-zuke, and sunki-zuke, are sometimes used for stir-fries.

Microorganisms

Microorganisms involved in fermented vegetables are mainly lactic acid bacteria. For example, L. brevis (Nakagawa et al. 2001; Ogihara et al. 2009; Shinagawa et al. 1996), L. namurensis (Sakamoto et al. 2011; Kato et al. 2014), L. acetotolerans (Nakayama et al. 2007; Sakamoto et al. 2011), L. sakei (Nakagawa et al. 2001; Ogihara et al. 2009; Oyaizu and Ogihara 2009), L. curvatus (Nakagawa et al. 2001; Ogihara et al. 2009; Oyaizu and Ogihara 2009; Shinagawa et al. 1996), L. collinoides (Nakagawa et al. 2001), L.fructivorans (Nakagawa et al. 2001), L. casei (Nakagawa et al. 2001), L. casei subsp. pseudoplantarum (Shinagawa et al. 1996), L. delbrueckii (Endo et al. 2008), L. fermentum (Endo et al. 2008; Nakagawa et al. 2001), L. plantarum (Endo et al. 2008; Ogihara et al. 2009; Ono et al. 2014; Shinagawa et al. 1996), L. lactis (Nakagawa et al. 2001), L. mesenteroides (Nakagawa et al. 2001; Oyaizu and Ogihara 2009; Shinagawa et al. 1996), L. carnosum (Oyaizu and Ogihara 2009), L. citreum (Nakagawa et al. 2001), Pediococcus pentosaceus (Nakagawa et al. 2001; Zhao et al. 2012), and Pediococcus damnosus (Nakagawa et al. 2001) have been reported. Further, new species, L. kisonensis sp. nov., L. otakiensis sp. nov., L. rapi sp. nov., L. sunkii sp. nov. (Watanabe et al. 2009), L. delbrueckii subsp. sunkii subsp. nov. (Kudo et al. 2012), and L. furfuricola sp. nov. (Irisawa et al. 2014) have been found in Japanese fermented vegetables. Recent metagenomic approach will provide the information of ecosystem in fermented products (Ono et al. 2014, 2015; Sakamoto et al. 2011). Depending on the seasoning materials, yeasts such as D. hansenii, S. cerevisiae, S. servazzii, and Z. rouxii are also involved in the fermentation (Kato et al. 1991; Miyao 2002; Yamagata and Fujita 1974).

Biochemistry and Nutritional Composition

Tsukemono had been eaten as vegetable source to intake vitamins and dietary fiber before fresh vegetables are available in markets year-round. As tsukemono is made from raw vegetables in the presence of salt, and nutritional components are relatively conserved. In the case of nuka-zuke, vitamins from nukadoko, including rice bran and fermented products of bacteria, are accumulated in fermented vegetables. Other nutritional compositions are depending on the vegetables and the maturing period.

Functionality and Health Benefits

Mortality due to stroke and intake of salt is highest in the Tohoku area (northern part of Honshu Island). Causal relationship between intake of salty foods including tsukemono and unhealthy effects has been pointed out (Yamada et al. 2003). On the other hand, tsukemono is one of the sources to intake nutrients from vegetables containing dietary fibers and vitamins more than original raw vegetables. Although health benefits and risks of fermented vegetable are still debatable, fermented vegetables are important elements in Washoku (Japanese cuisine) that are thought to be an exceptionally well-balanced and healthy diet. Besides nutrients from vegetables, components involved in functionality are lactic acid bacteria and their metabolites such as γ-aminobutyric acid. Lactic strains isolated from fermented vegetables have distinct properties from strains from dairy products (Nomura et al. 2006). Functionality of so-called plant-derived LAB has been examined (Takii et al. 2013; Waki et al. 2014; Suzuki et al. 2014a, b; Higashikawa et al. 2010; Zhao et al. 2012; Yamamoto et al. 2011). Depending on the activity of glutamate decarboxylase expressed from LAB, the concentration of γ-aminobutyric acid is increased in some types of fermented vegetables (Setoguchi et al. 2005; Ueno et al. 2007; Fukai and Tukada 2007; Watanabe et al. 2009).

Ethnical Value and Socioeconomy

The first historical record of tsukemono was written in the eighth century, and varieties of tsukemono were mentioned frequently in various literatures in the tenth century (Koizumi 2000). Local distinctive fermented vegetables are produced from Hokkaido (the northernmost islands) to Okinawa (the southernmost islands), with a latitude range of 46–20°N. Local specific vegetables with specific seasoning materials provide distinctive products, which characterize local food culture. One of these products, kobutakana in Unzen (Nagasaki Prefecture (Pref.)), was selected as “Precidia” of the “Ark of Taste” project. A unique salt-free fermentation in Japan (Watanabe et al. 2009; Kudo et al. 2012; Endo et al. 2008), sunki-zuke, is made from a turnip in Kiso (Nagano Pref.), which is similar to Gundruk in India (Karki and Itoh 1988). Suguki-zuke is also made from a turnip in Kyoto Pref. and is different from sunki-zuke in fermentation in the presence of salt. Washoku is characterized as the sense of the beauty of nature and of the changing seasons. Local fermented vegetables are also important elements to express the local characteristics and seasons. Salted cherry blossoms, the national flower of Japan, are served with boiled water instead of tea at a betrothal ceremony and at a wedding.

Fermented Seafoods

Outline

A variety of fermented seafoods are produced in Japan; only representative products are introduced here, but please refer to previous monographs for additional information (Fujii 1992; Fukuda et al. 2005). Japanese fermented seafoods are divided into three major types based on the fermentation procedure, namely, salted type, pickled type, and molded type. The salted fermented foods include fish sauce and salted fish, which are typically made from simply fish and salt (more than 10 %). Fermentation of these foods involves the digestion of fish materials by self-digestion and microorganisms.

The predominant microorganisms are gram-positive cocci including halophilic lactic acid bacteria. Their organoleptic features are a salty taste, preferable with a fishy odor, and strong umami quality. Pickled fermented foods are made from raw fish materials combined with carbohydrates such as cooked rice or bran. Representative products include funa-zushi, izushi, and rice bran pickles. They are typically processed by lactic acid fermentation with bacteria. They are distinctly characterized by their sour taste and flavor, occasionally resembling cheese. The shelf life and quality stabilization period are shorter than those of salted products owing to the low salt concentration (except for salted rice bran pickles). Furthermore, there are boiled, smoke-dried, and molded fish (fushi), referred to as katsuobushi, that are made from dried smoked bonito and mold starter. The mold starter functions in the digestion of lipids and dehydration. The unique aromatic flavor derived from phenolic compounds resulting from the smoking step is also a distinct characteristic of katsuobushi. The soup stock extracted from sliced katsuobushi, called dashi, is the essence of Japanese cuisine (Fujii 1992; Fukuda et al. 2005).

Fish Sauce

Fish sauce is a liquid condiment made by the long-term fermentation of fish and salt. Japanese fish sauce is made from many types of small fish including shellfish, sandfish, sardines, squid, and others. The salt concentration is approximately 20 % or more, and the fermentation period is longer than 1 year for traditional fish sauce (Fujii 1992).

The history of fish sauce production in Japan is older than that of soy sauce; it was a popular condiment until the distribution of soy sauce (Ishige and Raddle 1990). The organoleptic features of fish sauce are salty and strong umami qualities and preferably a (sometimes unique) fishy odor. To improve the fishy smell and to reduce the fermentation period, mold starter, called koji, is added to fish materials during fish sauce processing (Funatsu et al.2000). Recently, fish sauce production in Japan has increased dramatically as a measure to reduce fishing industry waste by making full use of fish materials, although the production of traditional fish sauce is decreasing. The current production volume is estimated at approximately 6100 tons per year in Japan (Funatsu 2013).

The fermentation mechanism is the digestion of fish materials using self-digestion enzymes and microorganisms, resulting in the accumulation of chemical compounds that affect taste and flavor. The accumulation of amino acids and peptides that are associated with the typical fish sauce taste results from a self-digestion enzyme secreted from fish materials (Yamashita et al. 1991). During fermentation, bacterial counts and total nitrogen, as well as amino acids and peptides, increase; hence, the pH decreases owing to lactic acid accumulation. Halophilic lactic acid bacteria, mainly T. halophilus, are dominant during fermentation in a variety of Japanese fish sauces (Fujii 1992; Dicks et al. 2009). Changes in the bacterial flora of Japanese fish sauce during fermentation have been studied previously (Fukui et al. 2012). The bacteria play an important role in the accumulation of lactic acid during fish sauce fermentation, though they have little effect on the digestion of fish materials or the production of amino acids via enzymes. The basic quality of fish sauce is stable as long as an appropriate salt concentration is used. However, the accumulation of biogenic amines, including histamine and tyramine, sometimes occurs during fish sauce production. Certain tetragenococcal strains are histamine producers (Satomi et al. 2011, 2012).

Shiokara

Salted fish, shiokara in Japanese, refers to fish that is mixed with salt and aged. A representative product is a salted squid; approximately 20,000 tons per year are produced in Japan (Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries 2012). A variety of fish is used in addition to squid, including the organs of skipjack tuna, sea cucumber intestines, salmon kidneys, and others. The salt concentration is approximately 10 % for traditional products, which are stored in ambient temperatures. The aging period is 10–20 days. The optimal time for consumption after aging is within several weeks without refrigeration. Recently, consumers have demanded seafood with a reduced salt concentration. Therefore, most of the salted fish sold in Japan contains only 5 % salt or less, though it is necessary to keep the products in cold or freezing conditions during distribution and storage (Fujii 1992).

For production, fish materials are digested using self-digestion enzymes, resulting in the accumulation of chemical compounds that influence the taste and flavor (Fujii et al. 1994). The accumulation of amino acids and peptides related to the typical salted fish taste is provided by the self-digestion enzymes secreted from fish materials, and squid liver is particularly important for providing proteolytic enzymes during salted squid production. Therefore, the roles of microorganisms are not significant with respect to taste, raising questions regarding whether salted fish can be considered a fermented food or not. However, Staphylococcus spp. have been isolated from salted squid, and the bacteria have been implicated in the production of the distinct salted squid smell (Fujii et al. 1994). Since this question is still not resolved, the words “aged” and “aging” will be used instead of fermentation.

Kusaya

Kusaya is a salt-dried fish made from flying fish, amberstripe scad, and mackerel scad in the Izu Islands. The unique characteristics of kusaya are attributed to the brine used in its production. This brine has been successively used for a long time, and some are said to have been used for more than 100 years, which is called kusaya gravy (Fujii 1992). Thus, various microbial metabolites have accumulated, giving the gravy unique features and flavors. Kusaya gravy is rich in nutrients for bacteria; it contains 3–8 % NaCl (depending on the manufacturer), volatile nitrogen compounds, and low oxygen concentrations (Fujii 1992; Satomi et al. 1997). The bacterial community is complex, indicating that it cannot be applied to specific fermentation uses (Satomi et al. 1997; Takahashi et al. 2002). Owing to its turbid brown color, high viscosity, offensive smell, and other such properties, there have been concerns regarding its safety from a public health standpoint. However, it was revealed that the gravy is able to suppress the growth of some pathogenic bacteria (Fujii et al. 1990). Although the fermentation mechanisms have not been elucidated, the compounds associated with the unique taste and odor of this gravy could result from bacterial metabolites of fish body exudates during the soaking procedures. Many of new bacterial species, mainly Oceanospirillaceae species, have been isolated from the gravy (Satomi and Fujii 2014).

Nare-Zushi (Fermented Sushi, Pickled Sushi, and Matured Sushi)

Nare-zushi is fermented seafood in which fish raw materials are pickled with rice or other carbohydrate materials. Common fish used to produce nare-zushi are crucian carp, mackerel, salmon, sandfish, and others (Fujii 1992). Two types of nare-zushi are produced in Japan, one with a long-term fermentation represented by funa-zushi and one with a short-term fermentation represented by izushi. Funa-zushi, which is made from crucian carp carrying eggs, is particularly famous for its use in typical pickled sushi. The traditional preparation of una-zushi is as follows: a crucian carp carrying eggs is used as a raw material, the scales and internal organs are removed, the fish is cured in saturated saline for approximately 1 year, the fish is washed with water, cooked rice is packed into the fish abdomen, and it is fermented for an additional year.

To consume the final product, the cooked rice that adheres to the fish is removed. The fish and fish eggs are edible. Other nare-zushi products such as izushi have similar features, though the fermentation period is shorter than that of funa-zushi and taste is more general. Production and consumption volumes are decreasing owing to changes in palatability and a decreasing supply of crucian carp. However, pickled sushi products made with other fish are still familiar in each district in Japan. The sour taste and flavor are distinct characteristics, and it occasionally resembles cheese.

The chemical characteristics of funa-zushi are as follows: 2–4 % salt concentration, pH 3.7–3.8, and lactate, acetate, formate, and propionate as the dominant organic acids. The shelf life and quality stabilization period are shorter than those of salted fermented seafoods owing to the low salt concentration (except for salted rice bran pickles). The predominant microorganisms are lactobacilli, streptococci, and pediococci, which are involved in lactic acid fermentation. Therefore, the fermentation mechanism is considered typical lactic acid fermentation, and rice can be utilized as the carbon source. In the curing step, which involves the soaking of fish in saturated brine, halophilic lactic acid bacteria such as T. halophilus have been isolated. Such foods have a hygiene issue related to botulism poisoning owing to the anaerobic conditions inside the tubs used during fermentation.

Nuka-Zuke

Rice bran pickles called nuka-zuke are produced by the aging of salted fish with rice bran at ambient temperatures for over 6 months (Fujii 1992). Common fish used for nuka-zuke are mackerel, sardine, herring, and others. The traditional preparation of nuka-zuke is as follows: using whole fish, the scales and internal organs are removed, the fish is cured in saturated saline for approximately 1 week, the fish is washed with water, rice bran is packed into the fish abdomen, and it is fermented in a tub for an additional 6 months, at minimum. To consume the final product, the rice bran that adheres to the fish is removed.

The salt concentration is approximately 10 %. The organoleptic features of nuka-zuke are salty and strong umami qualities and preferably a (sometimes unique) fishy odor with rice bran flavor. In some districts, nuka-zuke is used as an ingredient in soup, because it can provide the salt. Recently, nuka-zuke production has increased dramatically with the promotion of the consumption of locally produced foods in Japan. The scale of this industry is large, valued at approximately 6 million dollars in Japan.

Like fish sauce fermentation, fermentation of nuka-zuke involves the digestion of fish materials using self-digestion enzymes and microorganisms. The accumulation of amino acids and peptides related to the typical nuka-zuke taste is attributed to the self-digestion enzymes secreted from fish material and rice bran. Halophilic lactic acid bacteria, mainly T. halophilus, are the dominant bacteria during fermentation in these foods (Kosaka and Ooizumi 2012). The bacteria play an important role in production of aromatic components during fermentation, though their ability to digest fish material and produce amino acids using enzymes is not significant (Kosaka et al. 2012). The basic quality of nuka-zuke is stable as long as the salt concentration is appropriate. Furthermore, the accumulation of biogenic amines, including histamine and tyramine, sometimes occurs during nuka-zuke production. Certain tetragenococcal strains are histamine producers (Satomi et al. 2012).

Unusual raw materials are used for nuka-zuke in some regions, such as the pufferfish ovaries, called fugunoko-nuka-zuke (fermented pufferfish ovaries in rice bran). Pufferfish ovaries contain a deadly poison, tetrodotoxin, so detoxification is an important step. Therefore, the fermentation period lasts up to 4 years. The predominant bacteria are Tetragenococcus spp., similar to other rice bran pickles. Since all nuka-zuke products contain a large amount of salt (more than 10 %), the fermentation properties are similar to those of salted-type products. During fermentation, lactic acid accumulates in a tub with fish and rice bran, which can result in the proliferation of halophilic lactic acid bacteria (Kobayashi et al. 1995).

Fushi

Katsuobushi (boiled, smoke-dried, and molded skipjack tuna) is a representative fushi product made from skipjack tuna. It is an indispensable ingredient in Japanese cuisine. The history of fushi production is very old; prototypes of the products have been dated to about 1500 years ago based on an ancient document. The present form of the molded products is very similar to those that were developed about 300 years ago in Japan (Fujii 1992). Interestingly, similar fermented foods are produced in the Maldives; the origin is unclear. The product is solid, has a low moisture content (approximately 15 % or less), and is extremely hard, causing dryness with protein vitrification. In addition to bonito, mackerel and its relatives are used as raw materials. The production of fushi is currently estimated at 90,000 tons per year, of which 32,000 tons is dried bonito in Japan (Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries 2012). Fushi including katsuobushi is sometimes used for soup stock, rather than food; it is sliced into thin sections and the taste and aromatic components are extracted by boiling water. Soup extracted from katsuobushi, called dashi in Japanese, contains many aromatic components and a large amount of inosinic acid that enhances the taste of glutamate (Fujii 1992). Since the salt concentration is very low (<1 a="" alone="" and="" clear="" dashi="" does="" glutamate="" however="" is="" nbsp="" not="" p="" preferred="" provide="" salt="" strongly="" taste.="" taste="" umami.="" with="">
A smoking procedure is involved in processing. The unique aromatic flavor of katsuobushi is derived from phenolic compounds that result from the smoking step. A unique final step in katsuobushi processing is molding using various Aspergillus species, though dried fish without the molding step are also produced as a commercial item in Japan. The purpose of this step is to reduce the lipid and moisture contents of the products, which suppresses the risks of lipid oxidation and microbiological spoilage caused by high water activity. The strains used in the molding step are able to degrade lipids, but have no proteolytic activity. The molding step can make dashi taste more sophisticated, refined, and sharp compared with simple dried fish prepared without molding. As was mentioned above, since the materials have already been boiled, dried, and smoked before being molded, the risk of bacterial degradation is low and the fermentation is unremarkable. However, products that are treated by molding during the final processing step are regarded as fermented seafoods.

Sake: Rice Wine

Outline

The first meaning of “sake” given by many Japanese dictionaries is “a general term for alcoholic beverage.” The second is “a transparent beverage brewed from rice by a Japanese original method.” But, we use the second meaning of sake in most cases in present Japan. I think that this situation occurred because sake has continued to be a typical alcoholic beverage in Japan through many years. In other countries, they prefer the second meaning of sake. The sake of the second meaning is described in this section.

Sake is suited to be enjoyed with dishes rather than by itself. Many Japanese like to eat and drink in a Japanese tavern, “izakaya,” where they can eat various cooking including home cooking and drink various beverages including not only sake but also other alcoholic beverages and soft drinks. In contrast to a pub in England, an izakaya attaches great importance to dishes in general. This interesting form of restaurant, izakaya, is considered to be produced by the characteristic of sake. Sake is often heated before drinking because its aroma and taste change according to temperature. It is called “kan.” The Japanese have several special terms for kan, such as “hitohada-kan” (at about 35 °C; body temperature) and “atsu-kan” (at about 50 °C). “Hiya” means the room temperature. In recent Japan, persons who enjoy “hana-bie” (at about 10 °C; temperature at the cherry blossom) or “yuki-bie” (at about 5 °C; temperature on snow) are increasing. Sake has been a central player of Japanese food culture for a long time and will remain so in the future.

Technical Terms in Sake Brewing

Several technical terms are used in sake brewing, and some of them are also used in the general public of Japan because sake has been loved by the Japanese for a long time.


Method of Preparation

Sake is brewed from rice. Beer is also brewed from grains but there is a great difference in brewing processes between sake and beer. In the case of beer, alcoholic fermentation starts after saccharification finishes. In the case of sake, saccharification and alcoholic fermentation progress simultaneously. In more detail, amylases from koji convert rice starch into glucose and yeasts convert the glucose into alcohol and carbon dioxide in the same container. Therefore, the glucose concentration during brewing of sake changes more slowly than beer. “Sandan-jikomi” is the standard in sake brewing. In this method, materials are added into moto three separate times. It was developed for the purpose to keep the yeast content and not to increase undesirable bacteria.

If enzymes are active when sake is stored, a sweetness and an unpleasant smell gradually increase (Ishikawa 2002). If a kind of lactic acid bacterium, “hi-ochi-kin,” increases, sake becomes cloudy. Therefore, sake is usually heated to about 60 °C to deactivate enzymes and to pasteurize before maturing. This process is called “hi-ire.”

Some people think sake “the fresher, the better” because some recent advertisements frequently use “sibori-tate” that means fresh. But, maturing is an important process for sake as well as other alcoholic beverages. To add a calm, smooth, and mild taste to sake, it is usually stored in a tank for less than 1 year. The sake that was stored for more than 1 year is called “chouki-chozo-shu,” which has more unique aroma and taste.

Microorganisms

There is a proverb, “First koji, the second moto, and the third tsukuri.” This expresses important processes for making sake, that is, making koji is the most important, making moto the second, and making moromi the third. In making sake, controlling microbes is essential. Koji mold, A. oryzae, is used for making koji (Ishikawa 2002). The Brewing Society of Japan authorized koji mold as the national microbe of Japan in 2006 (Brewing Society of Japan 2006). A good koji has high enzyme activities, that is, a great amount of amylases and proteases are accumulated in koji. For making a good koji, toji takes extreme care to prepare the steamed rice because it is a medium of koji mold and has a considerable effect on the final koji. To control the water content of rice with an accuracy of 1 %, washing rice, soaking rice in water, and straining water from rice are precisely carried out by all the kura-bitos in accordance with toji’s cues in a traditional koji making.

In making moto, yeast, S. cerevisiae, is cultured in an acidic medium including water, koji, and lactic acid (Ishikawa 2002). Lactic acid is added to prevent the increase of undesirable microorganisms. The moto made by this method is called “sokujo-moto.” Before developing sokujo-moto, a traditional moto, “ki-moto,” was used. The method to make ki-moto needs more time and labor. By this method, however, undesirable microorganisms are skillfully removed by the action of nitrate-reducing bacteria and lactic acid bacteria. The method is reasonable from the point of the present biology. Several sakes made from ki-moto are on the market recently because they are expected to have complex aroma and taste produced by many kinds of microorganisms (National Research Institute of Brewing, Japan 2007).

Nutritional Composition

At the point of nutritional composition, sake is distinctive among alcoholic beverages. Sake contains protein and carbohydrate more than the other alcoholic beverages (Ministry of Education Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, Japan (2014) Food Composition Database). This indicates that sake has a richer taste and is closer to soup than the other alcoholic beverages.

Health Risks and Benefits

The World Health Organization indicates many risks increased by alcohol, especially heavy episodic drinking (World Health Organization 2014). The risks include health consequences for drinkers, socioeconomic consequences for drinkers, harms to other individuals, and harms to society at large. For example, harms to other individuals can be intentional, e.g., assault or homicide, or unintentional, e.g., a traffic crash, workplace accident, or scalding of a child. If alcoholic beverages including sake are appropriately drunk, however, many persons really feel some benefits such as increased appetite and relaxation and improvement of human relations. In addition, moderate drinking reduces the risk of ischemic heart disease statistically (Roerecke and Rehm 2012). It is recently reported that some components included in sake are related to control of hypertension, prevention of diabetes, skin whitening, and so on (Imayasu 1999; Imayasu and Kawato 1999a, b).

Ethnical Value and Socioeconomy

Most of the productions of alcohol beverages in Japan were recorded in comparison with other countries because of a tax on alcohol (World Health Organization 2014). In consequence, various statistical data about alcoholic beverages published by the National Tax Agency (NTA), Japan, are available and reliable. A tax on alcohol played a critical role in modernization of Japan (National Tax Agency, Japan 2014). The ratio of a tax on alcohol to the total of national taxes was higher than 30 % in fiscal year 1902. The ratio gradually decreased with industrialization and it became lower than 3 % in fiscal 2012. The amount of a tax on alcohol was 1350 billion yen, whereas those of an income tax, a corporate tax, and a tax on tobacco were, respectively, 13,993 billion yen, 9758 billion yen, and 1018 billion yen in fiscal 2012.

NTA licenses corporations for making or selling alcohol beverages. The number of licensed factories has not markedly changed after fiscal 1990. The number of licensed wholesalers has decreased constantly from fiscal 1990 to fiscal 2012. The number of licensed retailers peaked at 201,874 in fiscal 2007. The categories of stores at which Japanese buy alcohol beverages have changed drastically only in about 20 years. More than 80 % of alcohol beverages were sold by ordinary liquor stores in fiscal 1990. In this 20 years, the ratio of the volume sold by liquor stores has decreased rapidly. In contrast, supermarkets and mass retailers have expanded their powers during the same period.

Consumption

The consumption of sake shows a chronic tendency to decrease in Japan. The ratio of sake to the total alcoholic beverages was more than 70 % in fiscal 1970 but that was about 6 % in fiscal 2012 (National Tax Agency, Japan 2014). There are similar tendencies of wine in France and Italy and beer in Germany and Belgium (World Health Organization 2014). It is socioeconomically interesting that the consumption of many traditional alcohol beverages in the original countries has been decreasing in common. But, it is a serious fact for the sake industry in Japan.

To overthrow the present situation, many persons involved in sake are continuing their efforts, for example, species improvement of rice for sake; selection of excellent yeast for making sake from flowers, etc.; development of new kinds of sake such as “chouki-chozo-shu” and sparkling sake; training sommeliers for sake, “kikisake-shi”; and reducing or eliminating the trade barriers by international negotiations. The export of sake from Japan has been increasing slightly but steadily for some years (National Tax Agency, Japan 2014).

Shochu and Awamori: Spirits

Outline

Shochu is produced through continuous distillation or single distillation. Singly distilled shochu will be discussed in this section. Shochu is an alcoholic drink made from the distillation of “moromi,” the product of the fermentation of koji, and other base ingredients such as sweet potatoes or grains. Depending on the base ingredients used, the different varieties such as sweet potato shochu, barley shochu, and rice shochu are each made in Kagoshima/Miyazaki Prefectures, Oita Prefecture, and Kumamoto Prefecture, respectively. Shochu products containing 25 % alcohol are generally sold in the market. The annual consumption of shochu is 468,000 kl in 2014 (Jyokai Times 2015). Of this, sweet potato shochu comprises 208,000 kl, and barley shochu comprises 193,000 kl, which together make up 85 % of the total amount (Jyokai Times 2015). Shochu can be drunk in many ways such as straight, on the rocks, or mixed with about 50 % hot or cold water. It is generally drunk during meals. Awamori is a type of shochu that is made from the base ingredients of just black koji and water and is produced in Okinawa Prefecture. Awamori has a longer history than shochu, and each year 23,000 kl is consumed (Jyokai Times 2015). Awamori that is stored in earthenware pots for long periods of time and allowed to mature after distillation is called “kusu” and is characterized by a gorgeous vanilla aroma.

Microorganisms Involved in Shochu Production

Koji mold, a kind of Aspergillus fungus, is classified into three types depending on the color of the conidia: yellow (A. oryzae), black (A. luchuensis), and white (A. kawachii). Yellow is used in the production of sake, miso, and soy sauce; black and white are used to make shochu. Black and white are characterized by producing citric acid and acid-resistant enzymes. Yellow was used in shochu production until 1910, but because it was difficult to keep moromi at low temperatures in the southern Kyushu region (the main production region of shochu), putrefaction was common. In 1910, Gen-ichiro Kawachi succeeded in isolating the citric acid-producing black koji mold from moromi used for the production of Okinawan awamori. The use of this koji lowered the pH of the moromi, thus preventing putrefaction and increasing the yield by 20–30 % (Kagoshima prefecture sake brewers cooperative 1940). Black koji then spread to all regions of Kagoshima Prefecture by 1919. In 1918, white koji mold was isolated as a variant of black and was highly evaluated for producing shochu with a soft aroma and taste, which led most makers to use the koji after 1945. For this reason, black became unpopular for a time, but as the demand for unique sweet potato shochu grew, in the 1980s, it underwent a revival. Black koji had been long used in the production of awamori.

The pH of the primary moromi is around 3 and the fermentation temperature sometimes exceeds 35 °C. For this reason, the yeasts used in shochu must have superior acid resistance and thermostability. All yeasts used in shochu production belong to S. cerevisiae.

Base Ingredients and Processing of Ingredients

Any base ingredients may be used for the production of shochu except for the ingredients stipulated by the Liquor Tax Act (grain that has been allowed to germinate, fruits, and sugar). Rice and barley are mainly used as the koji base ingredients. The main base ingredients include a wide variety of foods such as sweet potatoes, brown sugar, rice, barely, milk, and green tea. The base ingredients of awamori are rice koji made from rice and black koji.

The Production Process of Shochu and Awamori

Authentic shochu is produced through two-step fermentation, in which the koji (primary fermentation) and base ingredients (secondary fermentation) are fermented stepwise. This production method was established in 1914 in Kagoshima and had spread to all regions of Japan by around 1940.

Koji Production

The production of shochu starts with the creation of koji. The base ingredients are mainly rice or barley. These ingredients are washed and steamed, and then koji spores are sprinkled on these base ingredients (a process called tanetsuke), which are then left to sit for about 2 days to allow the koji mold to grow. After tanetsuke is performed, the temperature of the koji is maintained at 37–38 °C for 26–28 h. During this period, the koji is grown to sufficient levels to produce enzymes necessary or the production of shochu. Then temperature is controlled to approximately 35 °C, at which the koji can produce citric acid, which is essential for the production of shochu. The koji is ready approximately 43 h after tanetsuke. The role of koji is to (1) produce acid-resistant enzymes that will break down starch, proteins, and lipids; (2) produce citric acid that will inhibit the growth of unwanted bacteria, ensuring safe fermentation; and (3) create the flavor of the shochu. The production of citric acid is particular to koji used in the making of shochu, in contrast to yellow koji (sake koji, miso koji, soy sauce koji, etc.)

Primary Fermentation Stage

Because the main production regions of shochu are located in warm areas, there is a high risk of contamination by unwanted bacteria such as acid-forming bacteria. However, because the citric acid in the koji lowers the pH of the moromi to around 3, the growth of unwanted bacteria can be inhibited. The primary fermentation uses koji and water, and then yeast is added and saccharification and fermentation occur at the same time over a 5–6-day period at about 30 °C, thus allowing the yeast to sufficiently grow to create the primary moromi. In the case of awamori production, distillation is performed after primary fermentation has continued for about 20 days.

The Secondary Fermentation Stage

Secondary fermentation is the process of adding base ingredients and water to the primary moromi. The base ingredients of sweet potatoes, brown sugar, or barley are used as the moromi for sweet potato shochu, brown sugar shochu, and barley shochu, respectively. The secondary moromi has a pH ranging from 4 to 4.5 and thus is environment suitable for the growth of unwanted bacteria, but because the yeast concentration of the moromi ranges from 4 to 8 × 107/g immediately after fermentation and the produced alcohol concentration is approximately 4 %, fermentation occurs without the contamination of unwanted bacteria. The fermentation temperature is approximately 25 °C and is not allowed to exceed 32 °C. The secondary moromi is created after 10–14 days have passed and the alcohol level ranges from 14 % to 18 %.

The Distillation Stage

After the secondary moromi has finished the fermentation process, single distillation is performed in a pot still to create unrefined alcoholic drink ranging from 36 % to 45 % alcohol. There are two types of single distillation pot still: atmospheric distillation pot stills, which are used for sweet potato and brown sugar shochu and awamori, and vacuum distillation pot stills, which are used for grain-type shochu, such as barley and rice shochu. The distillation equipment is generally made from stainless steel, but may also be made from iron, bronze, or wood.

Atmospheric Distillation: This method generally uses steam that is directly blown into the moromi. With regard to distillation time, steam is blown into the moromi for about 30 min until shochu is produced, and the amount of steam is then controlled so that the distillation process is completed about 180 min later. At the end of distillation process, the alcohol level of distilled liquid ranges from 8 % to 10 %. Part of the taste and aroma of shochu is produced through thermal reactions during the distillation process.

Vacuum Distillation: This method of distillation was introduced in the 1970s. Shochu produced through vacuum distillation is highly regarded for its softness. The moromi is distilled in a vacuum maintained at approximately 100 Torr and kept at a temperature ranging from 40 to 50 °C.

Maturation Stage

The shochu is matured in stainless steel containers, earthenware jars, or oak barrels. Immediately after the distillation process, the distilled alcohol generally has an irritating odor (gas odor) and harsh taste and is clouded by the oily components; therefore, it is necessary to eliminate the gas odor and filtrate the oily components during storage. The gas odor is mainly composed of aldehydes and sulfur compounds. The oily components are mainly composed of chemicals such as ethyl linoleate and ethyl palmitate. Sweet potato shochu is allowed to mature for 2–4 months, and other types of shochu and awamori are generally matured for 1 year or longer. After the unrefined alcohol is filtered, matured, and blended, it is generally mixed with water and sold as 25 % alcohol drinks.

The Ingredients and Flavor of Shochu and Awamori

Besides ethanol and water, authentic shochu includes other ingredients such as higher alcohols, fatty acid esters (oily components), volatile organic acids, and minerals, but these ingredients only comprise approximately 0.2 % of the total volume. However, these trace constituents have an important meaning for the production of shochu and awamori. The differences in flavor depending on the type of shochu (sweet potato shochu, brown sugar shochu, etc.) are all due to these trace constituents. The oily components soften the strong taste of the shochu, making it mild, and thus are essential in contributing to the physical taste of the shochu.

The characteristic aroma of sweet potato shochu is reported to be created through monoterpene alcohols such as linalool, α-terpineol, citronellol, and geraniol, isoeugenol, rose oxide, and β-damascenone (Ota et al. 1990; Kamiwatari et al. 2005; Takamine et al. 2011). However, very little of these ingredients are included in rice or barley shochu. Monoterpene alcohols and β-damascenone are said to possess healing effects, and these ingredients that are particular to sweet potato shochu are thought to be important for creating a relaxing feeling after an evening drink of sweet potato shochu. Mixing with hot water especially brings out the aroma, sweetness, and healing effects of sweet potato shochu. When the maturation period of awamori becomes longer, the vanilla aroma of the drink becomes stronger. This is due to the ferulic acid esterase produced from koji that liberates the ferulic acid from the cell walls of the rice during the fermentation process. During the distillation process, it is converted into 4-vinylguaiacol and then into vanillin during the maturation stage.

Drinking Shochu Increases Thrombolytic Activity

One hour after intake of five types of alcohol beverages, plasmin was separated from blood and subjected to enzyme assay. The results show that when shochu was drunk, a significant increase in fibrinolytic activity was noted.

From its specific molecular weight, substrate specificity, and immunological properties, the enzyme was thought to be urokinase-type plasminogen activator and its precursor (Sumi 2001).

Conclusion

Japanese cuisines have evolved to make eating cooked rice more enjoyable. Fermented foods play a central role in Japanese taste and have become indispensable to Japanese food culture. In these days, not only for the importance as the taste of Japan, these fermented foods also get the attention of Japanese consumers for their health-promoting functions, e.g., prevention of radiation injury, cancer, and hypertension with miso (Watanabe 2013; Watanabe et al. 2006); angiotensin I-converting enzyme inhibitory peptides in shoyu (Nakahara et al. 2010); activation of fibrinolytic system by nattokinase (Sumi 1991); alleviation of hypertension by natto (Kim et al. 2008); enhancement of NK-cell activity and improvement of bowel symptoms by so-called plant-derived LAB in tsukemono (Takii et al. 2013); promotion of intestinal absorption of calcium (Kishi et al. 1999) and reduction of body weight, body fat mass, and serum triglyceride levels (Kondo et al. 2009) by su; and so on.

The manufacturing skills required for Japanese characteristic fermented foods have been handed down, including a lot of improvements to build up the present style, from generation to generation for several hundred years or even more than a thousand years by masters in manufacture or homemakers at home. In the recent time, development of microbiology and incipient biotechnology and industry made it possible to produce various fermented foods stably in large scale. However, small numbers of consumers choose the products made by traditional small-scale manufacturers, because those of mass production tend to be less characteristic. This may be why as many as about 1500 shoyu, 1000 miso, and 1500 sake factories continue to produce their products, although the numbers are in decline.

It is expected hereafter that the fermentation process whereby microorganisms produce many desirable properties from various raw materials in traditional fermentation procedures can be elucidated in detail by the application of advanced technology such as omics analysis that can also lead to the production of a new generation of Japanese traditional fermented foods, having characteristics such as being rich in remarkable tastes and flavors, having more health-promoting functions, being adaptable to the preference of worldwide people, being adaptable to Halal certification, etc.

By Yoshiaki Kitamura, Ken-Ichi Kusumoto, Tetsuya Oguma, Toshiro Nagai, Soichi Furukawa, Chise Suzuki, Masataka Satomi, Yukio Magariyama, Kazunori Takamine and Hisanori Tamaki in "Ethnic Fermented Foods and Alcoholic Beverages of Asia", editor Jyoti Prakash Tamang, Springer India, 2016, excerpts chapter 9. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.1>

“Un milione e trecentomila pizze al giorno escono dal forno, entrano in un astuccio di cartone, pronte per essere portate a casa. Vi restano per molti minuti, il tempo di essere trasportate a destinazione, e, una volta giunte, di essere mangiate nello stesso contenitore. Sempre che non finiscano nei forni di casa per essere riscaldate, sempre negli stessi cartoni, prima di finire in tavola. Un rito, un piacere collettivo per molte famiglie italiane ma, secondo quanto ha scoperto Il Salvagente, anche una fonte di pericolo alimentare non sottovalutabile”.

L’inchiesta giornalistica.

Così s’apre l’articolo pubblicato dal settimanale Il Salvagente nell’aprile 2006, che attraverso due studi specialistici rileva la presenza di sostanze indesiderabili per la salute umana nei cartoni per la pizza da asporto. Benzene, naftalene, ftalati, fenoli e Dibp. Sostanze che passerebbero dal cartone alla pizza attraverso il calore di quest’ultima, che deriverebbero – dicono gli esperti – da collanti e sbiancanti usati per far assomigliare la carta riciclata a quella vergine.

Secondo le analisi condotte nei Laboratori di Ricerche Analitiche Alimenti e Ambiente dell’Università degli studi di Milano, analizzando diversi contenitori di materiale cellulosico destinati al trasporto di pizza sarebbe stata identificata la presenza di una sostanza (il di-isobutilftalato) “in quantità altamente preponderante rispetto a tutti gli altri componenti della frazione volatile evidenziabile [...] già alla temperatura di 60 °C [...] simulante la condizione meno drastica di stoccaggio della pizza in fase di ‘home delivery’”. La direttiva 2004/14/Ce non contempla questa sostanza tra quelle ammesse per la fabbricazione di contenitori di cartone destinati a venire a contatto con gli alimenti.

In realtà, l’aggettivo “preponderante” si riferisce agli altri elementi volatili, tutti presenti in quantità pressoché imponderabili. Essendo questi elementi, appunto, volatili, essi si volatilizzano in breve tempo. Si tratta di sostanze onnipresenti nelle lavorazioni industriali, dagli interni dell’auto (in cui viviamo diverse ore al giorno) ai mobili della camera da letto. Non sono certo i cartoni della pizza a costituirne la prima fonte d’esposizione umana. Il fatto che si tratti di rilevazioni sporadiche conferma la relativa innocuità di quest’allarme. E soprattutto: nessun test è stato condotto... sulle pizze!

Di Stefano Carnazzi, estratti "100 Domande sul Cibo", Edizioni Ambiente, Milano, 2009.  Compilati e adattati per essere postato per Leopoldo Costa.

Classical myths abound in dangerous women: women who in one way or another bring men to death. Often they are motivated by a passion for revenge and they kill out of rage, or jealousy, or grief. Sometimes the power of their sexuality causes death. Sometimes they kill by accident, out of ignorance or even out of love. But always some extreme emotion drives them on until their victim or victims lie dead. In this chapter we shall be looking in detail at just a few of these dangerous women.

We often get our clearest picture of them from the Athenian tragedies that survive from the fifth century BC. Many hundreds of plays were put on stage in Athens at the festivals of Dionysos, the god of drama, and almost all have been lost. But we still possess thirty-three of them, in many of which we see these women in action – and often very bloody action.

When these plays were staged, tragedy had been in existence for a relatively short while: since about 530, according to the traditional date of its origin. So during the fifth century myths were being dramatized for the very first time, and the plays were turning the characters of mythology for the first time into living, breathing people on stage. Mythical women often become dramatic characters of great power, dominating the action. Often too a tragedy focuses on the woman’s predicament more than on the man’s, dwelling on the pain of women in extreme situations, and on their reactions to that pain. And this is when these mythical women become dangerous.

So let us begin by considering four particularly dangerous women who kill their victims with their own hands: Klytaimnestra, Hecuba, Medea and Prokne. Their aim is to gain revenge on a man who has wronged them, so instead of sitting passively by on the sidelines, which might have been seen as the typical female role, they step decisively into the male role of action. Yet they cannot easily attack using direct violence, because they are physically weaker than the men they see as their enemies. So they use their own skills – inventiveness, persuasion and deceit – to achieve their aims. And deceit should be viewed in no critical spirit, since deception (dolos in the Greek) was seen as a reasonable way to achieve an honourable revenge. We have only to think of the heroic Odysseus of the Odyssey, that arch-deceiver, who uses deceit and violence to end up exactly where he belongs, in his wife’s bed at home in his own palace. These women too use deceit to achieve revenge on their enemies, and the weapons they choose are taken from within their own domestic sphere of influence.

We should be careful not to judge these women in modern terms. Revenge can be viewed as both honourable and heroic. And as we shall see, these women appear to be justified also by the results of the vengeance which they take so decisively.

KLYTAIMNESTRA

We have seen how the great Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, led out a huge fighting force of Greeks to recover his eloping sister-in-law Helen, and how he sacrificed his daughter Iphigeneia to raise winds to take his fleet to Troy (p. 317). His wife Klytaimnestra never forgave him, and in his absence during the subsequent ten-year-long war she took his enemy Aigisthos as her lover. When Agamemnon at last returned home victorious, together they murdered him.

This story, with its aftermath of revenge killings, was familiar long before the fifth century BC. It occurred first in Homer and was well illustrated in ancient art, but it comes to its most vivid life in the tragedies of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides, with the archetypal Klytaimnestra of Aeschylus’s Agamemnon, the first play in his Oresteia trilogy, dominating all others. Before this production, as far as we can tell, Klytaimnestra and Aigisthos had been seen as joint partners-in-crime in Agamemnon’s murder, with Aigisthos taking the dominant role – exactly as depicted on a famous Attic vase known as the ‘Boston Oresteia Krater’, painted about a dozen years before the Oresteia was produced. In the centre of the picture is Agamemnon, covered in a filmy robe and staggering backwards. Blood is pouring from his chest. Facing him is Aigisthos, with drawn sword; he has struck once and is about to strike again. Behind Aigisthos is Klytaimnestra, with axe in hand, following on in support.

In Aeschylus, however, the situation is entirely different. His Klytaimnestra carries out the murder entirely on her own, while Aigisthos’ part has dwindled into relative insignificance: he has become a coward, a blustering weakling, who appears onstage only at the end of the play. It is Klytaimnestra, the ‘woman with the heart of a man’ (10–11), who has nursed her rage and grief down the long years since Iphigeneia’s death and now kills Agamemnon with a fierce joy, netting him in a robe while he is unarmed and vulnerable during his bath. Aeschylus has made her a powerful and awe-inspiring figure, one needing the help of no man to kill her treacherous husband.

Standing alone at the doors of her palace, she greets Agamemnon on his return from Troy. She pretends to welcome him home, using words that are a masterpiece of double meaning, and by which he is completely taken in. Even when she makes veiled references to their dead daughter, he fails to see below the surface. Iphigeneia is in her thoughts when she says: ‘Our child does not stand here at our side, the child who sealed our pledges, mine and yours, our child who should be here ...’ (877–9). Only at the end of these words does she add their son’s name, ‘Orestes’. And again: ‘For me the gushing fountains of my tears have dried completely up, and left no drop within’ (887–8), which Agememnon understands as tears for his absence. But these were tears, wept long since, for Iphigeneia, which are now replaced by hatred for her daughter’s killer.

‘With such a greeting do I reward him,’ she says. ‘Let ill-will be absent, for many were the evils that I endured before’ (903–5). He thinks she speaks of her loneliness in the long years without him, but once again she is referring to Iphigeneia’s murder. And so she is greeting her husband in the way that he deserves – with death.

She lures him indoors to his destruction, persuading him to walk into the palace over the crimson cloths that her servants lay down for him. ‘Now, my beloved,’ she cries, ‘step down from your chariot. Let not your foot, my lord, sacker of Troy, touch the earth. Servants, what are you waiting for? You have been told to strew the ground where he must walk with tapestries. Let there be spread before the house he never expected to see, where Justice leads him in, a crimson path’ (905–11). And on Klytaimnestra’s command, down flow the tapestries, red as blood, symbol of the blood that Agamemnon shed when he killed Iphigeneia, of all the blood that he shed at Troy, of his own blood about to be shed. Entirely ignorant of the fate his wife plans for him, he walks over the blood-red tapestries into the palace that he believes a safe haven, into Klytaimnestra’s power, and to his death.

Quite alone too she kills him, and with him his Trojan concubine, Kassandra. Once Agamemnon is indoors, Klytaimnestra helps him to his bath, then puts him out of action with woven cloths that she throws over him. (A woman’s primary domestic role was the weaving of the household fabrics, and fabric in a woman’s hand can often become a kind of weapon.) Only then, when he is helpless, does Klytaimnestra attack him, using either an axe or a sword – both weapons are referred to, rather vaguely, in the Greek text, so we may imagine whichever we prefer.

Agamemnon’s death cries are heard from inside the palace. Then the doors open to disclose Klytaimnestra standing over the bodies of her victims, her bloody weapon in her hand. Exultant at having at last achieved her revenge, she describes this long-awaited murder (1381–92):

‘That he might not escape nor ward away his death, like one who catches fish I cast around him a net with no way out, a vast and deadly wealth of robes. I struck him twice, and with two great cries he buckled at the knees and fell. When he was down I struck a third blow, a thank-offering to Zeus, lord of the Underworld, saviour of corpses. Thus he fell and belched out his life, and as he died he poured forth his blood and spattered me with a dark and crimson rain, and I rejoiced as the sown corn rejoices, drenched with god-given showers when buds break forth in Spring.’

So Agamemnon ends with Iphigeneia avenged. In Libation Bearers, the second play of Aeschylus’s trilogy, Klytaimnestra herself is murdered by her son Orestes in revenge for Agamemnon’s death (p. 441). In the third play, Eumenides, Orestes is tried for matricide. The jury’s votes turn out to be equal, which implies a state of balance and equal justification/condemnation for both his and Klytaimnestra’s actions. It is only when Athene gives the casting vote in Orestes’ favour, on the grounds that murder of a man is a more serious matter than murder of a woman, that he is acquitted and the cycle of bloodshed comes to an end. The date of Aeschylus’s Oresteia was 458 BC, and as far as we can tell this was the first time that this myth had been dramatized, and so the first time also that this avenging Klytaimnestra had, as it were, appeared in the flesh. Certainly, out of all the plays left to us, Aeschylus’s Klytaimnestra is the earliest of these dangerous women to dominate the stage, as she steps out and boldly takes action against the man who has wronged her. Since then there have been many such. But when the palace doors open in the Agamemnon, and we see her standing over her victims, her bloody weapon in her hand, she is also in a sense standing right at the head of the western tradition of theatre, as the very first woman of her kind.

HECUBA

Klytaimnestra takes a bloody revenge for the death of a child, and so, in Euripides’ Hecuba, does Hecuba. She was once queen of Troy, the wife of old King Priam, but when the play opens, Troy has fallen to the Greeks, the Trojan men have all been slaughtered, and the Trojan women are being carried off as slaves for the victors. The setting is the Greek encampment on the coast of Thrace, and here Hecuba spends her days lamenting, worn down with grief for the death of her husband, Priam, and for the deaths of her sons, killed in battle.

Yet more grief is still to come for her. Now another death takes place: her daughter Polyxena is sacrificed by the Greeks to appease the soul of the dead Achilles. Yet in all this sorrow Hecuba has one solace: she has one son still alive – or so she thinks. At some time during the war she sent her youngest son, Polydoros, to live with Polymestor, the king of Thrace, and now she believes him still safe and well. She is wrong, for Polymestor has betrayed her trust and has murdered the boy for the sake of the gold that he brought with him. Hecuba learns this bitter truth soon after Polyxena’s sacrifice, when Polydoros’s body is found washed up by the sea.

Now Hecuba is changed from a figure of helpless grief and despair to one of raging, avenging fury. When Polymestor visits the Greek camp, she lures him and his two little sons into her tent with the bait that she knows will be most effective: she promises him more gold. With no hesitation he steps into her trap, and once he is inside the tent, she and her women overcome him by their sheer numbers. As Hecuba herself says: ‘Women in a mass are terrible, and with the aid of deception (dolos) they are hard to combat’ (884). They hold Polymestor down, then take his sword and kill his sons, and they gouge out his eyes with their brooch pins. So for punishment, instead of having a quick and easy death, he is left alive to suffer just what his treachery has cost him.

This is a savage revenge indeed, but Euripides’ Hecuba is a true descendant of the Hecuba of Homer some three hundred years earlier. In the Iliad (24.212–14), when Achilles has killed her son Hektor, she says: ‘I wish I could set my teeth in the middle of his liver and eat it. That would be vengeance for what he did to my son.’

After his blinding, Polymestor predicts Hecuba’s strange end: that on the ship carrying her to Greece she will be transformed into a bitch with eyes of fire, and will plunge into the sea to her death. The nearby headland will be called ‘Bitch’s Grave’, kunos sema (Kynossema, in the Thracian Chersonese), and will act as a landmark for future sailors. It is difficult to interpret this, but we know that fiery eyes were a sign of a supernatural being, and that the Furies were often likened to dogs, hunting down their prey – and certainly Hecuba acted like a Fury in human form, avenging a desperate wrong. This metamorphosis now offers her an escape from the slavery she loathed, and it seems also to grant her a kind of immortality. Kynossema is said still to re-echo with her mournful howling.



MEDEA

Klytaimnestra and Hecuba both avenge the death of a child. In the Medea of Euripides, Medea avenges her husband Jason’s infidelity when he marries another woman, and she takes the most extreme revenge possible, by killing the children she has borne him.

Jason should have known better than to cross her so blatantly, for he was well aware that he was married to a woman of dangerous power. With her magical skills she had helped him defeat the fire-breathing bulls and win the Golden Fleece. After this he carried her off in the Argo to be his wife, and she very soon showed herself to be a woman who kills. As they were sailing away, hotly pursued by her father Aietes, she murdered her little brother, Apsyrtos, then dismembered him and scattered his fragmented body over the sea. Aietes, who loved his son, stopped to pick up the sad remains to give them proper burial, and Medea and Jason escaped.

Then when the Argo returned to Iolkos, she arranged the death of Jason’s enemy, King Pelias. She used her witchcraft to rejuvenate an old ram by cutting it up and boiling it in a cauldron with magic herbs (p. 156). When it jumped out as a lamb, Pelias’s daughters were so impressed by Medea’s skill that they were persuaded to try the same spell on their ageing father. So Pelias too was killed and chopped up and boiled, but this time Medea left out the appropriate herbs – and that was the end of him. ‘And what his daughters received was not even enough to bury,’ says Pausanias tersely. Jason and Medea fled from Iolkos and took refuge with Kreon, the king of Corinth.

Corinth is the scene of Euripides’ play. Some years have passed and Medea has had two sons by Jason, but, as the Nurse says in the Prologue, ‘Now all is hostility, and love has turned sick’, because now Jason has deserted Medea and has married the daughter of Kreon, the king. The play centres on Medea’s revenge. Savage with jealousy and rage, she at first plans to murder all three of the people who have wronged her – Jason, Kreon and the new bride. But her final revenge is more terrible than this. Certainly she kills Kreon and the new bride, but she also kills the children she has had by Jason, and leaves him alive to suffer forever the dreadful results of having betrayed her.

To achieve her vengeance, she hides her rage and pretends forgiveness for Jason and friendship for his new bride. She will prove her goodwill, she says, by sending beautiful gifts to the girl. Jason is completely deceived by Medea’s role of repentant wife. Her weapon is poison: this she spreads on a beautiful coronet and robe (so again a woven fabric comes into play) and sends them to her victim. The girl takes the deadly gifts with delight. Quite unsuspecting, she puts on her new adornments. At first she is entranced by her appearance, but soon the poison turns to flame, and robe and coronet consume her with a fierce fire. ‘And the flesh dropped from her bones like resin from a pine torch,’ says the servant who reports her death.

Then Kreon, in an agony of grief, takes his daughter’s body in his arms, crying, ‘I wish I might die with you, child.’ And die he does. When he has had his fill of lamentation, he tries to lay her corpse down and stand up, but finds that he is stuck fast to the robe ‘as ivy clings to laurel shoots’. In struggling to free himself, he too is killed, the frail flesh ripped from his bones.

Medea does not stop here: she goes on to kill her own two sons as well – and this deliberate murder of the children seems to have been an innovation to the legend made by Euripides himself. In earlier versions too the children died, but for other reasons. In one version, Medea unintentionally killed them while she was trying to make them immortal. In another version, the people of Corinth killed them. In yet another, Kreon’s family killed them in revenge after Medea had killed Kreon. But Euripides makes Medea herself choose to murder them as the most potent part of her revenge, because this is the greatest pain that she can possibly inflict on her treacherous husband.

Even though his Medea commits such a horrendous deed, Euripides creates in her a character with whom it is easy to sympathize, a woman very definitely wronged by a selfish, self-satisfied and insensitive Jason. He also puts into her mouth a long and justly famous monologue, in which she agonizes as to her right course of action, and whether she can really bring herself to kill her own sons (1021–80). Her decision sways this way and that.

She begins by lamenting that now she must be parted from her children: she must go into exile, while they, unknowing, are to die. All for nothing she bore them and brought them up, and now she will have no joy of them; she will never see them married, and they will never look after her when she is old or give her burial when she dies. (These are the kind of things so often said by a mother over a dead child.) Her sons smile at her, and ‘What shall I do?’ she cries. And then (in paraphrase) ‘No, I can’t do it. Farewell, my plans. Why should I hurt their father by hurting myself twice as much?’

Then she hardens her resolve once again, only to be overcome a second time by love and pity. Finally, despite her anguish, her grim purpose triumphs over her deepest maternal feelings, and the decision is taken for death: ‘And yet I have no choice. Now the princess is already dying by her gifts. I must kill my sons before my enemies do so. I have to travel the cruellest of roads, and send these children on a crueller road still.’

Yet when the time has come for the boys to die, Medea’s last words before she kills them show that, by gaining the ultimate revenge on Jason, she is hurting herself quite as much. They also strangely show the murder to be that of a loving mother. Kreon and the princess are dead, so the children are now certain to die too, since the Corinthians will insist on revenge. Their kindest death will be by the hand of the mother who bore them (1236–50):

‘My course of action is clear: to kill my children with all speed and then leave this land; not delay and give my children over to be killed by another and less loving hand. They are bound to die in any case, and since they must, then I shall kill them, I who bore them. Come, my heart, steel yourself. Why do I put off doing the terrible deed that must now be done? Come, wretched hand, take the sword, take it; go forward to the point where life turns into grief. No cowardice, no memories of your children, how dear they were, how your body gave them birth. For this one brief day forget your children – and then mourn them. For even though you kill them, yet they were dear.’

At the end of the play Medea escapes in a chariot drawn by winged serpents, sent to her by her grandfather Helios, the Sun-god, and she is carried off to safety in Athens (where, the later myth tells us, she married King Aigeus). She appears suddenly, high in the air above the stage, on the divine plane where normally only the gods appear. This dragon-chariot was also Euripides’ own innovation and must have been a tremendously effective coup de théâtre. Vengeance accomplished, at whatever cost to herself, Medea gloats over the broken and grieving Jason down below. ‘You don’t know yet what grief is,’ she says to him, ‘wait till you’re old.’

Thus Medea ends up in triumph over the man who wronged her, and the arrival of the chariot suggests divine approval for what she has done. Medea has been presented in heroic terms throughout, and she has avenged herself on her enemy, Jason, even at the most extreme cost to herself, the deaths of her own children. So it seems that the Sun-chariot comes as a reward for her heroic revenge; for, in a sense, her self-sacrifice.

But her self has been sacrificed in another sense too, for the Medea who appears high in her chariot seems now to have become something more than human, untouched and untouchable by human hands and by human emotions. Jean Anouilh, in his 1946 version of Medea, has Medea commit suicide in the flames of her sons’ funeral pyre after she has murdered them. In Euripides too, although Medea stands in triumph on her dragon-chariot, her dehumanization makes the ending a kind of death.



PROKNE

Prokne was the daughter of Pandion, the king of Athens, and was married to Tereus, the king of Thrace. Like Medea, she killed her own son to take vengeance on her husband, and her horrific act was famously dramatized in Sophocles’ tragedy Tereus. This is now lost, apart from fragments, but we possess an ancient summary of the play, and Ovid gives a moving account of the myth in his Metamorphoses (6.424–674) which must owe much to the earlier Greek version, so the story can be easily pieced together.

Prokne and Tereus had a son, Itys. Nevertheless, as the years passed, Prokne grew lonely, so she asked Tereus to go to Athens and fetch her sister, Philomela, to visit her. He did so, but as soon as he saw Philomela’s beauty, he was inflamed with lust and planned to make her his own. With no idea of what lay in store for her, she pleaded with her father to be allowed to visit her dear sister, and Pandion agreed.

They set off, and on the journey Tereus raped her. When they arrived in Thrace he imprisoned her, then to stop her telling of what he had done, he cut out her tongue. Leaving her well guarded, he went home to his wife and told her that her sister was dead. Prokne was deeply grieved. Yet tongueless though Philomela might be, this did not stop her from telling her story: like all women she was skilled in the art of weaving, and now she wove a tapestry (fabric again) telling what she had suffered. When at last it was complete, she sent it by a friendly servant to her sister.

Prokne deciphered the harrowing tale and went at once to fetch Philomela, smuggling her back into the palace. Then she set her mind on revenge. She killed her little son Itys – presumably her aim, as with Medea, was to leave her husband to suffer for the rest of his life with no son and no hope, rather than give him a quick death. Then the sisters cut up the little boy’s body and cooked his flesh. Prokne served it to Tereus, and he ate, and afterwards, replete, he asked her where Itys was. She told him. At once he leapt up to attack his son’s murderers, but at this moment the gods intervened and turned all three of them into birds.

Tereus became a hoopoe (a royal, crested bird), continually uttering the question he had asked his wife just before his metamorphosis, ‘Pou?’, ‘Pou?’ (‘Where?’, ‘Where?’). Philomela, having no tongue, became a swallow, who merely twitters inarticulately. Prokne was turned into a nightingale, forever singing her son’s name in mourning, ‘Itu!, Itu!’ (The Roman poets, oddly, reversed the fates of the two women, with Prokne becoming the swallow and Philomela the nightingale. This is the version most often adopted in post-classical treatments, so that ‘Philomel’ has become a common poetic epithet for the nightingale.)

We cannot say exactly how Sophocles’ play presented Prokne, but we know that she and Philomela were the heroine sponsors of the Pandionid tribe, roughly one-tenth of the citizens of Athens. The women were held in high regard throughout the city and were honoured for their resolute reaction to cruelty and oppression, so we must assume that Tereus reflected such a spirit. Once again, as with Medea, we may imagine the dramatized Prokne as valiantly destroying the dearest thing she had, her own son, so as to deal her enemy the greatest harm.

Thus, even though Sophocles’ Tereus has been lost, we can still define the powerful story, which was told and retold by later writers, inspiring creative artists down to this day. And the nightingale still laments – as in the gloriously lyrical words of Swinburne in his Itylus, where he speaks of ‘The woven web that was plain to follow / The small slain body, the flower-like face’, and memorably depicts the nightingale as bird of mourning, calling to her sister:

Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow,
Thy way is long to the sun and the south;
But I, fulfilled of my heart’s desire,
Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow,
From tawny body and sweet small mouth
Feed the heart of the night with fire...

(how better could one define the nightingale?) and she ends:

… The hands that cling and the feet that follow,
The voice of the child’s blood crying yet,
Who hath remembered me? Who hath forgotten?
Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow,
But the world shall end when I forget
.


ELEKTRA

Before we move on from the women who kill for revenge, we should include Elektra, the daughter of Agamemnon and Klytaimnestra and the sister of Orestes. Even though she committed no murder herself, she supported her brother and urged him on, when he returned to Mycenae to avenge their father’s death. She plays no part in early versions of the myth, and although she is mentioned by the lyric poets, it is in fifth-century tragedy that she comes into her own and plays this central role in Orestes’ vengeance.

Her first appearance is in Aeschylus’s Libation Bearers (458 BC), a play named after the Chorus who come with Elektra to offer libations at the tomb of Agamemnon. Here at the tomb she is reunited with Orestes, and brother and sister together invoke Agamemnon’s ghost to support the coming vengeance, but Elektra herself plays no further part in the murders. The focus here is mainly on Orestes, and it is he alone (though supported by the presence of his friend Pylades) who kills first Aigisthos, and then Klytaimnestra.

In the Elektra of Euripides, Elektra’s part in the vengeance has been developed. In this play she has been married off to a poor farmer to ensure that she will bear no son with a claim to the throne, but she is still a virgin, since her husband, respecting her noble birth, has refused to take advantage of her. She is mad for revenge on her father’s killers, while Orestes is weak and indecisive, and although he confidently kills Aigisthos, he is altogether unhappy about killing his mother. Elektra is the dominant figure, and it is she who plans how to kill Klytaimnestra, then drives Orestes on to do so, even grasping the sword with him when his own nerve fails at the crucial moment of murder. Afterwards she is as full of remorse as before she was full of desire for revenge.

It is arguably Sophocles’ Elektra that presents for us the quintessential Elektra. The main focus of the play is Elektra herself, steadfast and enduring, passionately grieving her father’s murder and passionately set on revenge. At the time of Agamemnon’s death she rescued the young Orestes from the murderers, who would have killed him too if they had had the chance. She sent him to be brought up in safety at the court of Strophios, the king of Phokis. Now when the play opens, many years later, she is longing for him to return, and sings:

‘Never shall I cease my dirges and painful laments as long as I look on the bright rays of the stars and on this light of day. No, like the nightingale, slayer of her young, I will cry aloud, for all to hear, sorrows without end before my father’s doors. O house of Hades and Persephone, Hermes of the Underworld and hallowed Curse, and Furies, holy daughters of the gods, who look upon all those who die unjustly and those who have their marriage-beds defiled: come, help me, avenge my father’s murder and send my brother home.’ (103–18).

And again (164–86): ‘On and on without end I wait for him, living my sad life forever without a child, without a husband, drowned in tears, bearing this fate in which my sorrow finds no end … For me the best part of my life has already passed away in hopelessness, and I have no strength left.’

Yet unknown to Elektra, Orestes has already returned, coming back to Mycenae with his friend Pylades, the son of Strophios, and with the old tutor who brought him up. Obedient to the command of Apollo, he has his plan of vengeance worked out: the old tutor will announce Orestes’ death in a chariot race at the Pythian Games, while he himself and Pylades will arrive carrying a funeral urn supposedly containing Orestes’ ashes. This will have the dual effect of gaining them entrance to the palace and of lowering Klytaimnestra’s guard. (Aigisthos, at this point, is temporarily away from home.)

The plan works perfectly. First the tutor vividly describes Orestes’ horrific death, thrown from his chariot and mangled in the traces. Klytaimnestra, after a momentary pang, is overcome with triumphant relief that now her son, whose vengeance she feared, is dead, and she takes the old man into the palace as her honoured guest. Elektra is heartbroken. And who will avenge her father now? She turns to her sister Chrysothemis for help in killing Aigisthos, but Chrysothemis thinks this a crazy plan. Of the two girls, she is the prudent daughter, too fond of the material advantages in being a princess of Mycenae to risk losing them by any display of active hostility. ‘I know this much,’ she says to Elektra (332–40), ‘I too am grieved at our situation, so much so that if I could find the strength I would show them what I think of them. But as it is, it seems best to me to lower my sails in time of trouble ... everything.’

So it is no surprise that she denounces Elektra’s plan as folly, refusing to dare anything that might put her comfortable life at risk. Elektra now resolves to kill Aigisthos alone and unaided, but it does not come to this. Orestes and Pylades come upon her as they arrive to deliver the funeral urn, and all thoughts of vengeance are flown as she takes the urn in her hands and laments over what she believes to be her dear brother’s ashes. Now she wants only to die (1126–70):

‘O last memorial of the life of Orestes, the dearest of men to me, how far from the hopes with which I sent you forth do I receive you home! For now you are nothing carried in my hands, but I sent you off from home, child, radiant. I wish that before this I had died, before I stole you with these hands and sent you to a foreign land, saving you from murder, so that on that very day you would have lain there dead, and had your share in our father’s grave. But now, far from home, an exile in another land, you died unhappily without your sister near. And I, to my grief, did not wash or dress you with the hands that loved you, nor lift you as was right, a weight of sorrow, from the blazing pyre. No, sadly you had your rites from alien hands, and so are come to us, a little weight inside a little urn.

‘All sorrow now for my care of you long ago, gone for nothing; I gave it you often with labour of love. For you were never more dear to your mother than you were to me, and I was your nurse, and not the servants, and always you called me sister. Now with your death, in a single day all this is ended; like a hurricane you have gone and swept it all away. Our father is gone; I am dead because of you; you yourself are dead and gone. Our enemies are mocking us, and our mother, who is no mother, is mad with joy – she of whom you often sent me secret messages, that you would come yourself as an avenger. But this our evil fortune, yours and mine, has torn away, and sent you on to me as you are now, no more the form I loved, but dust and empty shadow.

‘What sorrow! O body pitiable! You who were sent, to my grief, on a dreadful journey, my dear love, how you have ended me! Yes, ended me, dearest brother! Therefore receive me to this little room of yours, nothing to nothing, that with you below I may live for all the time to come. For when you were on earth I shared all with you equally, so now I long to die and share your grave. For I see that the dead no longer suffer pain.’

Orestes has taken Elektra, clad in rough clothes, for a servant, and it is only when he hears these words of love and grief that he realizes this must be the beloved sister who brought him up. He gently makes himself known to her, and Elektra’s move from despair to joy, when at last she believes that the man standing beside her is in fact the living Orestes himself, gives us one of the most moving recognition scenes in extant Greek tragedy.

Orestes goes into the palace to kill Klytaimnestra, while Elektra stands at the doors to keep watch for Aigisthos. At the first death-cry of her mother she shouts: ‘Strike, if you have the strength, a second blow.’ Orestes strikes again, and Klytaimnestra gives a last cry. There is no time to linger over her death, for now Elektra sees Aigisthos approaching. She tricks him into believing that Orestes, his enemy, is indeed dead, and that his corpse is within the palace. ‘Can I see the body with my own eyes?’ asks Aigisthos.
‘Indeed you can,’ replies Elektra, ‘though I don’t envy you the sight.’

At the command of Aigisthos, the doors are opened and Orestes and Pylades bring out the covered body of Klytaimnestra. ‘Zeus,’ cries Aigisthos piously (and truthfully), ‘what I see here must be someone brought down by the gods’ displeasure.’
‘Take the coverings off the face,’ he commands; and then, eager to share this triumphant moment with his wife: ‘Call Klytaimnestra!’
‘No need,’ says Orestes. ‘She’s nearby.’

And then (in what has been called ‘the most glorious moment of pure theatre in all Greek tragedy’) Aigisthos lifts the covers and recognizes the body beneath. He starts back in horror, realizing what fate now awaits him. Orestes drives him indoors to meet his death, and the play ends with the Chorus rejoicing that Elektra has come, at long last and after much suffering, to freedom and fulfilment.

Elektra, like Antigone, is one of the great female figures of Greek myth and Greek tragedy. She has been an inspiration to a great many later artists – perhaps most notably to Richard Strauss in his opera Elektra, which has as its libretto a play by Hugo von Hofmannsthal, based on Sophocles’ Elektra. Sophocles’ play ends with Elektra’s joy as she is reunited with her dear brother and triumphs over her enemies. Hofmannsthal develops that joy, so that Elektra, uplifted by victory, dances in triumph until she collapses and dies. (An aftermath to vengeance very different from the mythical one, where Elektra married Pylades and had two sons by him, Medon and Strophios.)

Moreover modern psychology has given the name ‘Elektra complex’ to a girl’s fixation on her father and jealousy of her mother, the counterpart of Freud’s Oedipus complex. There is even a hint of the Elektra complex in ancient tragedy for, in Euripides’ Elektra, Klytaimnestra says to Elektra (1102–4): ‘My child, love for your father is in your nature. This happens sometimes. Some children belong to their fathers, while others love their mothers more.’

Other things apart from revenge can be dangerous. There is also, for instance, the power of sex: sex in its many aspects can be a killer. The most obvious example from mythology is Helen – wife of Menelaos, king of Sparta – who was not only the most beautiful woman who ever lived, but also the archetypal sexually dangerous woman. Helen’s beauty brought death to thousands of men, after Aphrodite offered her love as a bribe to Paris when he judged the beauty contest between the three squabbling goddesses. Helen’s love seemed to him more desirable than all the imperial power offered by Hera, or the military victories offered by Athene, so he chose Aphrodite as the loveliest of the three, then claimed his prize, carrying Helen off to Troy. Menelaos wanted her back, so he and his brother Agamemnon sailed out with a huge fighting force of about 100,000 Greeks to recapture her. The resulting war lasted ten long years, and many Greeks and Trojans died because of Helen.

Homer is indulgent towards Helen in the Iliad, where even as the long war drags on, the Trojan elders on the walls of Troy say of her: ‘No one could blame the Trojans and well-greaved Achaians if, for so long a time, they suffer pain and hardship over a woman like this. She looks terribly like the immortal goddesses (3.156–8).’ Later writers were not so kind, and she was often bitterly blamed for setting the Trojan War in motion by her infidelity and for causing the deaths of so many men. Hostility to Helen thus runs through much of what we have left of fifth-century tragedy, such as Aeschylus’s Agamemnon, where the chorus sing of Helen stepping lightly through the gates of Troy, bringing to the Trojans her dowry, death (403–8). When they welcomed her as Paris’s bride, they little realized that they were bringing into their midst a lion cub, sweet and loving at first, who as time passed would reveal its true nature and repay those who cherished it with blood and death (717–49). Helen, says Aeschylus, was suitably named, for ‘hel’ in Greek means ‘destroyer’, and Helen did indeed bring death and destruction to men, to ships, to cities (681–98).

At the other extreme from Helen are the women who rejected sex, like the virgin huntress Atalanta. Her father abandoned her in the wilds when she was born because he wanted only male children, and she survived only because a she-bear heard her crying and suckled her until some hunters found her. They adopted her and brought her up, and when she grew to womanhood she too became an expert hunter and was interested only in manly pursuits. She took part in the Kalydonian Boarhunt, where she shot the boar and drew first blood, and she famously wrestled against Peleus, and won, at the funeral games of Pelias, king of Iolkos. She had no desire for marriage: many men wished to wed her, but she would have none of it. Confident in the speed of her feet, she swore that she would never marry unless her husband could first beat her in a foot race. Suitors might run against her, but only on the understanding that if they lost, they would die.

In spite of this threatening fate, many men were moved by her beauty to risk their lives. And they were given every chance: they had a head start and ran naked, while Atalanta ran fully clothed and armed. But always she caught up with them before they reached the finishing line and speared them as they ran. Thus many men died for love – until one final suitor tried his luck. This was Hippomenes (sometimes called Melanion), who unlike Atalanta’s other suitors had the wit to invoke Aphrodite’s aid on his behalf. The goddess gave him three golden apples, so he began his contest with his would-be bride, armed with the means of her defeat. Three times he threw down an apple as they raced, and three times she lost precious ground as she ran aside to pick it up. The third time Aphrodite intervened to make the golden apple heavier, and with a final burst of speed the joyful Hippomenes passed the winning post.

And so he married his love, who in the end seems to have happily given up her freedom. The story goes that one day the couple, overcome by passion, made love in a sacred precinct, and because of this sacrilege were transformed into lions (some said into the lions that drew the goddess Kybele’s chariot). So we may assume that Atalanta had at last found joy in sex after rejecting it for so long.

In contrast to this, the Amazons (no chapter on ‘dangerous women’ can ignore these female warriors) shunned as far as possible the entire male sex, and for life. Their home was rather vaguely located to the east or north-east of Greece, at the outer reaches of the known world, and there they lived resolutely apart from men. They looked on sex simply as a means of procreation, so they would copulate occasionally with males from neighbouring tribes, but naturally they reared only the female infants born to them.

The Amazons’ name was thought to mean ‘breastless’ (maza, ‘breast’), and was said to derive from their custom of amputating the right breast to facilitate their use of weapons during battle (the left breast was needed to suckle their daughters). But there is no trace of this physical singularity in ancient art, where Amazons are a popular subject from the seventh century BC onwards, both in vase-painting and sculpture, and are often depicted with their (intact) right breast exposed. They are usually shown in full combat, fighting with spears and bows, and sometimes axes. Several of the great heroes – Herakles, Bellerophon, Theseus – were thought to have battled successfully against the massed tribes of Amazons, and the conflicts between these warrior-women and victorious Greeks were generally seen as symbolizing the triumph of Greek civilization over the forces of barbarism.

Finally, there are several Greek myths, similar to the biblical tale of Potiphar’s wife, that tell the story of an older, married woman who sets out to seduce a young and unmarried man. When he rejects her, which he always does, she wants revenge, so she accuses him to her husband of rape, or attempted rape. The husband tries to kill the young man (and usually fails) and the woman comes to a bad end.

For instance Stheneboia, the wife of Proitos, king of Tiryns, tried to seduce the young hero Bellerophon. When he rejected her, she accused him to her husband, and Proitos sent him off to his father-in-law Iobates, king of Lycia, with a sealed message demanding death. Iobates set Bellerophon fearful tasks to accomplish, which should have killed him – but he completed them all triumphantly, and Iobates rewarded him with lands and riches and the hand of his own daughter in marriage. Bellerophon then went back to Tiryns to take vengeance on Stheneboia for her lies. He persuaded her to mount the winged horse Pegasos with him, then flew out high over the sea and flung her down to her death.

A similar story is told of Astydameia, the wife of Akastos, king of Iolkos. Her victim was the hero Peleus (who later married the sea-goddess Thetis and became father of the great Achilles). When Akastos heard the false tale of attempted rape, he was unwilling to kill Peleus directly, so he took him hunting on Mount Pelion, that haunt of wild Centaurs, and during the night, while Peleus was asleep, he stole his sword and hid it in a pile of cow dung. He then left him on the mountain, alone and defenceless, hoping that either wild beasts or the ferocious Centaurs would kill him.

His hope was almost fulfilled, for the Centaurs gathered to attack Peleus, but just in time the wise and kind Centaur Cheiron appeared and gave him back his sword. So Peleus escaped, and in due course he returned to Iolkos with an armed force to take his revenge. He sacked the city, then killed Astydameia, cut her in two, and marched his army into Iolkos between the severed halves of her corpse.

PHAIDRA

The same type of story was told of Phaidra, wife of the great Theseus, king of Athens. Phaidra was just such a shameless woman as Stheneboia and Astydameia, and when she fell in love with her stepson Hippolytos she tried – and failed – to seduce him. Wanting revenge for her rejection, she lied to Theseus that Hippolytos had tried to rape her, and Theseus cursed his son and called on his father Poseidon to kill him. The god sent a huge bull from the sea, which stampeded Hippolytos’s terrified horses. His chariot crashed and he was dragged to his death, tangled in the reins. (According to one interpretation, his name means ‘torn apart by horses’.) Phaidra, her treachery exposed, committed suicide.

This story was the theme of Euripides’ lost tragedy Hippolytos, his first version of the legend for the stage. We have only fragments of this play left, but he also wrote a second Hippolytos which we possess in its entirety, and this became the basis for Racine’s great tragedy Phèdre and many later adaptations. In this second version, the presentation of Phaidra is rather different. Yes, she is in love with Hippolytos, but quite against her will: the love has been forced on her by Aphrodite, who is angry because of the chaste Hippolytos’s neglect of her and his exclusive worship of the virgin huntress Artemis. Aphrodite herself explains this at the beginning of the play and outlines her plan for the young man’s destruction. Theseus will curse his son, and Hippolytos will be killed. ‘And Phaidra, although she will keep her honour, yet she will die,’ adds the goddess (47–50). ‘For I do not care for her suffering as much as having my enemies pay a penalty that satisfies me.’

Phaidra’s reaction to feeling what she knows is a truly shameful love is entirely virtuous (392–401):

‘When love wounded me, I tried to find the best way of bearing it. I began by keeping quiet and concealing this disease … Secondly I determined to bear the madness decently and conquer it with self-discipline. And third, when I was failing to master desire by these means, I decided to die.’

And so she has been starving herself, preferring death to the dishonour of yielding to her passion. Unfortunately she is not allowed to waste away in silence, because her nurse worms out of her the secret of her obvious illness and is fatally swift to interfere. She tries to convince Phaidra to give in to all-powerful Love (443–50):

‘The tide of Aphrodite in full flood cannot be borne. To the man who yields to her, she comes gently, but she seizes the man who is proud and arrogant, I tell you, and then she tortures him. Aphrodite roams through the air and is in the swell of the sea. Everything is generated from her, for she is the one who sows the seed of desire, from which all of us on earth are born.’

‘What you need,’ declares the nurse roundly, ‘is not fine speaking, but the man’, and she goes indoors to approach Hippolytos on her mistress’s behalf, despite Phaidra’s pleas that she do nothing of the kind.

Hippolytos is appalled. Phaidra, listening at the door, hears his horrified reaction as he curses and abuses the nurse, calling her ‘whore’s matchmaker’ and ‘betrayer of her master’s bed’, following this with bitter condemnation of the entire female sex. ‘Zeus,’ he begins (616–27),

‘why did you create and put on earth with men so vile and worthless a thing as woman? If you wanted to propagate the human race, you didn’t have to do it through women. Better that men should buy children from you, paying at your temples in gold or iron or bronze, each man what he could afford. Then they could live in freedom in their own homes, without women. Women are a great curse to men.’

Now that her shameful secret is out, Phaidra resolves there and then that the only thing left to her is to die. She hangs herself from the rafters. But to defend her children against a disgrace which they do not deserve, she leaves a suicide note for Theseus, accusing Hippolytos of rape.

Theseus returns home to find his wife dead and his son, supposedly, the cause of it – and Hippolytos is honourable enough to keep his stepmother’s secret, so he says nothing to excuse himself. As in the usual story, Theseus curses him and Poseidon sends the bull from the sea. In the final scene, Hippolytos is carried onstage in his death agonies, and father and son are reconciled after Artemis tells them the truth of Aphrodite’s machinations and of Phaidra’s innocence.

Yet this Phaidra, for all her virtue, has been in effect just as deadly as her earlier counterpart, the shameless would-be seducer. And from Hippolytos’s fate we conclude that, just as unrestrained yielding to the sexual impulse, as in the case of Helen, can bring death in its wake, so can the complete rejection of sexual love. We deny Aphrodite and all she stands for at our cost.

AGAUE

We can say the same about the god Dionysos, as evidenced by Euripides’ tragedy Bakchai, named after the followers of the god who form the Chorus of the play. The drama centres on the tragic fate of Pentheus, the young king of Thebes, though it can be argued that his mother Agaue, our final ‘dangerous woman’, suffers a fate more tragic still.

As we have seen, Medea and Prokne killed their own children to gain revenge on the men who had wronged them. Agaue too kills her own son, but unwittingly, believing him to be a mountain lion, then still in a state of delusion she carries his severed head home in triumph, thinking it a splendid trophy of the hunt. In one of the most painful and moving scenes in the whole of Greek tragedy, she is brought to recognize what she carries so proudly as the head of her son, and to realize too her own part in his destruction.

The play opens with Dionysos himself coming to Thebes in the disguise of one of his own priests. He is in a sense coming home, for he is the son of Zeus and Semele, the daughter of Kadmos, the old king of Thebes.

Semele is long since dead, burnt up by Zeus’s lightning bolt, and her sisters Agaue, Ino and Autonoe have always refused to believe that she was ever united with the great god. In their opinion, she was seduced by some mortal man, then lied that her lover was Zeus to cover the shame of her pregnancy. Dionysos has now punished them by driving them mad, along with all the other women of Thebes, and they are living up on Mount Kithairon as maenads, worshipping this new god with impassioned zeal.

Young Pentheus returns home and tries to remedy this critical situation. He imprisons the stranger, this dangerous ‘priest’, and even when he sees that Dionysos easily escapes from his prison, and hears that the women on the mountain are performing miraculous feats in the god’s name, he refuses to countenance Dionysos’s divinity. Finally the god drives him mad too, and dresses him in women’s clothes, and takes him up Kithairon to spy on the women there.

We learn the tragic outcome from a messenger, one of the palace servants who accompanied Pentheus and the god on their journey. When they came to the glen where the maenads were, Dionysos, with miraculous power, pulled down the topmost branch of a towering pine-tree and seated Pentheus on it, then let the tree slip upright once again, carrying Pentheus with it. Then the god cried aloud to the women: ‘I bring you the one who mocked you, and me, and my holy rites. Now punish him.’ This, in the servant’s words, is how they did so (1084–1142):

‘The high air fell still. The wooded glade held its leaves in stillness, and you could not hear the cry of any beast. The women, not having heard the words clearly, stood up and gazed around. Again the god commanded them, and when the daughters of Kadmos recognized the clear summons of Dionysos, they darted off with the speed of doves, and all the maenads after them. Through the torrent-filled valley and over the broken rocks they leapt, frenzied by the breath of the god.

When they saw my master seated high in the pine-tree, at first they climbed the cliff which towered opposite, and violently hurled rocks at him or flung fir branches like javelins. Others aimed with the thyrsos through the high air at Pentheus, their wretched target, but all to no avail, for the poor boy was out of reach of their striving, sitting there helpless.

At last they ripped down branches of oak, and using these as crowbars tried to tear up the tree’s roots. When all their struggles met with failure, Agaue cried out, “Come, Maenads, stand in a circle around the tree and take hold of it, so that we catch this climbing beast and stop him revealing the god’s secret dances.”

Countless hands gripped the pine and ripped it from the earth. Pentheus, torn from his lofty seat and hurled to the ground, came falling down from on high with one unceasing scream, for he knew what terrible end was near. His mother first, as priestess, led the rite of death and fell on him. He tore the headband from his hair, that wretched Agaue might recognize him and not kill him, and “Mother,” he cried, touching her cheek, “Look, it is I, your son Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Echion. Have mercy, mother. I have been wrong, but do not kill your own son.”

But she was foaming at the mouth and rolling wild eyes, completely out of her mind and possessed by Dionysos, so his words had no effect. Grasping Pentheus’ left hand, she set her foot against his ribs and tore the poor boy’s arm out of his shoulder, not by her own strength, but because the god made it easy. Ino was working at his other side, rending his flesh, and now Autonoe and the whole horde of maenads went at it. They all cried out together, Pentheus shrieking as long as life was in him and the women howling in triumph. One of them carried off an arm, another a foot with its boot still on. His ribs were stripped clean, and each one of them with bloody hands was playing ball with Pentheus’ flesh.

His body lies scattered under harsh rocks or in the deep foliage of the woods, no easy task to find. His poor head has been taken by his mother and fixed to the end of her thyrsos, and she is carrying it over Kithairon, thinking it the head of a mountain lion.’

In due course Agaue comes on stage with her trophy, exulting in her triumph. ‘Where is my son Pentheus?’ she cries. ‘Let him set a strong ladder against the house and nail up this lion’s head which I have hunted and brought home.’

Her old father, Kadmos, who has lovingly gathered up the broken pieces of his grandson’s body scattered through the glens of Kithairon, now painfully sets about bringing her confused mind back to reality. He begins gently. ‘Look up at the sky,’ he says. ‘Does it seem the same to you, or has it changed?’
‘It’s brighter than before,’ she replies, ‘and more translucent.’
‘And this disturbance of your mind, is it still there?’
‘I don’t know what you mean, but somehow my mind is surer, and changed from what it was before.’
‘So will you listen and answer clearly?’ he asks.
‘Yes, father, for I have forgotten what we said before.’

Now he continues with questions that have simple answers. ‘To whose house did you go when you were married?’

‘You gave me to Echion, one of the Sown Men, they say.’
‘And who was the child born to your husband?’
‘Pentheus, from my union with his father.’

Finally Kadmos brings her close to the tragic truth. ‘Yes, and whose head are you holding in your arms?’
‘A lion’s,’ she replies with certainty. And then doubt creeps in: ‘At least, that is what the women who hunted it said.’
‘Look properly at it,’ says Kadmos. ‘Looking is no great task.’
And Agaue looks, and screams in horror. ‘What am I looking at? What am I carrying?’

‘Look again closely and see more clearly,’ says Kadmos.
She does so. ‘Surely it doesn’t look like a lion’s head?’ he says.

‘No,’ she cries out in grief. ‘I’m holding the head of Pentheus.’ But worse is to come. ‘Who killed him?’ she asks, and she has to hear the dreadful answer: ‘It was you who killed him, you and your sisters.’

A modern poet, Patrick Hunt, captures this most pitiful aspect of Pentheus’ death, that of a mother killing the child that she herself has borne (Kithairon):

Pruning wild limbs on Kithairon
is no impediment to a vine god,
dismemberment to him is temporary
like the faith of mortals.
Here on this mountain
some see his beard in the clouds
or his thigh knotted in a root.

But in the eyes of Pentheus
pruning was in troubled wood,
powerless to take root again
or stitch torn flax together,
since his sad mother has both
knit and unknit the cloth of him.
Is it wind you hear howling on Kithairon?

By Jenny March in "The Penguin Book of Classical Myths", Penguin Random House, UK, 2009, excerpts chapter 13. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Possibly the best-known and least-known figure of the Celtic Dark Ages. Everyone knows the name of Arthur, but there are many different views about his historicity. Some scholars think he was a real British king, though not the king of all Britain, while others think he is a complete fiction. My own view is that he was real.

There are two certain dated references to Arthur in the Easter Annals, which show that he existed as a prominent historical figure:

516: Battle of Badon, in which Arthur carried the cross of our lord Jesus Christ on his shoulders for three days and three nights, and the British were victors.

537: Strife of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut perished [or fell].

There are various scraps of evidence of his celebrity as warrior and war leader, for instance in The Gododdin (a series of elegies) a warrior is compared unfavorably with Arthur—he fought well, though “he was no Arthur.”

The inscriptions on scattered stone memorials created in the sixth century are consistent in content and date with genealogies and other documents that we only have in copies written down much later. In other words, some of the later documents are corroborated by evidence dating from Arthur’s time. A pedigree from Pembrokeshire running to 31 generations mentions a prince named Arthur who lived in the later sixth century and was probably born around 550, just about the time of Arthur’s death according to the Easter Annals. It is possible that the child was named in memory of the king who had recently died.

An argument against Arthur’s existence is that he is not mentioned in The Ruin of Britain by the monk Gildas, written in about 540. “The silence of Gildas” can be explained fairly easily. First, Arthur was so well known by Britons living in the mid-sixth century that they didn’t need Gildas to explain who he was. Secondly, Gildas refers to kings obliquely, by nickname. Contemporary readers would have known exactly who he meant, even if we don’t, and it was his contemporaries Gildas was addressing. But Gildas describes a king called Cuneglasus as “the Bear’s charioteer.” The identity of the Bear is not immediately obvious to us, but Gildas played word games with the names of other kings, referring, for example, to Cynan or Conan as Caninus, the Dog. “The Bear” in Welsh is Arth, which brings us equally close to the name of Arthur. King Cuneglasus might as a young princeling 20 years earlier have served in Arthur’s army, and he might have been given the privileged position of driving Arthur’s chariot. So, Arthur does appear to be mentioned by Gildas after all, even if in disguise.

Some of those scholars who believe that Arthur did not exist argue their case on something very close to conspiracy theory. They begin from the presupposition that he never existed, therefore all the references to him, even in otherwise authentic documents, must be unhistorical, later interpolations, anachronistic intrusions, and corruptions of the text. Once a decision is made that Arthur cannot have existed, any evidence that he did exist must be fake. This is not so far from the conspiracy theory about the Apollo moon landings, which some people like to see as an elaborate hoax. The more evidence that is brought forward to show that the flights to the moon really happened, the more elaborate and cunning it proves the hoax to be.

We could contrast the historic Arthur and the mythic Fionn. Fionn is alleged to have fought with Vikings, but he died in AD 283, which is too early for him to have encountered them. Conversely, the Easter Annals strongly imply that Arthur fought his major campaign against the Saxons in the sixth century, between the Battle of Badon in 516 and the Battle of Camlann in 537, which is exactly the right time—according to the archeology—for him to have been doing that on the eastern boundary of Dumnonia.

WHO WAS ARTHUR?

This scenario converges on the idea that Arthur was primarily the King of Dumnonia. This ancient kingdom is now the English West Country, consisting of Cornwall, Devon, Somerset, and Dorset. Gildas’s peculiar account of the state of Britain, The Ruin of Britain, is really a tortured lament about the poor leadership shown by the Dark Age kingdoms that occupied the English West Country and Wales in the first half of the sixth century. This region coincides exactly with the fourth-century Roman administrative province of Britannia Prima, and it implies that after the Romans abandoned Britain some vestiges of the Roman administrative structure remained.

Certainly by AD 314, when the names appear in the Verona List, Britain was formally divided into four provinces: Prima, Secunda, Maxima Caesariensis, and Flavia Caesariensis. It is possible to visualize a loose confederation of Dark Age kingdoms still functioning in the sixth century within the boundaries of Britannia Prima.

Perhaps the kings of this province went their separate ways most of the time and came together only when there was a common danger. That common danger was the approach of the Saxon colonists, so the many small war-bands of the separate kingdoms needed to be coordinated. In Gail, the Bibracte council in 52 BC agreed on a common strategy: to join forces and resist Rome under the war leadership of one of their kings. In exactly the same way the kings of Britannia Prima agreed to resist the encroachment by the Saxons; and their choice of war leader was Arthur. He was to be dux bellorum, the leader of battles, while that threat existed.

The dates for Arthur’s first and last battles, 516 and 537, give us the span of his later military career, and they imply that he was born in about 475. This would have made him 41, a mature and accomplished commander at the time of Badon, and 62 at the time of Camlann.

A pedigree of unknown reliability exists in the Welsh radition. Here Arthur was the son of Uther and Ygraine (or Eigr). Ygraine was the daughter of Amlawdd Wledig, who married Gwenn, daughter of Cunedda Wledig. Wledig or gwledig means “king” or “overking,” so Arthur’s maternal line at least was royal. Ygraine had a sister Reiengulid, who was the mother of St. Illtud, which is how Illtud comes to be Arthur’s cousin.

The lack of a well-authenticated (paternal) pedigree for Arthur can be interpreted in many ways. Some say it shows he never existed, while others see it as evidence that he was not of royal blood and others as evidence that he was a usurper. Whatever his origins, Arthur became a king, then overking, and probably through prowess more than birth.

WHERE WAS CAMELOT?

Elsewhere, I have argued that Arthur was initially the sub-king of a small north Cornish territory called Trigg (meaning “three war-bands”), with his home at Castle Killibury, not far from the modern town of Wadebridge. Killibury was a small and discreetly defended hideaway that had a superb view down the Camel estuary, which Arthur probably used as his harbor. In fact imported Dark Age pottery wares have recently been discovered near the seaward end of the estuary.

It is highly significant that early Welsh tradition gives Kelliwic as the name of Arthur’s favorite residence; even the Welsh saw Arthur’s principal home as Castle Killibury. A Welsh Triad lists the places where Arthur held court in Three Tribal Thrones of the Island of Britain. The northern one was at Pen Rhionydd—a place that has not been identified, but thought to near Stranraer in Galloway. The Welsh throne was at St. David’s and the Cornish tribal throne was at Kelliwic. Kelliwic was firmly recognized as Arthur’s base long before any idea of Camelot came up. The poem Culhwch and Olwen mentions five times that Kelli Wic was Arthur’s port. An old name for Castle Killibury is Kelly Rounds and an Anglo-Saxon charter mentions a place called “Caellwic.”

Not far away is Tintagel Island. A significant amount of very high status and very expensive pottery imported from the Mediterranean confirms it as a royal focus of some kind. It was not a permanent settlement but a place for special occasions. The footprint carved into the living rock at the island’s summit marks it as the coronation place: the spot where kings of Trigg (north Cornwall), and perhaps kings of all Dumnonia, came to take their oath and assume the mantle of kingship. This was where Arthur drew his power from the stone.

Like other Dark Age and medieval kings, Arthur was always on the move. Kings had to peregrinate around their kingdoms in order to be seen by their subjects and maintain the bond of loyalty between king and subject.

Arthur had various muster points where the Dumnonian war-bands could gather before being marched east to engage the Saxons: Warbstow Bury and Lydford were two in the center of Dumnonia; South Cadbury was the major one close to the eastern border, the “war zone.”

One of the many mysteries surrounding Arthur is the location of Camelot, that place of special mystique. It is unlikely to be Castle Killibury. The name “Camelot” strongly suggests a connection with the Celtic war god, Camulos, and if Camelot was named for the war god it is likely to be associated with fighting and with gatherings of the war-bands. Camelot is elusive, for the simplest of reasons: it was not one place, but several. It was mobile; it was wherever Arthur was encamped with his warriors.

THE LAST BATTLE

The site of the last battle, Camlann, has been discussed endlessly. Every author who has written about Arthur has their own favored site. I have discussed elsewhere the reasons for thinking that the likeliest place is Pont ar Gamlan: a boulder-strewn fording-place at the confluence of the Eden and Mawddach rivers a few miles north of Dolgellau in North Wales. A third river, the Gamlan, flows down the steep mountainside from the west to join the Mawddach close by. It flows down through an oak forest and over some impressive waterfalls: the Black Falls, just above Ganllwyd. The name “Gamlan” is very close to the traditional name of the last battle, and in Welsh a cadgamlan is an utter rout, a complete massacre, and this is likely to be the original meaning of the battle’s name, now commemorated in the name of the river.

This may seem an odd place for Arthur to be fighting a battle in that the threat from the Saxons was from the east. But the various traditions about the last battle have in common the idea that it was a fight amongst the British. Arthur was betrayed by a relative, perhaps a nephew, called Modred or Medraut. With that in mind, the final battle might have been fought well inside the frontiers of Britannia Prima, in Devon, Cornwall, or anywhere in Wales.

The North Wales location suggests that Arthur was making his way north into the kingdom of Gwynedd along the major south–north Roman road known as Sarn Helen. The King of Gwynedd was Maelgwn, and his fortress was Castell Degannwy, perched on a rocky, twin-peaked hilltop overlooking the Conwy estuary. Like many other Dark Age strongholds, this was a refortified Iron Age fort. The site has yielded sixth-century pottery and there is a tradition that it was the seat of Maelgwn, though, like Arthur, Maelgwn had a less conspicuous refuge residence, at Aberffraw on the west coast of Anglesey. Degannwy was Maelgwn’s frontline fortress, and this was where Arthur was heading. The last battle took place in an atmosphere of distrust and civil war, and Arthur was probably hoping to deal with Maelgwn’s disloyalty.

Maelgwn had a reputation for ruthlessness. We know from the outright condemnation of him by Gildas that he murdered his own uncle in order to become King of Gwynedd; now he was envious of Arthur’s High Kingship and determined to get it for himself. Maelgwn was Arthur’s enemy; the king who was destabilizing the British confederation and who wanted him dead so that he could be dux bellorum himself.

Whether Arthur and his war-band rode into Gwynedd to quell an overt rebellion and open and anticipated hostility or were lured there by some guile of Maelgwn’s and fell unsuspecting into a trap at Ganllwyd cannot be determined from the existing evidence. Certainly the site, confined by steep valley sides and dense forests, is ideal for an ambush.

Two things are known for certain: Maelgwn did gain the High Kingship shortly after the Battle of Camlann and Arthur’s disappearance—in 546, according to one version—and gained it by deception. There is also the tradition that Arthur was in the end the victim of treachery at Camlann: perhaps the treachery was Maelgwn’s, not Modred’s. And just possibly Arthur was the murdered “uncle” mentioned by Gildas.

If Maelgwn was indeed responsible for the death of Arthur and for bringing the Arthurian peace to an end, Gildas’s extraordinary hatred and condemnation of Maelgwn’s many-sided wickedness becomes understandable. Arthur was behind the golden years of relative stability and justice between the Battles of Badon and Camlann, and those years came to an end with his final defeat. Gildas mentions specifically that Maelgwn removed and killed many tyrants (meaning kings, not necessarily tyrants in the modern sense), that Maelgwn was “last in my list but first in evil,” and that Maegwn “cruelly despatched the king your uncle.” Here, too, is the uncle-slaying regicide motif that would later be attributed, by Geoffrey of Monmouth, and possibly mistakenly, to Modred.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ARTHUR

What happened to Arthur after the Battle of Camlann is shrouded in mystery. One version of the story is that he was carried from the battlefield mortally wounded and either died elsewhere or simply disappeared. One explanation is that locally the truth of the matter was known—that Arthur had died on or near the battlefield—and this tradition was preserved and passed on through Welsh families, like the details about the few fellow warriors who survived the battle. Meanwhile, Arthur’s subjects in Cornwall had less detailed information about what had happened to the king. All they really knew was that he had not returned. In the days and weeks following the Battle of Camlann, all kinds of misinformation and rumor may have circulated.

Writing in the Middle Ages, Geoffrey of Monmouth was aware of the uncertainties. In his version of Arthur’s disappearance he describes him as “mortally wounded” on the battlefield, yet moved to Avalon “to have his wounds healed.” Some scholars have argued persuasively that Geoffrey was deliberately ambiguous about what had happened because he had on his desk two different versions of the king’s fate: one originating in Wales and giving Arthur as killed in battle; the other from Cornish or Breton sources and giving Arthur as surviving the battle and being transported elsewhere to recover or die.

This is persuasive and goes a long way toward explaining the post-Camlann confusion, but it may be that the contradictory stories carried a different clash of scenarios. It may have been known, to a privileged few in Wales, that Arthur had been wounded, rescued from the battlefield, and taken north to a place of safety; meanwhile, in Cornwall, the story was that Arthur was “missing presumed dead.”

Great play has been made of the absence of a grave for Arthur. The sixth or seventh-century poem Songs of the Graves gives the locations of many Dark Age heroes, for instance:

The grave of Owain ap Urien in a secluded part of the world,
Under the grass at Llan Morvad;
In Aberech, that of Rhydderch Hael. (Stanza 13)…
The wonder of the world, a grave for Arthur. (Stanza 44)

The missing grave became a major element in the mystique surrounding the vanished king. If Arthur was the great overking, chief of the kings of Britain and dux bellorum, we might expect to find an impressive monument of some kind raised over his grave, or at any rate for its location to have been remembered, but there is nothing. On the other hand, where is the grave of Aelle, the first Saxon bretwalda? Where is Vortigern’s mausoleum? Even the whereabouts of the tombs of King Alfred and King Harold are uncertain. So perhaps we should not be surprised that we have no grave for Arthur.

There is a tradition that he was buried secretly. The Life of St. Illtud credits Illtud with being the priest who conducted the secret funeral. Probably only those who were actually present—perhaps only ten people altogether—ever knew where the king was buried, and as likely as not those ten took the secret with them to their own separate graves.

One question naturally arises: why should those close to Arthur have wished to bury him in secret? Obviously his death was disastrous to the British cause. If he had succeeded only recently in re-cementing the loyalty of the kings of southern and central Wales to a common cause, the news of his death could have precipitated immediate fragmentation, laying Wales open to attack from the east; alternatively, and equally dangerously, it could have exposed Powys and the southern kingdoms to attack from Gwynedd first, rendering them powerless to resist Saxon incursion from the east. The continuing expansion of Gwynedd a century or two later seems to show that this was an ever-present danger. If news of Arthur’s death had reached the Saxons, who had been held at bay by his power for 20 years, they would have pushed westward with confidence and ease; if it had spread widely among the Britons, they would have been demoralized and given in under the renewed Saxon onslaught. In every way and for every reason it was important to conceal the death of Arthur, and those close to him may have hoped to hide the catastrophic truth long enough for a successor to be found and for him to establish his position as overking before too many people realized what had happened.

It may be that an alternative fate was concealed, but for the same reasons. If Arthur was not killed at Camlann but so badly wounded that he was going to be unfit to fight or even ride for a long time, he would have been forced to retire. It was common for Dark Age kings to retire when they became physically incapable of fighting through age or infirmity. They withdrew from public life completely by entering monasteries.

Several examples are known from these times. In around 580 Tewdrig or Theodoric, King of Glevissig (Glamorgan) abdicated in favor of his son Meurig and retired to a religious house at Tintern. He made the mistake of coming out of retirement in about 584, when his son engaged the Saxons in battle nearby, and was mortally wounded in the battle. Pabo Pillar of Britain, King of the Pennines, similarly abdicated in favor of his sons and went to live in seclusion in a remote monastery in Gwynedd, far from his own kingdom; he later died and was buried there, in the church at Llanbabo in Anglesey. A link between the Pennine kingdom and Gwynedd is suggested by another example. In the church at Llanaelhaearn on the Lleyn Peninsula is a fifth or sixth-century memorial stone inscribed with the words “Aliortus, a man from Elmet, lies here.”

There are hints in the medieval genealogies that a much earlier Dumnonian king, Coel Godebog, also retired a long way from home: he died and was buried in the far north, in York, in 300.

Did Arthur, now aged 62 and badly wounded, decide to abdicate and retire immediately after Camlann? The Legend of St. Goeznovius, a Breton saint, includes some information that is corroborated in other sources, such as the migration of British saints to Brittany in the fifth and sixth centuries. It may overstate Arthur’s achievement, in boasting that the Saxons were largely cleared from Britain by “the great Arthur, King of the Britons” but, in a telling phrase, it relates how Arthur’s career ended when he “was summoned from human activity.” This is equivocal, in that it holds back from saying that Arthur died, even if most of us reading the story would infer that that was meant. The expression might equally be taken to mean that Arthur withdrew from secular, worldly affairs in order to lead a purely religious life.

If Arthur’s reign ended at Camlann but he lived on in retirement, it could explain the discrepancy between the date of 537 or 539 given in the Welsh Annals for Arthur’s fall at Camlann and the date of 542 given by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Perhaps Geoffrey had access to a tradition of Arthur living on for another five years after the battle.

The idea that Arthur did not die but somehow lived on and will one day return may seem to remove Arthur completely from history and place him safely in the world of myth and mysticism. Yet Arthur is but one of many great charismatic leaders, many of them kings, who were believed to have lived on after their “official” deaths. The last Saxon King of England, Harold Godwinson, officially died at the Battle of Hastings close to the site of the high altar of Battle Abbey and his remains were buried at the same spot. The Bayeux Tapestry is unambiguous—“Harold interfectus est”—but even in 1066 doubts were circulated about the official story. The Norman chronicler William of Poitiers reported that the Conqueror contemptuously ordered Harold’s body to be buried on the beach. More uncertainty arose because of the mutilation of the corpse, so even a burial in Battle Abbey might have been that of another battle victim. By the thirteenth century an Icelandic story was told of Harold being found alive on the battlefield by two peasants who were looting corpses the night after the battle. They took him home with them and it was suggested that he should rally the English once more, but Harold knew that many would have sworn fealty to William and he did not want to compromise them. He would retire to a hermitage at Canterbury. Three years later, when Harold died, William was told and he saw that Harold was given a royal burial. Gerald of Wales, writing in 1191, also affirmed that the Saxons clung to the belief that Harold was alive; as a hermit, deeply scarred and blinded in the left eye, he is said to have lived for a long time in a cell at Chester, where he was visited by Henry I.

Similar survival stories have been told about other historical figures: the Norwegian King Olaf Tryggvason, Richard II, the Grand Duchess Anastasia, Alexander I of Russia, Holger Danske, Sebastian of Portugal. These were real people, yet elaborate stories adding layers of mystery to their deaths are still told. The mystery elements added to Arthur’s life do not mean that he never existed at all.

THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF ARTHUR

Why did this particular king so fascinate his contemporaries and those who came after? The most immediate reason is that his military prowess halted the westward progress of the Anglo-Saxon colonization of southern Britain for 20 years. His time would afterward be remembered as the sunset of Celtic England. A distinctive feature of the Celts is dwelling on defeats; there is wailing, keening, lamentation, and nostalgia. A. L. Rouse commented, “It was the hero of the losing side, King Arthur, who imposed himself on the imagination.” Arthur became a symbol of the glory of Britain as it once was and might yet have been, but for its destruction by the Saxon invaders. He was the perfect symbol of a kingdom and a culture lost.

The image of the king hung over the aristocracy of the Middle Ages like a faded, tattered, war-torn battle standard hanging in a royal chapel, redolent of past greatness and signifying virtues that could never be matched by the living. The idea of Arthur became a force in politics. Henry II wanted to prove that Arthur was dead in order to remove any hopes the Celts may have nursed that he would rise again to do battle against the Plantagenets. It was probably for this reason that in 1190 Henry II arranged for Arthur’s coffin to be “discovered” at Glastonbury and exhumed. We know that, when Henry II visited Pembrokeshire in 1179 and met the bard who told him where Arthur’s grave was, he was also told of the tradition that Arthur would ride once more. If Henry could produce Arthur’s bones, even the most superstitious would be able to see that there was no chance of Arthur riding again.

King Edward III identified himself as Arthur’s successor when he contemplated re-establishing the Round Table as an order of chivalry. In the end, in 1348, he founded the Order of the Garter instead, but still in imitation of King Arthur’s order of Round Table knights.

By Rodney Castleden in "The Element Encyclopedia of the Celts", HarperElement (an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers), London, 2013, excerpts part 1. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Cominci bene se lo zuccero non è troppo. Anche se i cereali sono una valida scelta per la prima colazione dei bambini, occorre fare attenzione a quali si scelgono: alcuni sono troppo zuccherati.

Ci sono molti modi per iniziare la giornata, tutti validi. Tutti tranne uno: saltare la colazione. Come è stato detto molte volte, il primo pasto della giornata è anche il più importante: serve a reidratare il nostro organismo dopo la notte, serve a risvegliarlo e serve a farci incamerare forze per il resto della giornata. Le energie per il risveglio si assumono tipicamente con cibi ricchi di zuccheri semplici, come frutta, miele o marmellata; le energie “di scorta”, invece, si assumono dai carboidrati complessi, contenuti nei prodotti da forno o nei cereali.



Cereali a colazione: sì o no?

Dipende. In linea di massima si tratta di una buona alternativa a biscotti e brioche, perché hanno un alto contenuto (dal 68% al 87% circa) di carboidrati e - rispetto alla maggioranza dei prodotti da forno - meno grassi (regola che ha eccezioni, comunque); se integrali, sono anche ricchi di fibre, importanti per l’intestino. Non vanno consumati da soli, naturalmente: non bastano a costituire un pasto sano. Come peraltro è abitudine diffusa, bisogna abbinarli a latte o yogurt, che garantiscono il giusto apporto di proteine e calcio; l’aggiunta di un frutto fresco di stagione o - perché no? - qualche frutto in guscio (noci o mandorle) arricchisce la colazione di vitamine, sali minerali e altri elementi utili.

Di cosa parliamo quando parliamo di cereali?

Se andiamo al supermercato, nella corsia dei “cereali” troviamo decine di prodotti, tutti diversi per aspetto, forma e sapore. Alcuni, ricchi di cioccolato o zucchero, sono pensati per i bambini.

Nel nostro test ci siamo concentrati soprattutto sui prodotti dedicati ai più piccoli ai quali abbiamo aggiunto anche alcuni cereali per adulti, valutandone e mettendone a confronto le qualità in termini di nutrienti e di gusto. Abbiamo analizzato 20 prodotti in commercio. Li abbiamo sottoposti oltre che a una serie di verifiche di laboratorio utili a valutarne la qualità, anche a un campione di 400 bambini tra i 6 e gli 11 anni, ai quali abbiamo affidato l’incarico, in veste di “assaggiatori”, di valutarne il sapore. Sembra vada tutto bene, ma...

I nostri risultati (ma basta anche una occhiata alle tabelle nutrizionali) hanno confermato che una colazione con i cereali è una buona scelta: l’apporto calorico è generalmente più basso rispetto a quello dei biscotti (si va dal minimo di 109 kcal per porzione media di 30g di Nestlè Fitness fino al massimo di 131 kcal per porzione di Kellogs Choco Krave) e la maggior parte parte dei prodotti si colloca attorno alle 110-115 kcal a porzione). In alcuni prodotti anche i grassi e i grassi saturi sono risultati pochi e anche in merito alla presenza di sale non abbiamo giudizi negativi. I cereali, poi, specie se integrali contengono molte fibre, il che è un fatto buono. In media si tratta di 5 grammi ogni 100. Il quadro nutrizionale è generalmente buono, non fosse che per un parametro, decisamente troppo alto.

C’è troppo zucchero!

Il problema sono gli zuccheri semplici. Quasi in tutti i cereali testati ce ne sono troppi, soprattutto in considerazione del fatto che nella maggior parte dei casi si tratta di prodotti rivolti ai bambini, ossia a chi, più di ogni altro ha bisogno di un’alimentazione equilibrata.

Per quel che riguarda la presenza di zuccheri nessun prodotto dei venti messi alla prova riceve un voto veramente buono dai nostri test e, anzi, spesso (12) ha una valutazione pessima. Si va dal minimo di 7,9 g/100 g di Kellog’s Rice Krispies al massimo (veramente troppo) 42,5 g /100 g di Esselunga Honey Ciuffy. La maggior parte dei prodotti si colloca su una media di 22,3 g/100g di zucchero.

Cosa dice l’Unione europea?

La stessa cosa che diciamo noi, grosso modo: gli zuccheri vanno ridotti e assunti, insieme ai sali e ai grassi saturi, con moderazione. Anzi, di più. Da Bruxelles è arrivato un invito a tutti gli Stati membri (sul quale vigileremo) a operare per ridurre sensibilmente la presenza di zuccheri nei cibi (meno 10% entro il 2020) e allo stesso tempo va favorita la diffusione e il consumo di cibi a ridotto apporto di sale e grassi.

Contaminanti? No, però...

Nelle nostre ricerche non ci siamo limitati solo a cercare (e a trovare) gli zuccheri, ma abbiamo anche cercato tracce di contaminanti ambientali come piombo, cadmio e di micotossine, ossia sostanze prodotte da muffe.

I risultati sono stati complessivamente positivi, anche alla luce del fatto che nella nostra valutazione siamo stati particolarmente severi e abbiamo usato come parametro i limiti pensati per i bambini (molto più bassi, in genere, di quelli per gli adulti).

Se per il piombo e il cadmio i risultati sono stati pienamente soddisfacenti il discorso per le micotossine è un po’ diverso: abbiamo trovato solo il Deossinvalenolo (DON), una micotossina non cancerogena, ma tossica oltre certi limiti. La presenza da noi riscontrata di Don è sempre stata entro i limiti di legge. Però, dato che il parametro scelto era particolarmente rigido, abbiamo attribuito un giudizio medio (Pan di Stelle) e uno negativo (Tre Mulini).

Finale a sorpresa

La parte più stupefacente delle nostre prove è arrivata dai bambini. Sono stati loro che ci hanno stupito scegliendo come loro preferito un cereale, Kellogs Special K (risultato poi, anche per questo, il Migliore del Test) calibrato su un consumatore più adulto.

La scelta ci ha sopreso perché si tratta di un prodotto che non punta al target dei bambini, né con campagne promozionali né con gadget. Inoltre è uno dei meno zuccherati e non è trattato né con cacao, né con glassa. Al secondo posto, nella classifica degli assaggi, è comunque arrivato Pan di Stelle, uno dei più golosi tra quelli selezionati per il test.

Di Luciana Grosso, estratti "Altroconsumo Test Salute",supplemento di "Altroconsumo" n° 307 - Anno XLII - ottobre 2016, Milano, pp.10-13.  Compilati e adattati per essere postato per Leopoldo Costa.

Viande ou poisson ? Vin ou cidre ? S’ils souffrent souvent de la faim, les hommes du Moyen Age ont développé une véritable économie de l’alimentation – et un art de la table qui inspire aujourd’hui certains grands chefs.

La question de l’alimentation au Moyen Age suscite un intérêt croissant depuis quelques années dans un éventail de plus en plus large de curieux : du chercheur investissant un champ relativement neuf au chef cuisinier qui expérimente de « nouvelles » recettes venues du passé, en passant par les aventuriers de la reconstitution historique, tous découvrent ou redécouvrent un patrimoine culinaire et un univers gastronomique que Georges Duby qualifiait de « dépaysants » dans son introduction à La Gastronomie au Moyen Age (Stock, 1991).

Ce succès protéiforme tient d’abord au caractère à la fois savant et trivial de ce domaine d’étude qui touche l’esprit érudit et la matérialité du quotidien le plus intime qui soit. Pour les historiens, ce champ de recherche relativement nouveau permet d’aborder une grande variété de questions économiques : productions agricoles, circuits commerciaux, rôle des nombreux métiers de l’alimentation. Il touche également à l’histoire des mentalités, surtout depuis que les chercheurs, un peu passé l’enthousiasme de l’école des Annales pour les données quantitatives, ont adopté une perspective plus qualitative.

Un monde affamé

Un point est assuré : le Moyen Age (et au-delà) est un monde où règne l’insécurité alimentaire. Les chroniques tiennent le compte des famines qui rythment l’évolution démographique. La « peste », terme générique englobant des épidémies de natures diverses, creuse les effectifs européens après le boom économique du XIe-xIIIe siècle et fait des ravages au sein de populations affaiblies par des périodes de mauvaises récoltes. Le désordre des guerres, autre mal endémique et troisième grand fléau redouté, aggrave le tout en détruisant ou détournant les récoltes, en perturbant surtout les approvisionnements et en affamant ponctuellement les villes assiégées.

A ce tableau funeste, il convient cependant d’ajouter que des « îlots de goinfrerie », selon la formule de Georges Duby, demeurent, en lien avec une société très hiérarchisée qui favorise le marché urbain ou la table du seigneur, ce dernier tenant ferme les circuits commerciaux et en particulier le plat pays, perçu comme un bassin de  ressources. Les fouilles archéologiques réalisées dans le castrum d’Auberoche en Dordogne pour le XIe-XIIe siècle ont relevé un échantillon faunique dans le logis seigneurial six fois plus important que celui de l’ensemble collecté dans le quartier villageois, et un registre d’espèces représentées beaucoup plus large. L’adoption du luxe et de l’ostentation alimentaires, rappelait Denrée fondamentale – au point que tout ce qui l’accompagne de solide, végétal ou animal, est qualifié de « companage » –, il est consommé aussi bien trempé (premier sens de « soupe ») dans un bouillon que présenté en guise d’assiette sous forme de « tranchoir », absorbant les sauces des mets festifs. Il entre en outre dans la composition des sauces, comme liant plus commun que l’oeuf. Au sommet des préférences, le pain « blanc » de froment – dont les familiers de l’archevêque d’Arles consomment chacun 1,6 kg par jour en 1430 ! – se distingue du pain noir chargé de son, seule consolation des pauvres gens. Les mauvaises terres ne fournissent que du pain de seigle et, en cas de difficultés, on se contentera d’un « pain de famine » constitué d’orge ou d’avoine. Dans le discours néanmoins, ces derniers l’emportent toujours sur les « tourteaux », ces bouillies de gruau que les mangeurs de pain considèrent avec mépris.

Si la bière, le bochet (une boisson au miel) et le cidre sont couramment consommés, ils ne le sont qu’en préférence à l’eau, dont la qualité, en ville, n’est pas toujours assurée, et par les moins nantis ou en période de crise. La boisson par excellence est le vin, consommé en abondance (2,5 litres par jour et par personne selon les comptes de l’archevêque d’Arles), mais avec un titrage assez faible (moins de 10°). Le vin est jeune et on le goûte davantage blanc. La Bataille des vins, texte du début XIIIe siècle, offre une première classification des crus de France(entendons « d’Ile-de-France »). Les vins français jouissent d’une bonne réputation, même si les tables aristocratiques affichent leur prédilection pour les vins forts de Beaune, d’Auxerre ou de La Rochelle. « Boire le vin de sa vigne » est un privilège bourgeois et on la cultive aux abords des villes.

Un régime « carnassier »

Dans le companage, une place de choix est réservée à la viande. Les deux derniers siècles du Moyen Age se distinguent en particulier par un régime plutôt « carnassier » : une ordonnance de Charles VI d’octobre 1416 rappelle que la viande est alors devenue une « marchandise [...] dont notre dit peuple [de Chartres] peut le moins se passer après pain et vin ». Ce luxe urbain est largement partagé, à considérer les dépôts archéologiques.

Les déchets de boucherie, très largement dominés par les ossements d’animaux domestiques, y augmentent durant cette période, en ville comme à la campagne, et dans toutes les couches de la société. Un règlement anglo-saxon de 1482 prescrit même que chaque menu des compagnons des métiers devra en comporter au déjeuner et au dîner. Le terme « viande », qui désignait initialement toute denrée alimentaire (d’où Le Viandier, célèbre livre de recettes attribué à Taillevent, cuisinier des rois Charles V et Charles VI), finit par s’imposer aux dépens
du mot « chair ».

Conséquence visible de cette promotion, le nombre de boucheries en ville croît : le médiéviste Philippe Wolff comptait huit « mazels » (version francisée du macellum latin désignant le marché aux viandes), pour la modeste ville de Toulouse ; et la seule grande boucherie de Paris, certes la plus importante de la capitale, abritait une quarantaine d’étals, autour desquels officiaient plus de 70 personnes vers 1470.

Ce progrès alimentaire est la conséquence paradoxale des difficultés économiques alors rencontrées : les fortes mortalités du xive siècle entraînent un recul de l’espace cultivé en céréales au profit du saltus propice à un élevage de plus en plus spéculatif. Les chiffres de la consommation restent difficiles à établir de manière précise : les comptes des établissements ecclésiastiques les mieux tenus n’enregistrent pas l’autoconsommation des produits fournis par les granges ou autres dépendances. A partir des comptes des bouchers, on peine à établir les quantités de viandes consommées, dans la double ignorance où nous sommes du poids des animaux abattus et du nombre exact de consommateurs. Autre complication : la surabondance des tables aristocratiques anticipe la redistribution caritative ultérieure, difficile à quantifier.

Dans les années 1980, l’influence de l’anthropologie, qui rappelait que manger était autant un acte social et culturel qu’une nécessité physiologique entraîna un pas de côté épistémologique, et un accroissement des sources potentielles : les documents douaniers ou comptables des villes, des institutions religieuses ou des particuliers de plus ou moins grande noblesse ne sont plus seulement étudiés pour établir le panier de la ménagère florentine au xive siècle ou la consommation carnée d’une ville allemande. Ils renseignent également sur le fonctionnement des maisons princières par l’approvisionnement de leur table.

En outre, la coopération avec les archéologues ne s’est jamais révélée autant fructueuse que pour ce pan d’histoire matérielle et culturelle. Elle a permis d’inventorier les espèces végétales ou animales consommées, d’étudier les régimes de différents milieux à partir des restes en dépotoir ou des traces isotopiques dans les os et dents des corps retrouvés, de comprendre les structures de l’habitat consacrées à la cuisine, d’établir ou confirmer des habitudes alimentaires locales ou précises dans le temps, d’analyser enfin les pratiques culinaires en fonction des pots de cuisson et de leurs résidus retrouvés dedans.

Raves ou fruits?

Un autre défi consiste à identifier les goûts culinaires des hommes et des femmes du Moyen Age. Pour cela, il faut également mobiliser des sources plus littéraires, comme les livres de recettes, les récits de banquets, les textes normatifs répertoriant les règles des métiers et les limitations alimentaires, ou même des archives judiciaires dès lors qu’elles témoignent du quotidien, comme cette lettre de rémission de 1394 qui raconte comment un Parisien, revenu tard et sans doute aviné d’une taverne de la rue de la Harpe, est sermonné à son domicile par sa femme pour n’avoir rien ramené au souper… Pour se faire pardonner, il propose d’aller « acheter un poussin ou autre chose », exemple des possibilités de restauration rapide improvisée.

L’analyse des livres de recettes a permis d’observer l’émergence d’une cuisine réellement raffinée jouant sur des mariages subtils de saveurs et de couleurs. Partout, les épices tiennent une place de choix, surtout à la table des élites où elles sont un moyen de se distinguer. Les questions diététiques influencent aussi l’alimentation, même si elles sont alors formulées selon la théorie antique des humeurs. Les traités médicaux font écho à des prescriptions très attentives à la complexion de l’individu, dont le régime doit varier en fonction de son caractère, mais aussi de son rang social : au travailleur manuel convient la lourde viande terrestre du boeuf, le noble préférera la chair « aérienne » de l’oiseau ; la rave est bonne pour le paysan, le fruit de l’arbre est plus digne du seigneur. Tous doivent se méfier du melon dont on corrige les défauts (trop humide et froid) en le dégustant avec des salaisons. Suivant ces principes, le banquet débute par des fruits frais, acides, et se clôt par des épices et des mets sucrés, chauds et secs, tandis qu’au centre du repas le « rôt » de viande constitue la pièce maîtresse, carburant principal d’une digestion que les médecins considèrent comme une combustion.

L’autre découverte a été celle des variantes régionales pour une même recette, révélant des tendances « nationales » avec un usage plus intense du sucre en Angleterre et une passion française pour l’acide du vinaigre ou du verjus, dans une succession des plats qui n’a pas encore adopté la distinction du sucré et du salé. Dans le discours gastronomique naissant se définissent les premières réputations attachées à un espace régional, comme pour les vins, mais également pour les fromages, à l’instar du brie.

Fast-foods

Abandonnant le pittoresque ou se méfiant de la statistique, la recherche s’intéresse désormais à toutes les dimensions de l’alimentation médiévale, sans oublier les pratiques culturelles, comme le jeûne dont l’observance plus ou moins rigoureuse – il s’agit surtout de se priver de viande et des éléments associés au « gras » animal – rythme le quotidien des communautés religieuses, mais aussi des populations de plus en plus encadrées par l’Église. Le temps de carême (quadragesima) a des implications économiques sur l’approvisionnement en poissons d’eau de mer ou d’eau douce, mais également sur l’activité bouchère qui est stoppée durant les 40 jours précédant Pâques.

Les études récentes se penchent également sur les métiers de l’alimentation et leur poids dans la société. Les boulangers, bouchers et poissonniers sont longtemps tenus à l’écart des aristocraties urbaines en dépit de leur puissance qui s’affiche parfois, comme au bas des vitraux dédicacés par les métiers jurés (organisations professionnelles hiérarchisées) dans les cathédrales de Chartres ou de Bourges. On se penche aussi sur des métiers plus modestes, comme rôtisseurs de volaille, appelés oyers, pâtissiers travaillant la viande cuite en pâte et d’autres artisans qui offrent en ville toute une gamme de services, allant du traiteur réputé au prototype du fast-food.

Les règlements de métiers ont ainsi révélé le souci urbain d’un approvisionnement non seulement suffisant en quantité, mais également exigeant en qualité : la peur de la fraude et de l’intoxication, perçue comme un empoisonnement, rend plus rigoureux qu’on ne l’imaginait les consommateurs et les autorités qui contrôlent les commerçants, directement ou à travers des métiers jurés. Loin de l’image de la viande faisandée saturée d’épices pour en cacher le goût, la viande est vendue très fraîche après l’abattage, que personne ne souhaite trop à l’abri des regards pour mieux surveiller la santé des animaux menés à la mort. Le pain est l’objet de tests réguliers quant à la qualité des farines utilisées. Ainsi, l’évêque de Fribourg-en-Brisgau (Allemagne) fit graver sur les murs de la cathédrale surplombant le marché les silhouettes des pains dont la taille et le poids variaient en fonction de la conjoncture, afin de garder un prix fixe unitaire, garant d’une paix sociale.

Si l’on ajoute le rôle politique qu’ont eu certains banquets, vitrines de la puissance du prince et soutiens festifs de sa propagande, l’histoire de l’alimentation au Moyen Age a bien accédé au statut d’histoire totale.


Un boucher peu scrupuleux

Les dépôts liés aux activités de boucherie engendrent des accumulations particulières, se différenciant des poubelles domestiques par le spectre faunique et anatomique. Ainsi, à Saint-Quentin, une fosse-dépotoir nous plonge dans l’histoire d’un boucher du XVe siècle. L’analyse d’environ 7000 os a, avant tout, permis d’aborder les techniques de découpe d’un artisan aux gestes sûrs et maîtrisant parfaitement les dispositions musculaires des animaux, ne laissant rien au hasard ou à l’empirisme. Avec le couperet, il veille à réaliser des fractures nettes. Les indices ne manquent pas car près de 370 impacts occasionnés par un ou des instruments lourds ont été relevés sur certaines pièces osseuses.

Cette activité n’avait rien d’anecdotique si l’on considère la centaine de boeufs et les quelque 200 moutons ou chèvres impliqués dans le dépôt. Mais les analyses ont aussi dévoilé les pratiques douteuses de ce boucher... Car, outre les boeufs et les moutons, il a découpé du chien, du cheval et du chat ! Fieffé coquin que ce boucher qui, en ce milieu du xve siècle, aurait pu nous inventer des lasagnes au cheval, du rôt de chat et du pâté de chien. La contrefaçon ne date pas d’hier. D’ailleurs, les exemples en cuisine médiévale ne manquent pas : à défaut d’esturgeon, on remplace sa chair par celle du veau. Le Ménagier de Paris, où l’on trouve notamment des recettes, cite en effet l’« esturgeon contrefait de veau » et emploie la tête de l’animal pour élaborer la recette. Sauf que le bourgeois cite sa petite astuce dans un livre de cuisine, tandis que le boucher, lui, réalisait probablement sa vente au détriment du consommateur... (par Benoît Clavel)


Du poisson à foison

Circuits de commerce, apparition et extinction d’espèces : l’archéologie met en valeur les conditions et les conséquences de la surpêche au Moyen Age.

Les ossements animaux forment un « matériel » abondamment récolté au cours des fouilles archéologiques. Même s’ils sont un peu moins résistants que les restes de mammifères, les os de poissons sont, eux aussi, assez solides. On découvre par milliers écailles, pièces crâniennes, vertèbres ou bien encore des éléments de nageoires ou de côtes – ce que l’on appelle sans distinction « arêtes ». Le développement inédit de la pêche est, en effet, une caractéristique propre au Moyen Age.

Appréhender valablement cette masse impose à l’archéozoologue – l’archéologue spécialiste des restes animaux – un protocole rigoureux. Après avoir recueilli les restes dans un tamis très fin (avec des mailles de 1 à 1,5 mm), il faut déterminer, autant que faire se peut, de quel os il s’agit et de quelle espèce il provient. Les os sont ensuite mesurés, pour restituer la dimension et le poids des poissons. Tout ce travail permet de mettre en valeur une série de phénomènes liés à la pêche et au transport du poisson.

Ainsi, des conséquences spectaculaires de cet essor des activités halieutiques, mais aussi des activités humaines en général, ont été mises en évidence sur la présence et la taille de certaines espèces. La diminution des dimensions des pleuronectes, un genre de poisson qui regroupe notamment le carrelet ou le flet, suggère une surexploitation de ces espèces sur la façade très sableuse de Picardie entre le XIe et le début du XIVe siècle.

De même, selon un bilan provisoire, le développement des interventions humaines sur le milieu d’eau douce s’est soldé, d’une part, par des disparitions d’espèces et, d’autre part, par l’apparition d’autres, comme la carpe, originaire d’Asie, qui est introduite en France vers le XIIe siècle, puis largement diffusée par les religieux qui l’élevaient sans doute.

Conserves

L’archéo-ichtyologie, ou archéologie du poisson, concourt également à la compréhension de sa distribution. Dès les débuts du Moyen Age, des occupations mérovingiennes (VIe-VIIe siècle) livrent des restes de poissons témoignant d’une étroite dépendance entre espèces consommées et peuplements des eaux environnantes, notamment en milieu rural. Par ailleurs, dès la même époque, quelques vestiges attestent d’un commerce précoce de la chair de poisson marin, du moins sous forme de produits de conserve (par salage ou fumage), dont bénéficient certaines villes continentales, comme Metz, Orléans ou encore Paris, Pontoise et Compiègne un peu plus tardivement (IXe siècle).

A partir du XIIe siècle, ces réseaux d’approvisionnement se densifient et permettent une accessibilité accrue aux ressources marines, apprêtées ou fraîches. Les circuits de ravitaillement s’expliquent par la proximité du site avec cours d’eau, littoral, ainsi que principaux axes du réseau viaire. En parallèle, le développement de la pêche hauturière modifie sensiblement le cortège des espèces consommées.

Le statut des consommateurs conditionne la présence de certaines espèces ou de certains poissons plus communs, mais atypiques par leur gabarit impressionnant, qui sont l’apanage des tables privilégiées. Ainsi, l’esturgeon demeure un mets emblématique des élites, tout comme le dauphin, alors classé parmi les poissons. Autre exemple, des carrelets de plus de 80 cm de long étaient acheminés au château de Vincennes au début du XVIe siècle, en pleine période de surpêche sur les côtes de la Manche.(par Benoît Clavel)

Par Benoît Descamps dans "L'Histoire", n. 428, octobre 2016, France,spécial Moyen Age, pp.44-49.  Dactylographié et adapté pour être posté par Leopoldo Costa.

Cattle

Scenes of butchery of cattle, fish, and fowl arc probably more frequently depicted in tomb paintings and wooden models than any other scenes of food processing, except possibly the preparation of bread and beer.68 Pharaonic Egyptians ate meat, though the amounts and kinds probably correlated to class. Since it was expensive and time consuming to raise cattle, beef consumption was a prerogative primarily of the upper classes. Indeed, ownership of livestock, particularly cattle, was for the ancient Egyptians a mark of prestige and wealth. Tomb paintings and wooden models frequently illustrate inspection of herds of cattle or cattle being led in ceremonial procession.69 Butchery of cattle, its related activities, and the display of the butchcred parts, particularly the leg, were favorite religious and ceremonial motifs in tomb paintings dating from the late Third or early Fourth Dynasty, and remained so until the New Kingdom.70 One commonly represented scene preliminary to butchery was force-feeding animals in order to fatten them up. Additionally, most animals destined for the slaughterhouse had probably been castrated at an early age, although the process has not been recognized in any art historical source. Besides creating a more easily handled animal, castration has a favorable effcct on the texture and flavor of the meat.71

Pigs

Regardless of comments by classical authors and prohibitions common to Muslim countries today, the ancient Egyptians did eat pork. Pigs rarely appear in scencs in tomb paintings before the Eighteenth Dynasty, while archaeological excavations have recovered only sparse remains of pig bones for periods prior to the New Kingdom. Nevertheless, it seems likely that domesticated pig formed part of the diet as early as Neolithic times.72 Ongoing studies of evidence from sites dating to the New Kingdom indicate that pork was an important item in the diet of the common people. Nakht, the temple weaver of the Twentieth-Dynasty Pharaoh Sethnakhte, at Deir cl-Bahri, for example, apparently enjoyed pork, although, as the autopsy of his mummy indicates, he had contracted trichinosis from the undercooked meat. Inhabitants of the workmen's villages at Amarna and Deir el-Medina raised pigs and goats in pens for their own consumption and, perhaps, for sale.73

Fowl

Used as hieroglyphic symbol, included in offering lists, depicted frequently in Fowl relief, sculpture, and painting, and associated with certain deities, such as Horus, birds played a major role in Egyptian life. Poultry, including pigeons, doves, quail, partridges, ducks, geese, and various other aquatic birds, along with their eggs, was eaten by members of all social orders.74 As with fish, the trapping of birds and processing them were often depicted in tomb paintings. So, for exampie, birds are frequently shown being trapped with nets in marshy areas along the Nile. Like cattle, the Egyptians also force-fed some of the larger birds, such as geese, before butchering.75

Butchery of cattle

The slaughter of cattle — butchery of pigs has yet to be recognized in any Butchery of cattle artistic representation — almost invariably followed the same sequence, though various steps in the process are often omitted in painted scenes from one tomb to another.76 The animal was led either directly to the abattoir from the field where the herd was kept or first to a stable where it was force-fed and fattened, and then conducted to the place of slaughter where it was tied to a tethering stone.77 The butcher' assistants felled the animal by lassooing his legs and tripping it, tied up its legs, and held it still. The butcher first slit the animal's throat, while an assistant held a bowl to catch the first blood that !lowed out. This he presented to a temple priest for inspection.78 Whether the examination was to ascertain its purity or to determine from its look and smell if the animal were healthy is unknown. Likewise, besides as an additive to medicines, it is uncertain for what purpose the blood was later used, whether employed in some ritual or prepared in some fashion as a food. In several paintings, near the butchery scene workmen attend to a kettle placed over a fire. What the cauldron contains is uncertain, but some scholars identify it as blood being boiled to make a pudding. Next, the butcher ceremoniously removed the foreleg, flayed the animal, and set about butchering the rest of the carcass, either there or in another part of the abattoir. The portions of meat were processed into various prescribed cuts or shapes.79

Abattoir

Remains of an abattoir in the Old Kingdom funerary temple of Raneferef near Abusir show a two-story building, 15.0 m. χ 27 m., possessed of an unroofed front room equipped with three tethering blocks. Three other rooms, one of which still possessed a mud-brick chopping block, served for subsequent butchering. Signs of burning in fireplaces indicate that the meat was cooked in the same rooms in which it was jointed. The abattoir contained several other rooms for storing the meat.80 Although numerous tomb paintings illustrate the butchery sccne, the wooden model of a butcher's shop from the Middle Kingdom Tomb of Meket-re (PI. 16) provides an excellent visual conception of the l complete process and offers a close structural parallel with the abattoir at Abusir.81 The shop is divided into two parts. The front room has a tall ceiling with the front wall open near the top to allow circulation of air. The back room is divided into two stories, but with a ceiling shorter than the one in the front room. In the latter room attendants arc in the act of butchering two trussed-up animals lying on the floor. One man wields the knife; another holds a bowl to catch the blood.82 Butchered meat already hangs on ropes stretched across the mezzanine level of the back room. The cuts of meat come in various sizes and shapes. Those in the model of Meket-re included rib sections cut into large flat pieces, round and shoulder cuts in circular shape, and, most frequently, limb muscles cut into the shape of equal-sided triangles.83 New Kingdom abattoirs functioned in funerary temples at Thebes (Seti I and Rameses III), Abydos (Seti I), and Amarna (house of Panehsy, Overseer of the Cattle of the Aten, in the city, and various chapels in the workmen's village).84

Butchery tools

Butchery technology shows clear improvements over what had been practiced Butchery tools in the Paleolithic and Neolithic periods, both in terms of well-constructed tools and more elaborate preservation techniques. Flint knives, used in the Predynastic period and earlier, continued to be used until the First Dynasty when the Egyptians developed copper blades. From then on they employed both copper and flint knives, although, due to a shortage of flint, most New Kingdom knives were primarily made of metal.85 Knives came in numerous shapes, not all of which can be associated with a particular type of butchery, however. A few New Kingdom knives have the shape of the foreleg of a bull, and so were probably used most often for butchering cattle, although fishermen are shown using this type of knife in the Tomb of Puyemre at Thebes. Microwear analysis on Egyptian knives has shown that at least one form, called the "fish-tail" blade, was used to cut meat.86 The Egyptians also had a metal "chopper" useful for cutting through bone. The butchery offish and fowl used knives similarly shaped but smaller than those used to butcher cattle. Fishermen, for example, processed fish with a triangular-shaped blade, more like a cleaver, and at least four other similarly shaped knives, including the "fish-tail" blade. The same types of knives served to cut up birds.87

Through the period of the Old Kingdom, blades and handles were made of the same material, but in the Middle Kingdom handles were wrapped in leather strips. This made grasping more comfortable for the user, and also allowed for a stronger grip when manipulating it to cut tough hides and bones. Scholars have yet to devote serious study to Egyptian knives, and a typology of shapes remains a significant lacuna. Modern archaeological experimentation, however, has shown that flint knives were sharper and held their edge longer than metal ones. Some paintings show butchers with knife sharpeners, apparently wooden or perhaps basalt sticks, hanging from their belts or being used to retouch a dull blade.88

One interesting sidelight comes from excavations at the workmen's village near Amarna.89 A study of cut marks on cattle, pig, and goat bones found that butchers carefully used small, sharp knives, or sometimes choppers, on the smaller animals but clcavers or axes wielded rather bluntly on the large ones.

Rosemary Luff has suggested that the care and skill utilized for butchery of the smaller animals stemmed from a desire to obtain the greatest amount of the meat from animals that had been raised in pens in the village. She goes on to state that cattle bones, unlike those for pig and goat, received rough treatment, and showed signs of rude force imparted with heavy axes or cleavers. She proposes that this might have resulted from unskilled and less careful butchers who formed part of a work gang engaged in large-scale butchery for a temple inside the city. Following the initial butchery, the meat was probably carried to the workmen's village where villagers processed it further using knives.90

Cooking meat

The dry Egyptian heat required that animal foods be eaten soon after slaughter or the meat preserved in some fashion. If immediate consumption was desired, the animals could be cooked in a variety of ways. Meat animals, such as cattle, hogs, wild game, and the larger birds, could be roasted on a spit.91 Meat was occasionally grilled, and possibly, fried, though again the evidence is sparse. In a New Kingdom house at Deir el-Medina excavators found a limestone grill bearing on its surface traces of grease and evidence of burning. The bottom had been hollowed out to allow it to be placed over hot coals to cook the food placed on top. Fowl, which had been split open and cleaned in a manner similar to a process called spatchcocking, were found in an Eighteenth-Dynasty tomb at Deir el-Medina, but whether they had been grilled is debatable. Fish may have also been prepared in this manner, but examples are lacking.92 The most frequently represented cooking motif for a variety of animals was boiling. A relief from the Old Kingdom Tomb of Nianchchnum and Chnumhotep shows cooks boiling fish in a cauldron placed over an open fire, while a painting from the Tomb of Rameses III depicts meat being similarly prepared. Paintings from the Tomb of Ken-amun show a similar scene, but here the cauldron rests on top of a box oven.93

Meat preservation

If any delay in consumption were anticipated, then the meat would have to be Meat preservation preserved and stored. Although the prevalent method of preserving meat was by drying, methods of preparation and storage varied according to the size of the animal and to the type and amount of meat to be processed. Large animals, such as cattle, pigs, sheep, and goats, were butchered and the meat cut into smaller pieces; most fish and fowl were preserved essentially whole. The model 6 slaughter house of Meket-re (PI. 16) possessed a tall ceiling and clerestory opening in the front room that provided for an airy enclosure that served to cool the hanging meat and to facilitate its drying94.־ Meat cut into various joints and hanging on ropes to dry forms a common motif in butchery scenes in numerous tomb paintings.95 At Amarna and Malkata, excavators have found jars with a wide mouth and belly, measuring ca. 65 cm. tall and 25 cm. wide and bearing painted inscriptions identifying the contents as "preserved meat."96 Although cattle are the usual animals shown in butchery scenes, it is a safe assumption that other large animals were preserved in a similar fashion.

Among the hanging joints of meat pictorially represented in several tomb paintings are what appear to be long, narrow strips of'dried meat. Salima Ikram identifies them as biltong, and from this argues that the Egyptians not only dried their meat, but also salted and spiced it.97 Conclusive evidence for processes other than drying, however, is mostly lacking. The best archaeological evidence comes from victual mummies, joints of meat wrapped in linen and known primarily from New Kingdom tombs, such as those of Amenhotep II and Tuthmosis III. Although testing on several examples of biltong-like slabs and "steaks" yielded no evidence for spices, it did discover that the meat had been salted. The best evidence for salting and drying comes from the preservation of smaller animais, birds and fish.

Tomb paintings frequently depict birds being plucked and gutted, with heads and feet sometimes removed. They are represented at one time hung up to dry and at another time being placed into amphorae. What was in the amphorae is unknown, but an amphora found in the Tomb of Kha contained plucked, beheaded, and eviscerated birds which showed signs of having been salted.98 Drying and possibly salting (whether by kenching, layering, or brining is unknown), therefore, are the only two preservation techniques for which strong evidence exists." That the Egyptians used combinations of these two processes plus other methods commonly employed today in the area and conceivably known by the ancient Egyptians, such as smoking, is at present incapable of proof.

Fat rendering

Cooking and preservation of the animal itself was not the only source of animal foods that required processing. Animal byproducts were also important. In addition to meat and blood, cattle and other large animals provided two important byproducts: fat and milk. Fat was used as a food, a medicine, and a fuel for lamps, and the creating of fat was one of the purposes of castrating and forcefeeding some animals. The art historical evidence for fat rendering, that is the removal of water from fat by boiling and then pressing, is ambiguous at best.

Two scenes, identified as depicting fat rendering appear on the walls of a room in the temple of Seti I at Abydos. An inscription on one scene specifies that fat is being chopped up. But, since both scenes show sack presses at work, an instrument unnecessary to render fat and unparalleled either in ancient or modern contexts of fat rendering, Ikram calls the entire interpretation into question. She does, however, reinterpret a scene in the model of the slaughterhouse from the Tomb of Meket-re, usually interpreted as boiling blood for pudding, as rendering fat. Archaeological evidence for the process is not forthcoming, but vessels identified by labels as having held ox, sheep, pig, or goose fat have been found at Malkata, Amarna, and Deir el-Medina.100

Butter and cheese

The Egyptians butchered primarily oxen, reserving cows for breeding and for Butter and cheese producing milk. Artistic representations of milking cows, such as appear on the wall of the Old-Kingdom chapel of Akhethetep and in sunk relief on the Eleventh-Dynasty sarcophagus of Kawit, are not uncommon. Milk was used as a food and medicine, and strong, but inconclusive, evidence indicates that Pharaonic Egyptians processed milk into butter and cheese.101 Chemical analysis of the contents of two jars found in the First-Dynasty Tomb of Hor-Aha at Saqqara concludcd that the vessels held cheese, but the type of animal from which the cheese came was undeterminable. A wall painting from the New Kingdom Tomb of Ipy at Thebes shows what appear to be balls of cheese being exchanged in a barter scene. This cheese may have come from goats, since several of the animals appear to the left within the same register and in the one just below it. Since no Egyptian word has been unequivocally connected with either cheese or butter and the interpretation of the physical and art historical evidence continues to be challenged, the question of the existence of either byproduct before the Ptolemaic period must remain open.102

Notes

68 Most of the discussion on butchery of animals is based on Salima Ikram's exhaustive study of butchery in Pharaonic Egypt, Choice Cuts: Meat Production in Ancient Egypt (Louvain: Uitgeverij Peeters, 1995).
69 Food of the wealthy: Montet, Eveiyday Life, p. 89; cattle: Davies, Mastaba of Ptahhetep and Akhethetep, 1: Pl. XXX; 2: Pl. XIV; idem, Tomb ofKen-amun, Pl. XXXIII; Newberry, Beni Hasan, 1:Pl. X X X (Tomb of Chnemhotep); idem, El Bersheh, 1: Pl. XII (Tomb of Tehuti-hetep); Winlock, Models, pp. 19-22 (Model C), and Allan S. Gilbert, "Zooarchaeological Observations on the Slaughterhouse of Meketre," JEA 74 (1988): 70-73.
70 Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 41, 82. For a list of tombs containing paintings displaying butchery of cattle, in particular, see ibid., Table I, pp. 297-303. See also Winlock, Models, pp. 23-25 (Model E), and Gilbert, "Zooarchaeological Observations," pp. 78-89.
71 Force feeding: Newberry, Beni Hasan, 1: Pl. X X X (Tomb of Chnemhotep); Davies, Tomb of Kenamun, Pl. LXI; Saleh, Three Old Kingdom Tombs, PI. 10 (Tonil) of Khenty); Torgny Säve-Söderbergh, The Old Kingdom Cemetery at Hamra Dom (El-Qasr I Va Es-Saiyad) (Stockholm: The Royal Academy of Letters, History, and Antiquities, 1994), PI. 10; Winlock, Models, pp. 2223־ (Model D). Artistic representations of stabled cattle apparently lacking a scrotum has suggested to some the habit of castrating cattie, and so the presence of oxen in Pharaonic Egypt. Not every scholar has accepted this inference. See Gilbert, "Zooarchaeological Observations," pp. 73-77, esp. note 25, p. 75.
72 Herodotus 2.47. On pigs in Egypt, sec Vandier, Manuel, 5: Fig. 1 12; Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp.2933־ , especially Table IV, p. 305, in which are listed tombs where pigs appear pictorially represented. See also H. M. Hecker, "A Zooarchaeological Inquiry into Pork Consumption in Egypt from Prehistoric to New Kingdom Times," JARCE 19 (1982): 59-71, esp. Table 1, pp. 63-64; Robert L. Miller, "Hogs and Hygiene,'5 JEA 76 (1990): 125-40. Large quantities of pig bone have also been recovered from Middle Kingdom Kahun. See Wilson, Egyptian Food and Drink, p. 35.
73 The evidence for trichinosis comes from the discovery of a Trichinella spiralis cyst in muscle fiber. Detection of tapeworm ova also implies the consumption of meat. Nicholas B. Millet,Gerald D. Hart, Theodore A. Reyman, Michael R. Zimmerman, and Peter K. Lewin, " ROM I: Mummification for the Common People," in Mummies, Disease, and Ancient Cultures. Aidan Cockburn, Eve Cockburn, and Theodore A. Re yma n , eds. 2 ״
74 Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 2.3 29; Gardiner, Egyptian Grammar, pp. 467 74; Petrie, Egyptian Hieroglyphs of the First and Second Dynasties, Figs. XII XV.
75 See, e. g., Newberry, Beni Hasan, 1: Pl. XXX; idem, El Bersheh, Pis. XVII and XXI; Davies, Tomb of Ken-Amun, PI. LI; and Harpur, "Identity and Positions of Relief Fragments," pp. 35-36. Trapping birds: Vandier, Manuel, 5: 307 98; force-feeding birds: Darby et al, Food: the Gift of Osiris, 1: Fig. 6.17 (Tomb ofMercruka); Newberry, El Bersheh, 1: Pl. XXII (Tomb of Tehuti-hetep); Breasted, Egyptian Servant Statues, pp. 44-45; Wilson, Egyptian Food and Drink, p. 39, Fig. 42 (Tomb of Kagemni, Sixth Dynasty). On the purpose of scenes of trapping and processing birds in tomb paintings, see comments in regard to fishing scenes in note 103, p. 174.
76 See esp. Vandier, Manuel, 5: 128 306, who describes in detail the butchery process shown in various tombs dating from the Old to the New Kingdoms. Cf., as well, Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp.41-54; Montet, Scenes de la vie privée, pp. 150 79; and Strouhal, Life of the Ancient Egyptians, p. 130.
77 Although several tomb paintings illustrate force-feeding, the best representation of this phase of the process can be seen in the early Middle Kingdom model (Model C) from the Tomb of Meketre. The stable has its front half open to the sky, while the back part is a covered stall where attendants force-feed three animals to fattened them. Winlock, Models, pp. 22 23, and Pis. 17, 59; Gilbert, "Zooarchaeological Observations," pp. 73 78.
78 Trussing the animal: Vandier, Manuel, 5: Fig. 88. 3-4; slitting the animal's throat: Gilbert, "Zooarchacological Observations," pp. 8386־ ; Vandi e r , Manuel, 5: Fig. 95.1; and Strouhal, Life of the Ancient Egyptians, Fig. 139; inspection of blood: Paget and Pirie, Tomb of Ptah-hetep, Pl. XXXVI;Wilkinson, Manners and Customs, 2: 375. See also references in Henry George Fischer, "'Milk in Everything Cooked' (Sinuhe Β 91-92)," in Varia. Egyptian Studies 1 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1976), note 14, pp. 98 99.
79 Ikram (Choice Cuts, pp. 180 82) doubts that, as often thought, blood was used in foods, such as pudding. But, cf. Wilson, Egyptian Food and Drink, p. 41; Winlock, Models, p. 24; and Gilbert, "Zooarchaeological Observations," pp. 79-80. Removing foreleg: Vandier, Manuel, 5: Fig. 86, 2-3. 
80 Strouhal, Life of the Ancient Egyptians, p. 130; Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 91 93, and Fig. 19. Archaeological remains of three other Old Kingdom abattoirs have been uncovered at the cult temples of Userkaf, Neferirkare, and Niuserre. Ibid., pp. 93~94.
81 Winlock, Models, pp. 23-25, and Pis. 18, 19, 21, 24, 60-61 (Model D). For the place of butchery, see also Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 81-108, and Gilbert, "Zooarchaeologieal Observations," pp. 78 82.
82 Ikram (Choice Cuts, pp. 46 48) suggests, based on her observations of modern Egyptian butchery, that the bull's foreleg was pumped back and forth to facilitate the blood flow so that the blood would spurt into the bowl rather than flow down the animals neck.
83 Gilbert, "Zooarchacologica1 Observations," pp. 80 82, 86 88; VVinlock, Models, pp. 2425 ־ Cf. Davies, Tomb of Antefoker, Pl. IX; Wreszinski, Atlas, 3: Taf. 255a. A painting from the Tomb of Djhutnofer at Thebes shows workmen carrying joints of meat and jars up stairs to a room where a workman sits at a table; in the background cuts of meat hang from a rope. Salima Ikram, "Did the Ancient Egyptians Eat Biltong?" CArchJ 5, no. 2 (Oct. 1995): 288. 84 Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 9 6 - 106 .
85 Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 66-69. H,i Leg-shaped knives: Susan K. Doll, in Egypt's Golden Age, p. 50, Figs. 20 21; Fish-tail knife: Ikram, Choice Cuts, p. 66. Butchers of cattle shown in the Old Kingdom Tomb of Ti wield knives similar to Ikram's Type G. Sec Epron et al, L· Tombeau de Τι, 1: Pl. L. 
86 For a list of twelve Egyptian knives arranged by shape, see Ikram, Choice Cuts, Fig. 14, page 64. The "fish-tail" knife is listed as Type J .
87 Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 65-66, esp. Fig. 14. Ikram (p. 65) postulates that the triangular-shaped knife (Fig. 14K) may have been used to scale fish. Although Ikram lists the knife shapes used by fishermen as 14C, D, I, J , and K. fishermen in the Tomb of Ti use a knife similar to her Type G. See Henri Wild, Le Tombe de Τι (Cairo: L'Institut Français d'Archéologie Orientale, 1953), 2: Pl. CXXIII; Tylor and Griffith, Tomb of Paheri, Pl. IV (triangular blade); Brewer and Friedman, Fish and Fishing, p. 14, Fig. 1.8 (Tomb of Urarna). For birds, see Tylor and Griffith, Tomb of Paheri, PI. IV; Davies, Tomb of Antefoker, Pl. VIII; Wilkinson, Manners and Customs, 2: 388, Fig. 278.
88 Ikram, Choice Cuts , 7 3 70 . קנן ; Breasted, Egyptian Servant Statues,.36~35 
89 Rosemary Luff, "Butchery at the Workmen's Village (WV), Tell-el-Amarna, Egypt," in Whither Environmental Archaeology? Rosemary Lull" a nd Peter Rowley-Conwy, eds. (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1994), pp. 158-70.
90 For the raising of pigs for food in the workmen's village at Amarna, see esp. Janet Richards, Linda Hulin, Ian Shaw, and Barry Kemp, Amama Reports III, pp. 60-79. See also Kemp, "Food for an Egyptian City," pp. 13945־, for the conveyance of meat in jars to the village and for raising pigs and goats.
91 Vandier, Manuel, 4: 265-71, and Fig. 121; Darby et al, Food: the Gift of Osiris, Fig. 6.24; Wilkinson, Manners and Customs, 2: 388, Fig. 278.3.
92 Darby et al, Food: the Gift of Osiris, p. 758 (frying); Salima Ikram, "Food For Eternity. What the Ancient Egyptians Ate & Drank. Part 1: Meat, Fish, Fowl," KMT 5, no. 1 (Spring 1994): 32; idem, Choice Cuts," p. 161; John K. McDonald , in Egypt's Golden Age, p. I l l , Nos. 9 2 9 3 ־ (grills).
93 Cattle: Wreszinski, Atlas, 2: Taf. 93b; 3: Taf. 255A; Vandier, Manuel, 4: 260-62, and Figs. 116-18; Darby et al, Food: the Gift of Osiris, 6.24; Davies, Tomb of Ken-amun, Pis. LIX, I.XVII; Moussa and Altenmüller, Das Grab des Nianchchnum und Chnumhotep, Taf. 37b; Davies, Tomb of Antefoker, Pl. VIII. See also, Newberry, Beni Hasan, 1 : Pl. XII.
94 Gilbert, "Zooarchaeological Observations," p. 79, and note 35.
95 See, e. g., Ikram, Choice Cuts, Fig. 18; Vandier, Manuel, 4: Figs. I 16-18.
96 Kemp, "Food for an Egyptian City," pp. 139-43. 97 Ikram, "Did the Ancient Egyptians Eat Biltong?" pp. 283 89. 
97 Ikram (Choice Cuts, pp. 145-74) discusses numerous ways the Egyptians could have preserved meat, though, she concludes, cvidence is lacking for some of the possibilities.
98 Ikram, Choice Cuts, p. 157. O n page 159, Ikram seems less sure of the evidence. See, e. g., Tylor and Griffith, Tomb of Paheri, Pl. IV; Davies, Tomb of Nakht, Pl. XXVI; idem, Tomb of Rekhmi-rë', Pl. XLVI. For art historical evidence for poultry processing, see Ikram, Choice Cuts, Figs. 16-17, and esp. Table II, p. 303. Pigeon and quail were served in the meal found in the First-Dynasty Tomb 3477 at Saqqara. The quail had been gutted and cooked, but the head and wings remained. See Emery, Funerary Repast, p. 6.
99 Detailed discussion of the various methods of salting will be postponed until the Roman Period when evidence for it is unequivocal and more plentiful.
100 Ikram, Choice Cuts, pp. 175-80, esp. Fig. 55; YVinlock, Models, p. 24; Gilbert, "Zooarchacological Observations," p. 79, note 36.
101 Davies, Mastaba ofPtahhetep and Akhethetep, 2: Pl. XVII; Saleh et al, Egyptian Museum Cairo, No. 68. See also, Norman De Garis Davies, The Rock Tombs of Deir el-Gebrawi. Part IP Tomb of^au and Tombs of the Northern Croup (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1902), Pl. X IX (Tomb of Asa). On
milk generally, see Darby et al, Food: the Gift of Osiris, pp. 760 72; Fischer, '"Milk in Everything Cooked1 , p. 97; a n d Sist, "Bevande nei Testi dclle Piramidi," pp. 135-37.
102 Ahmed Zaky and Zaky Iskander, "Ancient Egyptian Cheese," ASAE 41 (1942): 295 313. Acceptance of Pharaonic milk processing: Ikram, "Food for Eternity. Part I," P· 32; Wilson, Egyptian Food and Drink, p. 47, Strouhal, Life of the Ancient Egyptians, p. 132. Denial of Pharaonic milk processing: Darby et al, Food: the Gift of Osiris, pp. 772 75.

By Robert I. Curtis in "Ancient Food Technology",Koninklijke Brill.NV, Leiden, 2001, excepts pp.165-173. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Italian master butcher Dario Cecchini, who is highly respected as a legend throughout the trade, often says that four distinct elements define meat that can be deemed “good”:

1. A Good Life

The animal lived as nature intended, with access to space, fresh air, and the natural diet appropriate for its species.

2. A Good Death

The animal was treated with respect up until its final breath. Death came swiftly.

3. A Good Butcher

Only a skilled hand cut the meat, to maintain its integrity, to obtain the most meat, and to keep valuable cuts intact.

4. A Good Chef

Only a talented cook dignified the animal and all whose labor brought it to that point.

It is easy to see why each of these elements is as important as the next. Every step must be made to ensure that your meal is the best it can be, and any hitch in any given key will take away from that quality. I can cook up a steak of factory-farmed beef, but it wouldn’t hold a candle to a hunk of local, grass-fed beef. A farmer could hand me a case of gorgeous heritage breed chickens for processing, and if not careful I could turn those thirty-dollar birds into piles of valueless mangled meat instead of perfect leg quarters, breasts, and so on. All must be in balance, or all is lost. This golden rule is so solid that each of these key elements can be extended to create an excellent means of determining the holistic sustainability of all our food choices. So it is through these four easy-to-remember keys that we will examine the final few points.

A Good Life

We’ve already covered much of what it means to have a “good” life as an animal in the food industry. It involves an appropriate diet, exercise, social interactions, and generally any other elements that make one’s life worth living. Many of these factors can be verified through a simple visit to a farm or by questioning the source. This rule can also be applied to the life of our plant-based foods. A good life for a plant would be one free from pesticides and other chemicals. It is also one that is free from human suffering. Labor abuse and human rights violations are commonplace in the produce industry, so assuring that your food was produced by companies with respectable records on these matters is paramount in assuring a clean conscience.

A Good Death

A good death is one that comes quickly and painlessly. Humane slaughter does not ensure that the animal enjoys its death—just that it be kept as happy and calm as possible throughout the process and transition from farm to processing plant. Just like Jim Parker, who gives his pigs trailer rides their entire lives to make them see even their final ride as a fun outing, farmers who respect the sentient nature of their animals work to make sure the inevitable does not become the unconscionable. With seafood, this step would refer to the capture methods, which we want to make sure are the least damaging to the environment. Similarly, we can extend this to our plant-based foods by ensuring that they are harvested in responsible ways and transported minimally. All that effort to raise organic, biodynamic grapes is lost if they are trucked, shipped, and flown across the globe before they reach your kitchen.

A Good Butcher

We’ve finally made it to the question of WHERE to find good meat. I’ve waited this long to say it this plainly: Meat you can truly trust comes from a face you can truly trust. You have to know where your meat is coming from, plain and simple. This means buying meat only from a neighborhood butcher shop, from grocery stores with real butcher counters in plain sight of customers (not shady backroom operations), through meat CSAs or buying clubs, or directly from farms through on-farm sales, farmer’s markets, or mail order. Whatever the source, the person helping you should possess a wealth of knowledge about meat in general and in particular, and even more about the farms that provide the meat. It is not enough to list the name of a farm. Ask questions about specific practices. The butcher should be able to field your questions with confidence or find someone who can without much fuss. Your butcher should be working from whole animals to the extent space allows, and he or she should be willing to cut meat to order and to your specifications, within reason.

If you can’t find a trustworthy shop, forming or joining a meat buying club is a great way to get good meat. Some meat buying groups are informal groups of friends who take turns driving to a farm to pick up meat and animal products to be split among the group. My bacon club was a type of meat buying club, as I made the journey to farms for heritage breed pork so that my customers didn’t have to. Community supported agriculture (CSA), a system by which small to very large groups of people buy shares in a farm, or sometimes an individual animal, and over the season receive periodic deliveries of goods, are a more organized version of this arrangement. It should also be noted that many markets accept EBT (electronic benefit transfer), or “food stamps,” making good foods accessible even to those who rely on government assistance for food. Some states even double the benefits for those who buy at a farmer’s market—so you could go to the market with ten dollars in food stamps and walk out with twenty dollars in local produce. For lower-income folks, a healthy diet is especially important to combat diet-related health issues such as diabetes and hypertension, so this access to fresh, real food is invaluable. Check with your state’s food assistance program to find out more about accessing better foods.

Many of the sites listed in the heritage breed section are good for locating farms to source through. CSAs and meat buying clubs can be found through an Internet search or by asking around at local markets and co-ops. The best directory for good butchers in the United States is The Butcher’s Guild, a network of sustainability focused butchers, chefs, and meat processors.

Any company you source food through should respect its employees as well as its customers. Safe working conditions, access to health care, and a living wage for all are integral parts of a holistic, sustainable food system. My mantra here: If you aren’t buying from someone who is clean and honest, you are buying from a dirty liar. It might be a bit harsh, but it is true and easy to remember. If a shop, restaurant, or farm is not clean, both physically and morally, and you can’t trust information regarding particular practices, they do not deserve your business.

They are taking your trust for granted, when it should be earned. I have walked away from meat and fish counters or left restaurants after one too many blank stares and “ummm’s” in response to simple questions. I wouldn’t have blamed anyone for walking away from me years ago when I was a hapless vegetarian pretending to know meat. If a business appreciates your patronage and cares about change, it will care deeply about filling its ranks with approachable, knowledgeable, well-treated people who are more than happy to answer any questions you have. Thankfully, there are trustworthy farms and butcher shops across the country, so a Good Butcher is never far away.

A Good Chef

The buck stops here. It all comes down to what happens in the kitchen. If you are the cook, well, your job is easy. When you invest in better food, it makes sense to be nicer to it. If you spend money on a whole pig and you and a friend drive an hour each way to pick it up, you’ve invested quite a bit before you even think about applying heat. Honor your investment with exciting, delicious preparations and festive, celebratory meals. Branch out and try new flavors and new ingredients and find yourself gaining confidence. As a chef, I feel humbled by the opportunity to elevate and share the work of farmers when I turn their animals into succulent meals. When you eat that twelve-hour pulled pork, the human and porcine energy trapped in each bite is almost a flavor unto itself.

When you put your trust in us, your chefs and food producers, you are indeed taking a gamble with this final key in “good” meat. I believe wholeheartedly that the role of all chefs, food writers, and others in this field is to elevate food, not demean it. We should all take the harmful actions of the food industry as personal offense and seek to not only reverse these irresponsible practices but to distinguish ourselves from the world of dishonest, disgusting fake food. We should be explaining and correcting the deliberate and rampant misinformation and exposing the lies. We should be rescuing our precious baby from the Big Bad.

This role is of utmost importance for chefs and food writers in the spotlight and at the top of the culinary world. Unfortunately, though, money talks, and a disgraceful trend among chefs has emerged. Many reputable and talented chefs now lend their names and likenesses to the same large food corporations responsible for producing the food that is literally killing the world and everything in it. It is deplorable for any person who claims to love food to entice consumers to buy powdered cheese, microwavable cake, or chemical-filled sausages when they could be using their talents to show how easy these things are to make at home. Good food is easier to make than many think. It is our job as talented food athletes to show others that they can cook, too. We should be demystifying the act of cooking, not making the fog thicker and harder to wade through. Though, aside from this more surface offense of using culinary talent to sell mediocrity, many chefs are guilty of an even worse grievance.

It is beyond imagination that any chef would use his or her position to encourage higher consumption of fragile or depleted resources and unsustainable practices. This problem is an issue when it comes to seafood in particular. Nearly every food program on TV calls for the use of seafood items categorized as “red” or “to be avoided” choices by leading seafood sustainability organizations. Rather than use their wide reach to educate consumers on better choices, these shows actually suggest that customers go off into the world requesting items that we shouldn’t even be catching anymore, such as red snapper. Not to mention that many of the most expensive restaurants source from the same widely distributed commodity meat suppliers that fast-food chains use. If that burger costs seventeen dollars, at least make sure it is local and grass-fed. If it isn’t, you are paying only for the ambience.

Despite the fact that the bluefin tuna is listed as critically endangered by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources, it remains popular with many in the food world. An easy Internet search will turn up numerous recipes by Martha Stewart, Mark Bittman, Jamie Oliver, and other celebrity chefs that call for the use of “red” items such as monkfish, skate, and bluefin. Nobu, one of world’s best-ranked restaurant chains, proudly serves bluefin alongside the vulnerable and often poached Chilean sea bass, while nearly every well-respected sushi spot lists it, as well as other red-line seafood choices such as yellowtail, sea urchin roe, and unagi (farmed eel). Top chefs are making their names on serving endangered sea life and processed foods while lining their pockets with money from companies that strangle the lines that bring good, real food to market. When we’ve successfully outfished the seas, we can thank them for the great recipes.

How Rachael Ray Destroys Good Food in Thirty Minutes or Less

It is scientific fact that every time Rachael Ray says “yummo,” an angel loses its wings. In the few years she’s been on air, her simple 30 Minute Meals have gone from quick and simple to dumbed down and bland. Her posting of recipes that make use of boxed macaroni and cheese and other Kraft products, which are almost invariably highly processed corn-based products, might have something to do with her role as a spokesperson for Kraft and just might have something to do with her apparent abandonment of all that is good and true in the world of food. Ray started with a good concept. Thirty minutes is actually a perfect amount of time to create a wide range of delicious, healthy meals from simple and even inexpensive ingredients. If you learn the basic rules of cooking and play around a bit, you will always end up with something at least palatable if not downright scrumptious.

There is an endless abundance of culinary knowledge that can help us learn how to grow or make anything. Compared to the chemistry of that energy drink your coworker is drinking and the micromechanics of our smart phones, cooking is a walk in the park. Martha Stewart, whom I admire for her dedication to old world techniques, may not always use sustainable products, but at least she keeps it real by making culinary techniques accessible for the home cook. Conversely, Rachael shamefully just proves how bad one can screw up this final stage in the “good” food process. I’m sure I’m not the only food lover who loathes her lamentable creations.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m the kind of guy who identifies as a capital F Feminist. I don’t take lightly the possible misogynist or sexist implications of my assertions about Rachael Ray. Men discredit and dismiss the work of women as a matter of course in the culinary world, as they do in the world in general. I constantly attack the patriarchy of the kitchen, I respect women chefs, and I am in no way attacking Rachael Ray personally. She is an avid pit bull lover and works against dog-breed-specific legislation—both redeeming qualities in my book. She’s probably a hoot to hang out with and might even still have a strong cooking bone in her body—when the cameras are off. I guess I just expect more of the gal. Few chefs have attained the level of mass exposure she has. Rachael Ray could have been more like Julia Child. Julia made the exquisite accessible. A chef of her standing ought not to be actively working to eradicate traditional food and food production methods. A chef who is the mouthpiece for Kraft, Nabisco, Coca-Cola, or any similar corporation is a disgrace to her coat.

According to the famous Japanese food critic Yamamoto, a great chef should do five things:

1.Take work seriously.
2.Aspire to improve.
3.Maintain cleanliness.
4.Be a better leader than a collaborator.
5.Be passionate about his or her work.

Rachael Ray and many other celebrity chefs would sadly not pass that test. Thankfully, there are many, many of us who are working ourselves ragged fighting this system. The chefs and butchers I know and respect wouldn’t be caught dead tossing boxed macaroni into a dish. I know butchers who would love nothing more than to lock the USDA out of the shops forever. I know chefs who have gotten into physical altercations over what pig farm another chef used. Some of these people were introduced in earlier chapters. It is my joy to share several of the most influential friends I’ve made in food before closing this final chapter.

These are the people who have shaped the chef and butcher that I am today. But most inspiring of all, they have defined the kind of chef and butcher that I want to become. I am just thirty, a very young chef, and I didn’t attend culinary school. But I have learned from and created a food philosophy through watching every chef, butcher, mixologist, cheese maker, and sommelier I’ve worked with.

Bryan Mayer

I’d be nowhere without Bryan. That first year of butchery started this whole project, and Bryan was there rooting me on from the start. Bryan’s salty sweetness introduced me to the culture of butchery and is the soft lining around his exacting standards and meticulousness. I am eternally gratefully that I came up cutting with Bryan, who went on to run Fleischer’s Meats in New York after we parted ways. Bryan is opening up his own shop in Philly sometime in 2013. Look him up. A word of advice: Bryan’s overall demeanor at any given time can be judged by the state of his facial hair.

Tressa Yellig

Tressa Yellig is the first chef I worked with as an equal, though I was nowhere near her in skill or technique. Tressa and I formed a close working relationship that lasted about a year, doing events together on a regular basis in the space where Salt, Fire & Time, her rad community supported kitchen (CSK), is located in Portland. A CSK is like a CSA, except customers buy shares in the production of the kitchen instead of the farm. Every week, Tressa fills baskets with slow-cooked bone broths, fermented veggies, fresh pâtés, and other homemade kitchen staples.

Tressa influenced and encouraged my love of traditional foods and preparations. It was also with Tressa that I began to focus my attention on providing accessible, low-priced meals to the community. She and I spent the entire summer of 2010 serving ten-dollar BBQ plates every Friday night. All local foods, one menu, no reservations, food goes till it’s gone. That was the deal. By midsummer we had lines down the block and our BBQs began to feel like family cookouts. I was hooked on that atmosphere, and that free-flowing familial energy is what I always shoot for with my dinners. Tressa’s dedication to slow foods and timeless methods inspired me to fully commit to my own vision of what food “ought” to be. Tressa also makes the best kombucha in the world. Go for the rose-cardamom or lemon verbena and be ready for transcendence.

Tessa LaLonde

What does one say about Tessa LaLonde? You have probably never heard of her, but chances are if you’ve eaten at a top-notch restaurant around the country, you’ve had her food. Tessa has me beat by ten in the Vagabond Chef contest. She’s been traveling the country doing everything from stages at four-star restaurants to working as the private chef for porn stars. Tessa is a whirlwind in the kitchen. I met her several months before I scheduled my first tour, when she volunteered to help Tressa Yellig and me with a few events. Her adventures in chefdom were entirely the inspiration for my decision to become a traveling chef. Tessa also really likes to talk about gas. Yours and hers.

Tia Harrison

I always describe Tia Harrison as Superwoman, as I am genuinely convinced that she hides a cape under her chef’s coat. Tia is a mother and the executive chef/owner of Sociale in San Francisco, and she co-owns the women-owned and women-run butcher shop Avedano’s, also in San Francisco. Tia also cofounded The Butcher’s Guild. With my perpetually full plate, it is thinking about Tia that helps me reel myself back in and take one bite at a time, or at least chew those far-too-big bites with my mouth closed. Tia’s respect for me as a chef and butcher has been humbling and has pushed me to fully inhabit the niche I have created for myself in the food world. I chose a very different route for my culinary career, one that confuses some of my peers. But Tia has always understood my work, and that recognition became a drive to excel in this world. When you want to master a craft, you must come into contact with those who have mastered it already. Tia Harrison is that person for me. She is also the only person I know who can watch as many reruns of Law & Order: SVU as I can. It’s our favorite pastime.

Marissa Guggiana

Marissa Guggiana is an author and a fifth-generation meat cutter. When Marissa chose to include me in her book Primal Cuts in 2010, I had barely been a butcher for two years. The exposure from her book pushed my work out into the world in a way I couldn’t have imagined. Marissa cofounded The Butcher’s Guild with Tia Harrison, and together the two of them are truly the vanguard of the Butchers’ Revolution. Two lady butchers taking on the meat industry while shaping its future—how could you not love that? I admire Marissa’s love of not just food itself but of food culture. We’ve shared stories of sleeping on borrowed floors before successful events and scraping together our last coins for public transportation to expensed flights and lavish meals. Marissa follows this food trail in much the same way as I do, with a blind faith that this is the only way to Truth. Food is love, food is family, and food is history. Marissa gets that, and she gives her all to help others see it, too. Having just published her third book, Marissa almost makes me think that writing another book is a good idea. Almost.

Jesse Gold

Jesse Gold is one of the most wildly talented chefs I’ve ever met. Jesse and I founded a radical chef collective in Brooklyn in late 2011 and curated many events together. Jesse not only influenced my cooking but revolutionized the way I think about the kitchen. Jesse was the first chef I met who was interested in deconstructing the patriarchy of the kitchen and the classism of the food world—the first truly radical chef I met. By “radical chef,” I mean a talented and visionary chef who is also staunchly against the status quo in all realms of life. Jesse possesses an extensive knowledge of traditional food practices and the medicinal use of foods. While being a pretty hardcore vegetarian, Jesse also supports the consumption of well-sourced meats—a true welfarist. Together with Jesse, I developed the full spectrum of vegan to meat menus for public events that I have now made routine. Our monthly Sunday brunches were all about sating every taste bud in the house and supporting personal food choices. Jesse openly challenges any vegan chef to a game of vegetal prowess called Salad Wars.

I have been afforded the chance to collaborate with and document the work of others who are building an alternative market and an alternative food system in response to a standard that rewards shortcuts, fillers, and falsification. I’ve walked the farmer’s markets of cities all over the continent at every time of the year. I know how much work it is to make time in a busy Brooklyn schedule to get down to Park Slope Food Co-op and how lovely it is to live in Montréal with a daily market four blocks away. I’ve met farmers who operate honor-system on-farm stores and butchers who take the time to share their skills with the community through workshops and apprenticeships. Each of these people has shown another possible way to fix the world’s food problems.

This journey has been more than just a formation of my own food ethics. This has been an ongoing opportunity to conspire with the leaders and unsung heroes of the true counterculture food movement.

Even after nearly four years of searching, I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve yet to find the best balance of ethics and the realities of the industry; nor do I know everything there is to know about meat sourcing, farming, or the butchery trade. This is a mastery of skills that will take many more years to mold and shape, but knowing how to answer my own questions and how to observe and learn from my peers has helped me connect others to solutions for their own questions. Being invested fully in anti-oppression principles and working outside the capitalist structure doesn’t square so well with running a business, and this internal conflict was an early issue that had to be addressed. Financial sustainability has to be part of the “sustainable” foods conversation. If the fancy locavore backyard-garden-sourced café on your street tanks after a year due to lack of customers, high overhead costs, or whatever the case may be, that is indeed NOT sustainable food. Sustainable means “able to continue.”

I came to learn that lesson personally over and over again because I so strongly wanted my events to be accessible, as well as overflowing with transcendent foods from nearby pastures, that I routinely cut my own profit out of the equation. I wouldn’t call that selflessness or revolutionary business principles—just me being naive about how to best marry my desire for a wide audience with my desire for high-quality food. It took me three years in the industry to get to a place where I feel confident about my methods of engagement. I had to learn that what I was creating was not a business venture but a community-based political action centered on open discourse. I had to learn that activism can take many shapes and that political work can have absolutely nothing to do with politicians or the prescribed channels of power.

Over these years and scores of events, I have whittled myself down to a sharper, more accurate point. I understand my work and my role in this world, even as I continue to define it. I am here as proof that all of us can get where we need to be purely by asking the right questions, by never settling, and through downright willful self-determination and self-definition. Revolution is based in the realization that one is not a part of, or benefiting from, the system currently in place—and thus must demolish that system to replace it. Why would we think for one second that the entities that gave us this world, and continue to profit from it, are going to give us the tools with which to dismantle it?

There’s an often-repeated slogan among North American protestors and activists: “The system isn’t broken. It was built this way.”

The systems and cycles of oppression I have been referring to throughout this book—the systematic dishonesty of both industry and government and the befuddling labyrinth that has been put in place to keep the “good life” out of the hands of many—are all proof of this. Animals are not abused because people are mean; they are abused because it takes a long time to raise and kill animals humanely. People aren’t refused health care or higher wages because their bosses are evil; they are treated poorly because fair compensation costs more money. Good food is not expensive; bad food is falsely cheap—because it is not really food and is made up of government-subsidized ingredients. Bad food makes people sick, and sick people need medication, so why would natural healing and healthy diets be encouraged by the industries that profit from this cycle?

Yesterday was too late, and tomorrow is never promised. Build your world today.

You’ve been wanting to quit your job and start a farm or apiary or become a baker—DO IT. You are thinking about trying a raw foods diet—DO IT. You have space for chickens in your yard and your city allows them— GET CHICKENS. You wish you could make your very own two-year-aged prosciutto or just-hot-enough hot coppa—study up for the next three years so you don’t poison anyone and then get your salumi on. You wish you had time for a garden—start an herb garden in your window and progress to outdoor spaces. Convince neighbors to turn lawns and fallow backyards into plots of food. Make your own pickles and jams.

Practice cooking new foods because eating locally and seasonally will likely introduce you to foods you have never seen before. Go for the bitter greens you’ve never tasted before or the odd-shaped radishes, the beets with radiating rings of rose or the multicolored duck eggs. Eat breakfast every day so you are never tempted to pull into that drive-thru of factory meat for a calorie fix again. Remember food groups? Vitamins and minerals and micronutrients are things to keep in mind, too. Are the plates of food you are eating full of different colors and textures? If not, proteins, good fats, fiber, and other necessary nutrients might not be present.

Learn to read the signs from your body about what YOU need to eat. How do you feel after meals? Food is fuel and medicine. Propel your gifted machine with foods that both treat and prevent illness. Because of the lack of access to affordable health care in the United States, there are probably millions who must choose between paying medical bills or the grocery bill. The $150 that someone spends every month for hypertension medications just may be partly why he or she mostly relies on fast-food restaurants for meals. That $150 could buy a lot of produce, even overpriced organic. With the guidance of an experienced doctor or nutritionist, many people find they are able to divest money from the pharmaceutical and medical industries and invest in local farms by switching to plant-based diets. Such diets have been proven to treat everything from heart disease to some forms of cancer in studies by doctors in both the United States and China. Most prominent of these is Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn Jr., who was featured in the 2011 film Forks Over Knives.

Eating seasonally and locally provides you with the foods needed today, for today’s conditions. One eats squash and apples, citrus fruits, dark greens, root vegetables, and bone broths in fall and winter, storing up valuable iron, calcium, vitamins A and C, bioflavonoids, and other immune system boosters. We eat warm, hearty meals that repel the cold and repair the injured and irritated tissues of sore throats, congested lungs, and runny noses. In spring, we see new buds of green in the form of stinging nettles, fiddleheads, ramps, early onions, herbs, and wild mushrooms just as our palates and bellies tire of stews and braises. For me, that little glimmer of green is enough to keep me eating turnips and potatoes for another month or two, because it reminds me that summer’s bounty is near. Berries, elderflowers, and roses are just around the corner, and soon after, summer is in full swing. We are outdoors, eating bright salads and snacking on tree fruits, melons, and snap peas. There’s wild forage from hiking trips, fish from boating trips, and grills going with chops and cheeks from local pigs. Even as we are distracted with this bounty, the real harvest is yet to come.

Late summer and early fall bring us the return for a winter of temperance and months of increasing indulgence with a yield of crops that floods markets well into late fall. Then we are again left with the roots, apples, and squash that can survive the cruelest parts of the year along with us. But if we are smart, and well-prepared, preserves from summer and fall will be there to cheer us up on even the darkest days. Eating with nature is a pleasure and an opportunity for lifelong learning as we regain the wisdom lost over the last couple of generations.

If any of the topics of the last few chapters got you riled up—do more research, find some like-minded people near you, and join the fight! It is not about agreeing on a method of action. It is about being engaged with the search for solutions. There are so many little steps that will help you escape the current. It doesn’t matter which ones you take. It only matters that you keep moving.

It is time to break free. It is up to all of us to hone our points, to take better aim, and to continue liberating ourselves and the world. We’ve only scratched the surface. Name an issue facing the world today, and our food system is likely to be implicated in some way or another. Good food, REAL food is all we need to power the work ahead.

Read up. Teach up. Eat up. Get out there and fight another day. The world is waiting.

By Berlin Reed in "Ethical Butcher- How Thoughful Eating Can Change Your World", Soft Skull Press (an imprint of Counterpoint), USA, 2013, excerpts part II, chapter 7. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

En 1963, cinco años después de la muerte de Pío XII, estalló el plan de deshonra hacia Pacelli que venía fraguándose desde hacía ya años. La obra de teatro titulada El Vicario de Rolf Hochhuth - antiguo miembro de las Juventudes Hitlerianas - fue el vehiculo de propaganda más eficaz para calumniar al pontífice llamándolo ?"el papa del silencio"?, acusándolo de no haber denunciado el exterminio de seis millones de judios a manos de los nazis. En nada ayudó la aparición del insultante título "El Papa de Hitler", obra del exseminarista inglés John Cornwell que calificó a Pío XII como "clérigo más peligroso de la historia moderna" Luego se arrepintió y matizó sus tesis, pero semejante concepto tuvo un hondo calado en las generaciones posteriores.

El 23 de diciembre de 1940, cuando la Segunda Guerra Mundial se hallaba aún en sus comienzos, Albert Einstein reveló en Time Magazine : "?Siendo un amante de la libertad, cuando llegó la revolución a Alemania miré con confianza a las universidades sabiendo que siempre se habían vanagloriado de su devoción por la causa de la verdad.

Pero las universidades fueron acalladas. Entonces miré a los grandes editores de periódicos que en ardientes editoriales proclamaban su amor por la libertad. Pero también ellos, como las universidades, fueron reducidos al silencio, ahogados a la vuelta de pocas semanas. Solo la Iglesia permaneció de pie y firme para hacer frente a las campañas de Hitler para suprimir la verdad. Antes no había sentido ningún interés personal en la Iglesia, pero ahora siento por ella un gran afecto y admiración porque solo la Iglesia ha tenido la valentía y la obstinación de sostener la verdad intelectual y la libertad moral. Debo confessar que lo que antes despreciaba ahora lo alabo incondicionalmente".

Pío XII lideraba esa Iglesia y terminada la contienda, le llovieron más elogios por su actuación durante la misma. Me limitaré a los enaltecimientos de algunas personalidades judías, como el caso de Einstein. Isaac Herzog, rabino jefe de Jerusalén, escribió en marzo de 1945 a monseñor Roncalli, nuncio apostólico en Francia: ?El pueblo de Israel no olvidará jamás lo que Su Santidad y sus delegados ilustres [?] han hecho por nuestros hermanos infortunados en la hora más trágica de nuestra historia.

Giuseppe Nathan, comisario de la Unión de Comunidades Judías Italianas, dirigió este mensaje el 7 de septiembre de 1945: ?Elevamos nuestra conmovida expresión de gratitud a cuantos en el período de las persecuciones nazi-fascistas se han prodigado para protegernos y salvarnos. En primer lugar dirigimos un reverente homenaje de reconocimiento al Sumo Pontificie. a los religiosos y religiosas que [...] con silencio y abnegación han prestado su obra inteligente y efectiva para socorrerlos, descuidando los gravisimos peligrosa a los que ellos mismos se exponían?. El 29 de noviembre de 1945, Pío XII recibió a unos 80 delegados de prófugos judíos, procedentes de varios campos de concentración en Alemania, que acudieron a manifestarle ?el sumo honor de poder agradecer [?] la generosidad demostrada hacia los perseguidos durante el terrible período del nazi-fascismo?.

El papa murió en 1958, pero no por ello cesaron los aplausos. El ministro de Asuntos Exteriores de Israel, Golda Meir, envió este telegrama al Vaticano: ?Compartimos el dolor de la humanidad por la muerte de Su Santidad Pío XII. En un período turbio de guerra y de discordias, él ha mantenido altos los ideales más bellos de paz y de caridad.

Cuando el martirio más espantoso ha golpeado a nuestro pueblo, durante los diez años del terror nazi, la voz del Pontifice se ha levantado a favor de las víctimas". Las condolencias que envió el gran rabino de Jerusalén, Isaac Herzog, fueron contundentes: ?La muerte de Pío XII es una gran pérdida para todo el mundo libre?. Y el gran rabino de Roma, Elio Toaff, declaró: "Yo, más que nadie, pude sentir la bondad compasiva y la gran generosidad del papa durante los tristes años de la persecución y del teror, cuando me parecia que no había salvación para nosotros?... Los judios recordarán siempre lo que la Iglesia católica hizo en su favor por orden del papa? En plena guerra, Pío XII condenó frecuentemente la falsa teoría de las razas?.

Podríamos llenar páginas y páginas recopilando las palabras de admiración y gratitud que personalidades y medios de comunicación de todo el mundo dedicaron a Pío XII. Entonces, cómo es possible que solo cinco años después de su muerte se olvidara todo y se diera crédito a ?la leyenda negra??

LA 'LEYENDA NEGRA'

La siniestra farsa surgió en el ámbito comunista al final de la guerra, cuando ya se preveía la división del mundo en dos bloques contrapuestos: soviético y norteamericano.

Ion Mihai Pacepa, general en la Securitate, policía secreta de la Rumania comunista, que desertó em 1978 y fue acogido en los EE.UU., confesará que "la idea original para ensuciar la reputación del pontífice vino de Josef Stalin en 1945?.

Fue en Radio Moscú donde se inició propiamente la leyenda negra contra Pío XII. El 7 de junio de 1945, la emisora dedicó todo un programa donde se dijo: ?Quien ha escuchado el discurso del papa (que pronunció cinco días antes ante el cuerpo de cardenales) que ha quedado sumamente sorprendido al saber que el Vaticano, durante los años pasados de predominio de Hitler en Europa, actuó con valentía y audacia contra los delincuentes nazis. Sin embargo, los hechos realizados por el Vaticano dicen lo contrario?...

En el periodo en el que el nazismo aspiraba al poder, el actual papa Pío XII se llamaba monseñor Pacelli y ocupaba el puesto de nuncio apostólico en París [...], feu él quien inspiró el acercamiento a Hitler y avanzó la idea de un gobierno de coalición formado por católicos y nazis. Cuando Hitler tomó el poder, el cardenal Pacelli estaba ya en el Vaticano y en calidad de cardenal secretario de Estado dirigía la política exterior... Por lo que respecta a la posición del Vaticano durante la guerra, ha sido la derivación lógica de su precedente benevolencia hacia el nazismo y el fascismo. Ninguna atrocidad realizada por los hitlerianos ha suscitado el enojo y la indignación del Vaticano. El Vaticano ha callado cuando actuaban las máquinas alemanas de la muerte, cuando las chimeneas de los hornos crematorios echaban humo, cuando se lanzaban granadas y proyectiles contra la pacifica población de Londres, cuando la doctrina hitleriana de eliminación y de exterminio de naciones y de pueblos se transformaba en una dura realidad. Pero el mundo ha oído la voz del Vaticano cuando Hitler se ha salvado de un atentado en julio pasado y al cuartel general del Führer llegaron las felicitaciones por su ?milagrosa salvación?; el mundo ha oído más de una vez la voz del Vaticano también por otros motivos. Las voces que partían del Vaticano llamaben a la misericordia y al perdón para los delincuentes nazis?.

El mensaje difundido por Radio Moscú fue el indicador a seguir por la prensa comunista internacional en torno a la figura de Pío XII y la primera vez que se habló del silencio del papa con relación a la masacre de los judíos.

Italia, con un partido comunista bastante arraigado después de la guerra, sirvió de altavoz para divulgar la leyenda de un Pío XII amigo de Hitler y de los totalitarismos y defensor de los americanos imperialistas. Luigi Longo, quien en 1964 accedería ala secretaria general del Partido Comunista Italiano, en un encuentro con dirigentes comunistas el 7 de enero de 1946, dijo: "?La Iglesia es responsable en la persona de Pacelli de la llegada de Hitler al poder para construir un frente contra el peligro apremiante de Rusia y esto en el tiempo en el que era nuncio en Berlín. Actualmente, después de la muerte de Roosevelt, el papa se ha encontrado solo en Europa contra el peligro ruso y por ello se apoya en América con nominaciones de cardenales, etcétera, a fin de poder construir otro frente anti ruso con el apoyo de los capitalistas americanos e italianos?."

Pero, como confesó Ion Mihai Pacepa, aquellos "esfuerzos de desinformación de Stalin fueron rechazados por esa generación contemporánea que habia vivido la historia lo que Pío XII era realmente?. La KGB soviética lo intentará de nuevo en 1960 con una misión personal encargada al propio Pacepa y en 1963 con la promoción de la obra de Rolf Hochhuth El Vicario. Como la nueva generación no había vivido la historia y no tenía mejor conocimiento de ella, esta vez funcionó. De este modo, comenzó la leyenda negra que en buena parte ha llegado hasta nuestros días: la opinión desfavorable e infundada de un Pío XII amigo y aliado de los nazis; un papa que apoyó, por motivos de interés político, los regímenes totalitarios fascistas, siendo enemigo declarado de la democracia popular.

En enero de 2007, en un artículo publicado en la National Rewiew Online titulado El asalto de Moscú al Vaticano, Pacepa publicó un relato apasionante de espionaje, en el que desvelaba los documentos e informaciones manipulados que los servicios secretos de la URSS y de otros países satélites suministraron a Hochhuth para su obra de teatro El Vicario y la gestión encomendada al propio Pacepa para infiltrase en el Vaticano.

Fue idea del jefe de la KGB, Aleksandr Shelepin, y del responsable de las políticas internacionales del Politburó soviético, Aleksey Kirichenko. Corromper la Iglesia era un objetivo prioritario para la KGB. El plan fue aprobado por el primer ministro soviético Nikita Kruschev en febrero de 1960. La mision tenía el nombre codificado de Seat-12 (Sede-12, en alusión velada a la Santa Sede). La KGB encargó a Pacepa, que dirigia los servicios secretos rumanos en Alemania Occidental, infiltrar unos agentes en el Vaticano para recabar información sobre Pío XII. Necesitaba documentos originales que los expertos de la Oficina de desinformación pudieran manipular y modificar parcialmente para presentar la ?verdadera imagen? de Pío XII. ?La principal dificultad - cuenta Pacepa- era que la KGB no tenía aceso a los archvos del Vaticano, por lo que se vislumbró la actuación del DIE (servicio de inteligencia extranjera rumano)?, creado por el general soviético Aleksandr Sakharovsky en 1949, el mismo que pensó en Pacepa pra llevar a cabo esta labor de acercamiento al Vaticano  "para facilitar mi tarea - continúa Pacepa - Sakharovsky me autorizó a informar (falsamente) al Vaticano de que Rumania estaba lista para restaurar sus relaciones diplomáticas con la Santa Sede, a cambio de tener acceso a sus archivos y un préstamo de mil millones de dólares sin intereses por 25 años (las relaciones se habían roto en 1951, cuando Moscú acusó a la nunciatura del Vaticano en Rumanía de ser agencia encubierta de la CIA y cerró sus oficinas.). El acceso a los archivos papales, le diría yo al Vaticano, era necesario para encontrar raíces históricas que ayudaran al gobierno rumano a justificar publicamente su cambio de política hacia la Santa Sede. Lo de los mil millones (no es error de imprenta) de dólares, me informaron, fue añadido para que el supuesto cambio de actitud de Rumanía fuera visto on credulidad. "Si hay algo que esos curas entienden es el dinero??", dijo Sakharovsky.

Tres oficiales encubiertos del DIE, haciéndose pasar por sacerdotes rumanos, accedieron a los archivos vaticanos durante dos años. De 1960 a 1962, el DIE logró fotografiar cientos de documentos relacionados de una manera u otra con Pío XII. Todo se enviaba a la KGB por servicio especial de mensajero. En efecto, nunca se encontró nada contra el pontífice en ninguno de esos documentos fotografiados en secreto. Eran principalmente copias de cartas personales y discursos o actas de reuniones, todo en el lenguaje rutinario de la diplomacia que uno esperaría encontrar.

En 1963, el general Ivan Agayants, jefe de la Oficina de desinformación KGB, voló a Budapest para darles las gracias y para decirle a Pacepa que la operación Seat-12 se había transformado en un potente ataque a Pío XII llamado "El Vicario".

'EL VICARIO'

El 20 de febrero de 1963, en Berlín, se estrenó la obra teatral Der Stellvestreter, Ein chrisstliches Trauerspiel (El Vicario, una tragedia cristiana), obra de Rolf Hochhuth, un joven alemán desconocido que carecia del título de bachiller y trabajaba sin pena ni gloria en la editorial Bertelsmann. Si se representara todo el texto original, la obra duraría unas ocho horas. Amén de unas 50 páginas de apéndice con "documentación histórica" con las que el autor pretendía dar verosimilitud a un drama en el que se representa a un Pío XII de ?helada sonrisa?, ?frialdad aristocrática? y unos ojos con ?gélido brillo", que odiaba a los judios y ayudaba a Hitler a eliminarlos.

Hacía un anõ que habia comenzado el Concilio Vaticano II y en Israel se había desarrollado el proceso público contra Otto Eichmann, teniente coronel de las SS, detenido en Argentina por el Mossad y llevado clandestinamente a Israel para juzgarle. Eran momentos aquellos para que el mundo tomara conciencia de la magnitud del Holocausto.

Hochhut presumia de que habia encontrado sus datos en los archivos vaticanos, donde permaneció investigando durante tres meses. Lo cual es una mentira más, porque no estuvo en Roma más que unos veinte días y su presencia en los archivos está registrada, como se hace con cual- quier historiador, del que se toman los datos de sus entradas, salidas y del tema consultado. Hochhuth estuvo esos días en Roma, pero hacía rabona y no todos los días acudía a la sala de investigadores. Debia gustarle - digo yo - la notte di Roma más que la investigación.

Según Pacepa, la documentación le fue proporcionada por la KGB. Pero quien puso la obra en escena fue Erwin Piscator, director de teatro alemán, comunista, preocupado por hacer circular obras de contenido político y social. La revista francesa Minute se preguntará ?cómo ese joven autodidacta ha podido, prácticamente solo, escribir una obra que no carece de interés y de habilidad en el oficio". Y apunta si no sería Piscator el coautor de la obra.

Será Giovanni Battista Montini, Pablo VI, quien tendrá que lidar con el el terremoto que la obra teatral comienza a suscitar. Siendo aún arzobispo de Milan, el que que fuera un colaborador inmediato de Pío XII en esos años de guerra salió en su defensa en la revista católica inglesa The Tablet: ?No se juega con estos argumentos y con los personajes que conocimos con la fantasía creadora de artistas de teatro, no bien dotados de discernimiento histórico y, Dios no lo quiera, de honradez humanda. Porque de otro modo, en el caso presente, el drama verdadero sería otro: el del que intenta descargar sobre un papa, extremamente consciente del propio deber y de la realidad histórica, y además de amigo, imparcial, sí, pero fidelisimo del pueblo alemán, los horribles crímenes del nazismo alemán.

Pío XII ha tenido igualmente el mérito de haber sido un ?Vicario? de Cristo, que ha tratado de cumprir valiente íntegramente, como podía, su misión; ¿se podrá inscribir como mérito de la cultura y del arte una semejante injusticia teatral?"

La respuesta del Vaticano se dejó a L'?Osservatore Romano. Paolo Vicentin, especialista en cuestiones alemanas, escribia el 29 de marzo de 1963 que ?esta obra teatral absurda contra la obra pacifica de Pío XII" era una tentativa ?fácil y extraordinariamente cínica? para buscar un chivo expiatorio. ?Si la tesis de Hochhuth fuese exacta - cuenta Vicentin - ni Hitler ni Himmler, ni Eichmann, ni las SS, serian responsables de Auschwitz, de Dachau, de Buchenwarld, de Mauthausen, de todas las crueldades que fueron cometidas en cada país de Europa en nombre de un régimen diabólico. Sería el papa Pacelli. El carácter terrible de tal suposición es inconcebible. Buena manera de ?encarar el pasado??.

En carta de 30 de noviembre de 1963 al episcopado alemán, Pablo VI les dijo: ?Deploramos con vosotros las calumnias e injurias traídas falsamente en vuestro país contra la venerable memoria del papa Pío XII [?]. Es necesario que tal ignominia cese [...]. El 5 de enero de 1964, en su viaje a Tierra Santa y en el discurso de despedida ante el presidente del Estado de Israel y las autoridades israelíes, Pablo VI repitió con meridiana claridad: ?Nuestro gran predecesor Pio XII lo afirmó con fuerza y en muchas ocasiones, durante el último conflicto mundial, y todo el mundo sabe lo que hizo por la defensa y la salvación de todos los que soportaban la prueba, sin ninguna distinción. Sin embargo, como sabéis, se han querido sembrar sospechas e incluso acusaciones contra la memoria de este gran Pontifice.

El episcopado alemán también se pronunció. El 7 de marzo, el cardenal Fring, arzobispo de Colonia, declaró en nombre de todos los obispos alemanes reunidos en conferencia plenaria: ?El pueblo alemán debe a Pío XII un reconocimiento primordial por sua benevolencia paternal que nos manifestó después de la guerra perdida? Sentimos una vergüenza muy especial al ver la obra de Pío XII falsamente representada y su memoria ensuciada precisamente en el seno del pueblo alemán.

Entre las personalidades laicas, el príncipe Karl zu Lowenstein presidente del Comité central de católicos alemanes, dio un comunicado de protesta: ?Se han empleado todos los medios de la técnica escénica para destrozar y calumniar la persona y el carácter del papa hasta transformar lo blanco en negro. Uno de los hombres más nobres que nuestra generación ha producido ha sido marcado con el sellos de la culpabilidad por aquello que los alemanes ha hecho y debe serles justamente recordado. ¡Esta no es manera de asumir el pasado político! Si nosotros los alemanes nos alegramos con un teatro tal sin rechazarlo con amargura, seremos de nuevo objeto del escándalo del mundo".

Los dignatarios de la Iglesia evangélica en Alemania fueron incluso más severos que los católicos

En París se representó El Vicario en diciembre de 1963 en el teatro L'?Athenée. Las actuaciones se convertían en un espectáculo de Far West. La noche del debut se transformó en una batalla campal. Hay gritos de desaprobación entre el público y se lanzan tomates y huevos podridos a los actores. El director pide por los micrófonos corrección, pero las interrupciones se multiplican en todas las sesiones.

La misma orquestración de aprobaciones y reprobaciones, de silbidos y aplausos acompañaron las representaciones de El Vicario en Londres, en Basilea y en Nueva York, donde llega a culminar en lucha racial.

En El Vicario no aparecía como culpable el pueblo alemán que encumbró a la cima del poder de un pintor fracasado llamado Adolf Hitler, sino Pio XII en quien centró la culpabilidad del Holocausto, no porque no lo impidió.

La obra se tradujo rápidamente a veinte idiomas y supuso desde los años sesenta la explosión de la leyenda negra sobre Pío XII. A raíz de ahí, ha surgido una literatura extensísima, a favor y en contra la leyenda, que todavia no se ha disipado del todo con publicaciones y manifestaciones de dogmatismo acrítico y sin ningún rigor histórico. Como sucedió en 1988 en Berlín al gran rabino ashkenazita de Jerusalén, Meir Lau, durante la conmemoración por los 50 años de la Noche de los cristales rotos. Dirá con tono grave "?¿Dónde estaba el Papa aquel dia? ?¿Donde estaba Pio XII el 9 de noviembre de 1938 cuando los nazis destruyeron sinagogas y negocios judios? ?¿Por qué no condenó la Kristallnacht?" Pío XII aún en 1938. Se le conocía como cardenal Pacelli.

Con la apertura de los archivos de la Secretaría de Estado del Vaticano, ordenada por Pablo VI, la publicación de esa extensísima documentación recogida en 12 tomos publicados en Libreria Editrice Vaticana entre 1965 y 1981 (y a libre disposición del público en internet) y preparada durante años por los investigadores jesuitas Pierre Blet, Robert A. Graham, Angelo Martini y Burkhart Schneider, la polémica en torno a Pío XII se ha redimensionado paulatinamente.

Disueltas las calumnias como se derrite la nieve al sol, los historiadores pueden ahora mirar la figura y la época del papa Pacelli con mente más sobria y objetiva? En espera de una síntesis amplia y satisfctoria que requerirá su tiempo, se puede afirmar que Pio XII sale del juicio histórico
con la estima reconfirmada de la posteridad.

Texto de Carlos Ros publicado en "Mas Alla", España, septiembre 2016, ano XXVII,n.331 pp. 12-23. Adaptación y ilustración para publicación en ese sitio por Leopoldo Costa.

Leopoldo Costa

A couve-flor é um cultivar da espécie Brassica oleracea, do grupo Botrytis, da família das Brassicaceae. Tem caule curto, folhas oblongas verde-escuras com a nervura central esbranquiçada, e numerosos pedúnculos florais carnosos, comestíveis, reunidos e soldados em flores abortadas. Diferentemente da maioria de seus familiares vegetais, ela é branca. Isso acontece porque suas folhas recobrem as flores quando essas começam a crescer. Por não ficarem expostas à luz solar, não há produção de clorofila, que dá cor verde às plantas.

É uma planta anual que se reproduz por sementes. Normalmente, apenas a cabeça é usada como alimento. A cabeça de couve-flor é composta por um meristemas de inflorescência branco e se assemelham as do brócolis, diferindo apenas por este ter flores em botão. A espécie Brassica oleracea também  inclui o brócolis,  a couve de bruxelas, o repolho e vários outros tipos de couves.

A couve-flor, assim como a couve comum, descende do repolho selvagem, originário da Ásia Menor. Algumas pesquisas indicam que a couve-flor evoluiu do brócolis.

O registro mais antigo sobre couve-flor remonta-se ao século VI a.C.  No primeiro século I d.C, Plínio, o Velho, na "História Natural" incluiu-a entre as descrições de plantas cultivadas. Ele a chamou de "cyma": "Ex omnibus brassicae generibus suavissima est cyma," ("de todas as variedades de repolho a mais agradável é cyma"). A descrição de Plínio provavelmente refere-se às cabeças de florescência de um variedade cultivada anterior da Brassica oleracea, mas chega perto da descrição da couve-flor moderna.

A couve-flor foi descrita também nos séculos XII e XIII, por botânicos árabes, como Ibn al-'Awwam e Ibn al-Baitar. Inclusive observaram que a sua origem possa ter sido a ilha de Chipre.

Foi introduzida na França e na Itália em meados do século XVI, também proveniente de sementes da ilha de Chipre. Outros dizem que a couve-flor foi introduzida na França a partir de Gênova. Na Inglaterra, era chamada “repolho do Chipre”.

Na França, na corte de Luís XIV era muito apreciada e usada em pratos finos e elegantes. Na Bretanha, onde foi cultivada extensivamente, fazia parte do cardápio quase diário das famílias.

Menon, um gastrólogo francês do século XVIII, sugeria servir a couve-flor com um suculento molho feito com carne de vitela, presunto e creme, ou como parte de um guisado de moelas, cogumelos e foie gras.

Nos Estados Unidos a couve-flor foi cultivada pela primeira vez em Margaretville, no estado de Nova York, em 1891. Foi o fazendeiro William F. VanBenschoten que fez a primeira plantação. Quando a lavoura prosperou e VanBenschoten encontrou um boa procura, seus vizinhos seguiram o exemplo e passaram a cultivá-la também.

Mark Twain escreveu que "O treinamento é tudo,um pêssego era uma vez uma amêndoa amarga, uma couve-flor não é senão um repolho com uma educação universitária.

No século XII, três variedades de couve-flor foram descritas na Espanha provenientes da Síria, onde, sem dúvida, tinha sido cultivada há mais de mil anos.

No Brasil, foi a partir do século XIX que se disseminou o cultivo e o consumo da couve-flor, quando começaram a chegar os primeiros imigrantes italianos.

O nome de "mayonnaise", um dos mais apreciados condimentos da cozinha internacional, feito à base de gema de ovo, azeite de oliveira, vinagre e sal, representa uma deturpação do seu lugar de origem - uma pequena cidade da ilha de Minorca, no arquipélago das Baleares, constituído por cinco ilhas e dez ilhotas. Essa cidade tem o nome de Mahón. Com cerca de 15 mil habitantes, é a capital da Minorca e é considerada um dos melhores portos do Mediterrâneo ocidental.

Quando o Cardeal Richelieu governava a França em nome de Luís XIII, tropas francesas ocuparam Mahón. A ocupação durou sete anos, de 1756 a 1763. Os soldados franceses se deliciaram com tal condimento, que introduziram na França com o nome de mayonnaise, em vez de mahonnaise, ou seja, mahonesa, como seria correto.

Há, no entanto, quem pretenda atribuir o nome à predileção do General MacMahon, presidente da França de 1873 a 1879, por tal espécie de iguaria. Mas muito antes já era a maionese usada como molho de lagostas e salmões. A outra explicação é que é acolhida pelos bons dicionários.

Texto de Raimundo Magalhães Jr. em "Dicionário de Provérbios, Locuções,Curiosidades Verbais, Etimologias Pitorescas e Citações",Editora Tecnoprint Ltda, Rio de Janeiro, s/d, excerto p. 195. Adaptado, digitado e ilustrado para ser postado por Leopoldo Costa

Lessley Anderson

Meat eating is under attack! And yet you may not have noticed all the noise—new, shocking reports from the World Bank, United Nations, and more—because you were too busy mawing on that delicious artisanal bacon.

The upshot is that, by some estimates, livestock farming produces more greenhouse gases than all the world’s transportation systems combined. Factory farms are responsible for 99 percent—yes, 99 percent—of all the meat in the U.S.

Then there’s the newish (November) nonfiction book by hot young writer Jonathan Safran Foer, Eating Animals, which details more horrors of factory farming. Like how just one pig farming operation (Smithfield) produces more tons of shit than does the entire human population of California and Texas combined, and how that untreated waste has nowhere to go other than sprayed in a fecal mist into the air and waterways.

The timing of this stuff is really weird. We are arguably in a meat-obsessed cultural moment. Trendy Williamsburg restaurants like the Brooklyn Star features few dishes in which the main course is not wrapped in bacon. Hell, Fig in Santa Monica serves bacon wrapped in bacon. The New York Times even coined the phrase “hot butchers” to describe chefs like Ryan Farr of San Francisco, who teach sold-out classes in sausage making to slavering packs of meat nerds. Then there are Crif Dogs kimchee hot dogs, Shake Shack burgers, David Chang’s pork belly, Donald Link’s Boudin Balls. We can’t get enough of it. It’s just so damn cool.

Of course, for all of us ordering charcuterie plates, there’s a caveat: we eat sustainably-raised meat. The pork skins Farr uses for his chicharonnes aren’t from a factory farm, they’re from pasture-raised pigs from Becker Lane Organic Farm, Dyersville, IA. The philosophy many of us have is that promoting the right kind of meat is helping fight the good fight against the wrong kind of meat produced by big agribusiness.

“I do feel like the environmentalists, vegetarians, and sustainable meat people do have a common enemy, and it is factory farmed meat,” says Sasha Wizansky, editor of Meatpaper, a print magazine that chronicles meat culture.

But you, with your artisanal bacon, are you really above the fray? Spoiler Alert: Foer’s book says we’re full of shit.

Reason Number One: All “Ethical Omnivores” Cheat.

Admit it: Not all the meat you eat is sustainably raised.

“How effective would the Montgomery bus boycott have been if the protesters had used the bus when it became inconvenient not to?” writes Foer. Zing!

“If I’m down in Mexico City or Barcelona, Japan, and there’s really good street food, I’m going to eat it, and if I don’t know where the meat’s coming from, I’m still going to eat it,” Ryan Farr told CHOW. And what about that pho place you love to go to for lunch? Is its beef grass fed? Or how about when you felt too stingy to buy the heritage turkey for Thanksgiving, because it was like, 80 times more expensive than the conventional one?

Reason Number Two: Organic, Free-Range, and Cage-Free Mean Jack.

These words do not mean healthy, happy animals. Here’s the deal, once again (we’ve all heard it before): To be considered free-range, a chicken must have “access to the outdoors.” This, according to Foer and plenty of others who’ve covered this, is interpreted cynically by the poultry industry. Like, there’s a little door or window that gets opened sometimes, that shows a little patch of earth onto which the chickens in their gloomy, overcrowded sheds of doom, will never tread.

“Cage-free” means they’re not in cages, duh. But it doesn’t mean they’re on dirt. And how about the killing floor, where most birds are dragged through that lovely fecal soup? No cages there, either!

Organic, Foer points out, just means they were fed organic food, had “access to the outdoors” (see above), and weren’t fed antibiotics or growth hormones. Not that they were treated humanely or safely during their lives and deaths.

Reason Number Three: Any Meat Eating Promotes More Meat Eating, and Most Meat Is Factory Farmed.

You get invited to somebody’s house for dinner. They know you eat meat. Of course you’re not going to be an asshole, and tell them that you only eat meat from such and such farms.

“This effort might be well-placed, but it is certainly more invasive than asking for vegetarian food (which these days requires no explanation),” writes Foer. “The entire food industry (restaurants, airline and college food services, catering at weddings) is set up to accommodate vegetarians. There is no such infrastructure for the selective omnivore.”

So you eat what they put in front of you. And what they put in front of you is Tyson chicken or Smithfield ham.

And yet, all these very good arguments being what they are, I have not gone vegetarian. Why? For me the main reason is that becoming vegetarian means not supporting the small farmers who are trying to make a difference in our screwed up system of meat production. People like Mark Pasternak, of Devil’s Gulch Ranch, who raises pigs in Sonoma County for many great local restaurants, while also offering nature education summer camp for kids. Or heritage poultry farmer Frank Reese, whom Foer profiles in his book as being one of the few farmers in the U.S. raising non-genetically modified chickens. (His birds don’t have enormous breasts, and instead, have big legs from all the walking and running around that they do.)

Yes, there’s the argument that there aren’t enough of these farmers (or enough farmland) to supply all the meat in our country if overnight the entire U.S. population decided to boycott factory farms. But most nutritionists and doctors agree that we need to cut way back on the amount of meat we eat. And, furthermore, the best way to inspire real change is to find leaders and role models like those guys who create new paradigms consumers and law-makers can aspire to. Or at least that’s my opinion.

As Foer and the recent reports make clear, it might be mission critical to planet Earth that factory farms stop right now. But let’s face it: Our culture is currently madly in love with meat. Not a day goes by that I don’t get another email from a PR firm about a new product flavored with bacon, or see a menu featuring chicken liver mousse on the appetizer list. That’s the reality. So now let’s work with it. This is just a starting point, something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. So let’s discuss: Where do you get your meat? Do you buy Safran Foer’s arguments?

By Lessley Anderson in "Best Food Writing 2010", edited by Holly Hughes, Da Capo Press, USA, 2010. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa. 

Lady Godiva

MARIE ANTOINETTE

Born an Austrian princess in a turbulent time, Marie Antoinette (1755–1792) was married to Louis XVI of France at the age of fourteen to end hostilities between Austria and France. When she first arrived in France, she was received like a teen idol. Her peaches-and-cream complexion and innovative fashion sense—including wearing a miniature replica of a battleship in her hair at a palace party—earned her the favor of the style-loving French. Politically, Marie Antoinette held little influence over her husband and mainly served as a pawn for her mother, the empress of Austria. So instead she worked her influence to modernize the French court, which garnered great criticism from court elders. For example, when she was painted in a portrait wearing a casual muslin dress, this was viewed as improper for a queen; she also hired a female portrait painter, which was unheard of at the time.

As the French Revolution gained force, Marie Antoinette was scapegoated as “Madame Deficit,” as her extravagant displays of style, for which she was so loved by some, became the personification of aristocratic excess. While we all know her miserable fate, she must be exonerated from ever saying “Let them eat cake”—that statement first appeared in a text by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, describing a Spanish princess long before Marie Antoinette was even born. It should be noted, she was ever the gentlewoman. Her actual last words were “Pardon me sir, I meant not to do it,” after she accidentally stepped on the foot of her executioner.

LADY GODIVA

Lady Godiva (1040–1067) was an eleventh-century English noblewoman who ponied up for her people, literally. Born into a wealthy family, she was one of the few female landowners of her time. Godiva married the Earl of Mercia, Leofric, who was not a very nice lord over the tenants of their land. When Leofric levied an additional tax on the people of Coventry just to pay for the king’s guard, Godiva pleaded with him to lift the debt. He challenged her that if she rode through the town naked, he would cancel the tax. So she mounted a white horse and rode through the town with only her long golden hair as a cover, to save the people of Coventry. Legend has it Leofric then lifted all the taxes. Once again, a woman’s courage saves the day.

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

Florence Nightingale (1820–1910) is the founder of modern nursing and compassionate care worldwide. Before she established it, there was no formal education for nursing practices. She found her calling early in life and worked hard to educate herself in the field of nursing, despite being born into a wealthy upper-class family that disapproved of her decision to work. Nightingale came to prominence when she and thirty-eight nurses she had trained were sent to a British base in the Ottoman Empire during the Crimean War. There, horrified by the state of the medical tents and overworked medical staff, she developed a reputation as a compassionate caretaker and a brilliant statistician who observed that the care and sanitation conditions of the patients directly correlated with their mortality rate. It’s recorded that with her intervention, the medical camp mortality rate went from 42 percent to 2 percent. Her pie charts depicting death rates and the spread of disease began the practice of evidence-based medicine; her diagrams were so significant that the British government established a statistical branch of the Army Medical Department a year after her return from Crimea.

She spearheaded campaigns for sanitation and care practices in hospitals, with guidelines as basic as establishing hand-washing rules, and she wrote the textbook on modern nursing, Notes on Nursing, that is still used today. Perhaps most significantly, Nightingale established the first formal school of nursing, the Nightingale Training School at St. Thomas’ Hospital in London. She went on to write extensively on her medical knowledge and mentor other nurses who went out and established her methods globally.

ANITA GARIBALDI

Anita Garibaldi (1821–1849) was the legendary love who shaped the life of Giuseppe Garibaldi, the father of modern Italy. Born to a poor family in Brazil, Anita met the young revolutionary Garibaldi when he came to the country for the Ragamuffin War. A skilled and courageous horsewoman, she taught him the gaucho way of life and joined him on the battlefield. They fought together with many rebel groups across South America, including in the Battle of Curitibanos, where she was captured by their adversaries and told that Giuseppe had died. She searched the battlegrounds, and when she didn’t find his body, she escaped on horseback and crawled through the woods for four days without food or water until she was reunited with the rebels and Giuseppe—all while pregnant with their first child. Together in 1848 they traveled to join the war for a liberated and united state of Italy. Anita passed away a year later during a defeat; when Giuseppe rode out to hail the new king of a united Italy in 1860, he wore Anita’s striped scarf as tribute.

MARIE CURIE

Polish physicist and chemist Marie Curie (1867–1934) was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize, and the first person to win it twice, in two different sciences. She started her studies in an underground “floating university” in Warsaw because Polish colleges were then men-only. Making her way to Paris, Curie earned master’s degrees in physics and mathematics from the Sorbonne, all while subsisting on buttered bread and tea and tutoring at night to pay her way through school. Curie stayed in Paris after she was rejected for work at Krakow University because she was a woman. There she met her perfect match in fellow physicist Frenchman Pierre Curie, and together they furthered her work in radioactivity (a term she coined) and discovered two new elements, named polonium (after her native land) and radium. In 1903, together they won their first Nobel Prize in physics.

Tragedy struck when her husband was killed by a horse-drawn wagon in 1906. Despite her grief, she took over his teaching position at the Sorbonne and became their first female professor. In 1911, at the age of forty-four, she won her second Nobel Prize, in chemistry. When World War I broke out, Curie established the first on-site radiology centers to help surgeons in the field. She founded two Curie Institutes, in Paris and in Warsaw, which are still major medical research labs today. Curie overcame many barriers in her community to achieve history-making success, and even then still stayed grounded—Albert Einstein was quoted as saying that she was probably the only person who could not be corrupted by fame.

CARMEN MIRANDA

Carmen Miranda (1909–1955) was born into a deeply Catholic family that moved from Portugal to Brazil when she was a young child. Though her mother supported Miranda’s pursuit of a performance career, Miranda was beaten by her strict father after he found out she had auditioned to be on a radio show. She persisted and was soon discovered by a music producer, which led to her making records and films and becoming a Brazilian star. After six years of success in Brazil, Miranda was discovered by Lee Shubert, who brought her to New York to star in his Broadway musical The Streets of Paris. She refused to go without her band, wanting to maintain the integrity of the Brazilian sound. Brazil’s President Vargas took advantage of that opportunity to pay the band’s way to America, thereby turning Miranda into an ambassador for Brazil.

In 1939, Miranda developed her signature look of a flowing dress and fruit-and-flower turban, modeled after the style of the poor black girls from Bahia. She discovered the costume after appearing in a film in which she sang a song about empowering the lower social class of Afro-Brazilians. When she arrived in the United States that same year, Miranda and her costume became the symbol for all of South America. The Americans drank up her exuberant personality, exotic dance moves, and rapid speech. She was quickly signed by 20th Century Fox and became an international star, making over fourteen films and bringing the rhythm of samba to Technicolor life. Miranda was the first Latin woman to imprint her hands in front of Mann’s Chinese Theater and became the highest- paid woman in the United States in 1949. Unfortunately, the more she was loved by America, the more she was criticized by Brazil for becoming too “Americanized,” representing a stereotype of a Latina bimbo. Ever the showwoman, Miranda worked right up to her dying day: a recorded appearance on a 1955 episode of The Jimmy Durante Show shows her kneeling down unexpectedly, then jumping back up to finish her dance number. Durante said she reported being out of breath. She died later that night.

ANAÏS NIN

Possibly the most frank female author in history, Anaïs Nin (1903–1977) was a prolific writer who lived a salacious life and recorded all of it in a diary that, even expurgated, ran to seven published volumes. Born to Cuban parents in France, Nin spent most of her life in the United States. She married a banker-turned-artist, Hugh Parker Guiler, and moved to Paris with him for a few formative years. There she lived a bohemian lifestyle and developed many friendships with men, often taking them as lovers—including psychotherapist Otto Rank and author Henry Miller.

In the 1940s, she moved to New York City and began writing erotica with Miller and fellow author friends for an anonymous collector who paid them a dollar a page. Nin’s works of erotica later became a breakthrough for female sexuality by representing the feminine perspective for the first time in the genre. These writings were published posthumously in two collections: Delta of Venus and Little Birds. Nin took on a second husband, Rupert Pole, in a marriage that she had to annul in 1966 because she was technically still married to Guiler. She continued her bicoastal bigamy, though, remaining with Pole in California for the rest of her life.

Though Nin was a fixture on the literary scene, she didn’t find success with her own writing until she was sixty-three and The Diary of Anaïs Nin was published by Harcourt Brace. Soon after, she was the toast of the feminist scene, traveling around the United States to give lectures on her writing that covered her experiences with illegal abortion, multiple love affairs with famous men, and examination of the female self in contemporary culture.

EVA PERÓN

Raised by a poor single mother of five, Eva Perón (1919–1952) left home at fifteen to pursue the limelight as an actress in Buenos Aires. The ambitious Eva found success in theater, radio, and film over the next decade, even eventually co-owning a radio company and becoming the highest-paid actress in Argentina in 1943. She met politician Juan Perón at a charity event in 1944, and they married the following year. Eva Perón became First Lady of Argentina when Juan was elected president in 1946, which ultimately became her most successful role.

She was a passionate advocate for trade unions, labor rights, and women’s suffrage. As First Lady, she founded the Eva Perón Foundation and the Female Peronist Party, the first political group that served the interests of women in a time when women couldn’t vote or run for office. The following year, the women of Argentina were given the right to vote. By 1951, women could also run for office, and twenty-four were elected to the Chamber of Deputies and seven to the Senate, making Argentina the country with the most female representatives at the time.

Perón was so active in the community and beloved by the people of Argentina that she and Juan announced her candidacy to run beside him for vice president in the next election. This was met with great opposition and resistance from the military and elite class, who vocally opposed her work. However, it was her declining health that led to her withdrawal, and she passed away at the age of thirty-three from cancer. Her influence is still so resonant in the Argentinian consciousness that her book, The Purpose of My Life, is mandatory school reading. A testament to the international reach of her legacy, her life was made into the musical Evita, which was later adapted into a film starring Madonna.

MATA HARI

Mata Hari (1876–1917) was born Margaretha Geertruida Zelle to Dutch parents in the Netherlands. From a young age, she knew the power of her feminine sexuality and used it to parlay her way into exotic adventures when she answered a lonely hearts ad by a Dutch captain looking for a wife. They married when she was nineteen; he was twenty-two years older than she, and she wore a bright yellow gown instead of a traditional white dress. They lived in the East Indies, where they had two kids and carried on multiple affairs with other people—leading to a bitter divorce.

When they returned to Holland, her ex-husband ran a newspaper ad warning shops not to give her credit, which left her in dire straits. So she moved to Paris and used her talents to become the world’s most famous exotic dancer and courtesan. In the early 1900s, the French were obsessed with Orientalism, so she adopted the name “Mata Hari”—Indonesian for “eye of the day”—and invented an exotic origin story of being raised in the jungle. She created an East Indies–influenced striptease involving strategically placed scarves and a bejeweled bustier. She mingled with aristocracy, taking many wealthy lovers.

When World War I broke out, she still moved freely between borders because of her Dutch citizenship. Before long, however, French secret agents followed her and hired her to spy on the Germans—based on a suspicion that she was already spying for the Germans. It’s possible that she worked as a double agent, with her true allegiance only to large sums of money. There was no solid evidence of her guilt (perhaps the sign of a truly skilled spy), but the French intelligence service prosecuted her anyway, and she was executed by firing squad. She wore a tailored suit and tricorn hat and refused to be bound or blindfolded as she faced the firing squad. In death, just as in life, she boldly stared down her fate.

BETTY FRIEDAN

Betty Friedan (1921–2006) is often credited as the mother of the second wave feminist movement. With her 1963 book The Feminine Mystique, Friedan dared to ask: Now that women have had the right to vote for over forty years, what else do they want to do?

Born to Jewish immigrants in suburban Chicago, Friedan faced anti-Semitic treatment growing up, which later helped her identify with minority groups in her work. She became a journalist while in college at Smith; after graduation she moved to New York City to write for labor news syndicates. Friedan married and had three children, and it was at her fifteenth Smith college reunion, where she surveyed her fellow coeds-turned-housewives, that she started to put a name to that postwar, middle class woman’s dissatisfaction that would be the subject of The Feminine Mystique. The book addressed “the problem that has no name”: that women who were educated, married, and raising children still found themselves unsatisfied.

In 1966, Friedan co-founded and served as president of the National Organization for Women (NOW), which worked politically to give women fair opportunities and treatment in the workplace. The focus was to create a landscape where women could pursue a career outside the home; they also touched on issues of abortion, federal funding for child care services, poverty, and LGBT rights. In addition to NOW, Friedan also cofounded the National Women’s Political Caucus (NWPC) and the National Association for the Repeal of Abortion Laws (NARAL). She was famously hot-headed, and her outspokenness led to her dismissal from two of the groups she helped found. Friedan wrote six more books, including memoirs and more nonfiction books on social issues.

By Ann Shen in "Bad Girls Throughout History", Chronicle Books, San Francisco, USA, 2016, excerpts pp.21,40,61,62,87, 90,118,128,129,153 & 155. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.  

Why Greco-Roman Monogamy Matters

To a modern Western audience, the fact that ancient Greeks and Romans were not supposed to be married to more than one person at any given time, nor even to cohabit with others alongside legal spouses, must seem perfectly “normal.” This may explain why this practice has received hardly any attention from historians of the classical world.

Yet from a global, cross-cultural perspective, there is nothing “normal” or unremarkable about this. Instead, until very recently, acceptance of polygynous arrangements of marriage and cohabitation was the norm in world history, and strict monogamy remained an exception. Barely one in six of the 1,195 societies surveyed in the largest anthropological dataset have been classified as “monogamous,” while polygyny was frequently considered the preferred choice even if it failed to be common in practice (Gray (1998) 89–90; with Clark (1998)). Smaller samples of better documented societies convey a similar picture, and while “monogamy” is observed in a small proportion of all cases (16–20 percent in samples of 348 and 862 systems: Murdock (1967); Burton et al. (1996)), due to their failure to distinguish between rare instances of polygamy and its formal prohibition these surveys tend to overestimate the actual incidence of strictly monogamous rules. In fact, although the nature of the evidence does not allow us to rule out the existence of strictly monogamous systems prior to the first millennium BCE, the earliest unequivocal documentation originates from the Archaic Greek and early Roman periods. Thus, even though Greeks and Romans need not have been the first cultures to prescribe monogamy, these are the earliest securely attested cases and, moreover, established a paradigm for subsequent periods that eventually attained global dominance. In this sense, Greco-Roman monogamy may well be the single most important phenomenon of ancient history that has remained widely unrecognized. What is more, the global positive correlation between patricentric kinship systems and polygyny (Burton et al. (1996) 93–94) renders the emergence of prescriptive monogamy in the patricentric societies of Greece and Rome even more remarkable.

What Is Monogamy?

The term “monogamy” is used in different ways, and it is important to define its meaning here. The most basic distinction is between formal – that is, legal – monogamy, in the sense of marriage to one spouse; social monogamy, in the sense of exclusive living arrangements; and genetic monogamy, in the sense of exclusive mating and reproductive commitments. This chapter is concerned with the first category, formal monogamy, and the ways in which it could be reconciled with effectively polygynous relationships in the social and sexual spheres. (I use “polygyny” in a more general sense than “polygamy,” with the former denoting any kind of non-monogamous marital, social, or sexual arrangements and the latter limited to plural marriage.) Exclusive marital unions arise from either ecologically or socially imposed (or prescriptive) monogamy (Alexander et al. (1979) 418–19). Under ecologically imposed monogamy, polygamous arrangements may be acceptable in principle but are not feasible due to resource constraints that prevent potential polygamists from claiming or providing for multiple spouses.

This scenario is common and indeed often the norm in many formally polygamous systems, to the extent that only a few privileged individuals (usually men) can afford to enter multiple marriages. Socially imposed monogamy, by contrast, prohibits multiple marital relationships even for the wealthy and powerful, including rulers.

In practice, prescriptive monogamy can take many forms: they range along a continuum from arrangements that allow informal extra-marital cohabitation, sexual relations, and reproduction to stricter variants that seek to ban or penalize any concurrent extra-marital relationships. Needless to say, monogamy never exists in pure form. What we can observe over millennia of world history is a trajectory from polygamous to formally monogamous but effectively often polygynous arrangements and on to more substantively and comprehensively monogynous conventions. As I have argued elsewhere and will again outline below, Greek and Roman societies occupy an intermediate and – retrospectively speaking – transitional position on this spectrum, one that might be labeled “polygynous monogamy” (Scheidel (2009b), (2009c) ). Shunning multiple marriage and discouraging informal parallel cohabitation, such as concubinage within marriage, their system readily accommodated multiple sexual relations for married men (though not for women), most notably through sexual access to slaves (of either sex).

Contexts

The rise of agrarian societies had varied consequences for mating and marriage practices. On the one hand, the global record shows that polygamy was particularly common in advanced horticultural systems in which women’s labor generated most resources, whereas it occurred less frequently in more advanced, agrarian, societies (Nielsen (2004) 306). On the other hand, the increasing complexity and socio-economic stratification associated with agrarianism could at times push polygamy and more generally polygyny to unprecedented levels, especially at the top of the social pyramid. Early agrarian empires in particular were characterized by sometimes stag-gering levels of resource polygyny, featuring large harems attached to royal and aristocratic households (Betzig (1986), (1993)). Relevant cases are known from the ancient Near East (Pharaonic Egypt, Mesopotamia, Iran and the Old Testament tradition), from India, Southeast Asia, and China, from the Pre-Columbian Americas and more recently from African kingdoms (Betzig (1986), (2005); Scheidel (2009b)).

While it is true that the most extravagant manifestations were confined to state rulers and ruling elites, in many cases polygamous arrangements were likewise feasible among commoners, albeit on a much reduced scale. Early examples from western Eurasia include second wives in the Old Babylonian, Middle Assyrian, and Sasanid Persian traditions (Scheidel (2009b) 274–75, 278). The existence of polygamy among commoners in Egypt remains controversial but plausible (Simpson (1974) 104).

Early conditions in the heartlands of Greek and Roman culture are obscure. Owing to the lack of data, it is impossible to tell whether the Minoan and Mycenaean palaces were inhabited by polygamous or otherwise effectively polygynous elites. However, if analogies to the adjacent Near Eastern palace cultures are anything to go by, this may very well have been the case. What we do know is that polygynous arrangements were standard practice for Homeric heroes (Wickert-Micknat (1983); Gottschall (2008)).

As Thersites complained, the Greek war leaders were allocated female captives for private enjoyment (for example, Homer, Iliad 1.184–87, 9.128–29, 9.139–40, 9.664–68): “many women are in your huts, chosen spoils that we Achaeans give you first of all, whenever we take a citadel” ( Iliad 2.227–28). Polygyny, however, was not tantamount to formal polygamy: it was the enemy ruler, king Priam of Troy, who was endowed with three wives, while the Greek leaders merely kept consorts who would only yield illegitimate offspring. Later Greek preference for prescriptive monogamy may therefore already be foreshadowed in the epic tradition.

Greek Monogamy and Polygyny

In the historical period, Greeks were expected to marry monogamously. Only “ barbarians” did otherwise: as Euripides put it, “we count it as shame that over two wives one man hold wedlock’s reins” ( Andromache 215). Exclusive legitimate reproduction and physical co-residence were the defining characteristics of Greek monogamy. In Classical Athens, in any case, only wives could bear legitimate children. This was the outcome of an earlier process of tightening rules that had enabled male citizens to have extra-marital children recognized as legitimate offspring (Lape (2002/2003)).

Once firmly in place, monogamous norms were only relaxed in times of serious crisis: near the end of the Peloponnesian War, massive male casualties justified a temporary exception that allowed men to father legitimate offspring with one woman other than their own wife (Ogden (1996) 72–75). However, less democratic systems may have been more permissive: Aristotle’s references to the enfranchisement of citizen-slave offspring in other poleis may be relevant here.

Co-residence was the second critical variable. While congress with concubines ( pallakes) was not illegal for married men, they were meant to keep such women physically separate from their main residences and hence their wives: to name just one counter-example, the contrast to the Chinese custom of incorporating lesser wives and concubines into the household is striking. Greater license was given outside the marital residence, a concession that must have favored the wealthy who could afford to support concubines in separate homes. At the same time, however, polygyny also intruded upon the monogamous household in the form of (male) sexual relations with domestic slaves. While considered vexing for wives, this habit, alluded to on the stage and in oratory (Scheidel (2009b) 289), did not seem to carry particular stigma and was never formally penalized. Greek evidence of sexual relations with slave women extends into the Roman period with Plutarch’s infamous advice to wives to accept their husbands’ affairs with slave women because that way they were spared direct involvement in their husbands’ “debauchery” ( Moralia 140b). Slave-like status invited similar behavior: for instance, scholars suspect that the numerous nothoi of Sparta were the illegitimate offspring of Spartan men with Helot women, and that they may even have been identical with the mothakes who were reared alongside legitimate Spartan sons (Ogden (1996) 217–24). As I argue below (Section 7), these practices may well have been a crucial factor that sustained formal monogamy and mark the transitional character of this institution.

Greek monogamy was geographically narrowly circumscribed. Not only was bigamy attributed to the Thracians and polygamy common in the ruling class of the Achaemenid Persian Empire, even the Hellenized Macedonian rulers and their associates took multiple wives (Ogden (1999). Greeks abroad, however, did not necessarily adopt more relaxed customs: marriage contracts from Ptolemaic Egypt prohibit concubinage for Greek husbands, not to mention polygamy. Prescriptive monogamy remained a defining feature of “being Greek.”

Roman Monogamy and Polygyny

In the historical period, Roman rules envisioned monogamy in comparable terms. From a legal perspective, formal polygamy was impossible given that a new marriage would have voided an existing one. Modern scholars are divided over the question whether concubinage was feasible within (rather than as an alternative to) Roman marriage (Friedl (1996) 214–15). Our sources do not permit certainty until Justinian affirmed the illegal nature of concurrent concubinage in the sixth century CE, albeit as a putatively “ancient law” ( CJ 7.15.3.2). The conventional expectation was certainly that concubinage would serve as an alternative rather than a supplement to marriage, and occasional allegations to contrary behavior need not have been more than slander (Friedl (1996) 218–20). The presence of parallel relationships among soldiers remains a possibility but the evidence is ambiguous (Friedl (1996) 256–57; Phang (2001) 412–13).

Just as in Greece, however, effectively polygynous relationships with (a man’s own) slaves were not prohibited. Married men’s sexual relations with slaves did not legally count as adultery. The Roman literary tradition is rife with allusions to sex with slaves (for example, Garrido-Hory (1981); Kolendo (1981)), a notion that is well illustrated by the Stoic philosopher Musonius Rufus’ criticism of a “man who has relations with his own slave girl, a thing that some people consider quite without blame” (fragment 12). Several centuries later the Christian writer Salvian made the same point when he claimed that the wealthy universally behaved “like the husbands of their slave girls” (Government of God 7.4). More mundanely, slaves who were the illegitimate children of their owners ( filii naturales) could be manumitted before they reached the standard legal-age threshold of 30 years (Gaius, Institutes 1.19), and blood ties between owners and slaves are repeatedly referenced in legal cases (Rawson (1989) 23–29). Adoption of such offspring was legally feasible upon manumission but entirely optional, and eventually subject to restrictions (Gardner (1998) 182–83). Also as in Greece, sex with domestic slaves was supplemented by unsanctioned access to (often servile) prostitutes.

Although Roman emperors were technically subject to the same marriage rules as the general citizenry, their alleged habits of sexual predation exercised the imagination of contemporaneous historians and biographers (Betzig (1992a); Scheidel (2009b) 299–301). Notwithstanding the possibility of very considerable exaggeration, such behavior would be fully in line with royal polygyny in other early empires, and it is perhaps not a coincidence that critics emphasized this aspect of imperial (mis)conduct.

Roman marriage rules were coterminous with the sway of Roman law. Divergent customs prevailed in more peripheral parts of the Roman Empire. The Jewish polygamous tradition can be traced back to the Old Testament. Josephus refers to “our ancestral custom that a man may have several wives at the same time” ( Jewish Antiquities 17.14). While the overall scale of this practice in the Roman period cannot be ascertained, actual cases of bigamy were reported and the rabbinic texts repeatedly mention plural unions and do not normally disapprove of them as long as they were undertaken for honorable reasons (Schremer (1997/2001); Satlow (2001) 189–92). The fact that as late as in 393 CE, the Roman state had to forbid Jews to “enter into several matrimonies at the same time” ( CJ 1.9.7) underscores the persistence of this custom (cf. also Novel 139 from 537 CE).

Theories of Causation

Thanks to the pervasive neglect of this subject among historians, debates about the causes of monogamy and polygamy have traditionally been the domain of sociologists, economists and anthropologists. In economic terms, polygyny has been recognized as capable of delivering benefits to women as long as substantial resource inequality prevails among men and women rely on male resources for reproductive success. If male inequality is sufficiently pronounced, a woman may be better off sharing a high-status male with other women than monopolizing access to a low- status partner in a monogamous relationship. In this case, all women but only high-status men benefit, whereas – assuming a balanced sex ratio – low-status men lose out on marriage and mating opportunities (Grossbard (1980) 324; Becker (1991) 87–89).

In this scenario polygyny tends to reinforce male inequality. Cross-cultural analysis confirms that the incidence of polygyny is positively correlated with male inequality as well as female mate choice (Kanazawa and Still (1999) 32–41), a finding that is consistent with the logic of the economic rational-choice argument outlined here. In a further refinement of this model, it has been observed that resource inequality determined by non-labor income (that is, control of assets) favors polygyny (Gould et al. (2004)). This means that economic development is not conducive to polygyny, which helps explain why it is more prevalent in underdeveloped economies, including those of premodern societies.

However, while this model successfully accounts for variation in the incidence of polygyny, it cannot explain its suppression in the form of socially imposed monogamy: because male inequality never disappears, some women and some powerful men would always benefit from stable polygyny. This means that strict prescriptive monogamy calls for an auxiliary hypothesis, which is provided by the observation that since polygyny exacerbates male inequality, socially imposed monogamy may have arisen as a means of reducing tension among males and fostering cooperation (Alexander (1987) 71; K.B. MacDonald (1990); Scheidel (2009c)).

Yet there can be no doubt that cooperation can likewise reach high levels in the context of polygyny, especially in as much as its intrinsic inequality fuels aggression that can be directed toward warfare, plunder and the forcible acquisition of women (White and Burton (1988); Bretschneider (1995)). As the existence of polygynous empires demonstrates (Section 3), monogamy is by no means necessary to sustain successful collective action. At the same time, the history of Greece and Rome shows that monogamy does not necessarily reduce aggressiveness. Monogamy is therefore only one possible strategy for fostering cohesion. It was arguably only with modern economic development that it became the best strategy overall (Betzig (1986) 103–106; Price (1999)). If true, this would highlight the inherent fragility of prescriptive monogamy in any premodern setting.

From the perspective of these theoretical models, we would expect socially imposed monogamy to arise in systems in which relatively low resource inequality among men coincided with growing group cohesion. In the ancient Greek case, this scenario fits the post-Mycenaean loss of complexity and the subsequent development of the citizen polis. Yet even in this environment monogamy remained a work in progress. In Athens, for example, effective elite privilege was not reined in until the sixth century BCE (Lape (2002/2003)). It is worth noting that the evolution of Greek monogamy coincided with the expansion of chattel slavery, which provided a socially acceptable arena for extra-marital sexual activity and male reproductive inequality (section 7).

The Accommodation of Polygyny with in Monogamous Marriage

Sex with slaves had a long pedigree in the Ancient Near East (Scheidel (2009b) 281) but arguably assumed especial significance under the formal constraints of socially imposed monogamy. Extra-marital sex with marginalized subordinates may have been a pivotal mechanism for reconciling formal marital egalitarianism (“one man, one wife”) with effective reproductive inequality that mirrored abiding resource inequality.

This invites comparison to the frequently noted relationship between the growth of both personal freedom and civic rights, on the one hand, and chattel slavery, on the other, in Greek poleis: these two trends not merely coincided but reinforced each other (Finley (1981), (1998); O. Patterson (1991)). Effective sexual and reproductive inequality sustained by chattel slavery would have alleviated the tensions arising from the persistence of resource inequality alongside symbolic egalitarianism. While sexual access to chattel slaves enabled high-status males to translate their resources to extra-marital relations and enhanced reproductive success, the institution of prescriptive monogamy prevented negative consequences of unrestrained resource polygyny such as the creation of a wifeless and consequently disaffected male underclass.

This suggests that the concurrent development of socially imposed monogamy, chattel slavery, and political rights in post-Early Iron Age Greece may not have been a coincidence. With a sudden decline in overall inequality after 1200 BCE providing an initial impulse, centuries of growing male egalitarianism and slave ownership would have favored the establishment and gradual reinforcement of prescriptive monogamy.

In ideal-typical terms, this resulted in a model of exclusive marital monogamy (in terms of both cohabitation and legitimate reproduction) that co-existed with socially marginalized sexual predation, a model that became normative in both Greek and Roman cultures. This, in turn, created an unusually unfavorable environment for women. They came to be denied both the potential benefits of polygamy (in the form of access to resource-rich men) as well as the enjoyment of effective monogyny, given that they had no recourse against their husbands’ relations with female slaves. At the same time, men benefited both as groups – the rich being free to indulge in polygynous behavior and the poor being less handicapped in their marriage prospects – as well as collectively, through the cohesion fostered by the conjuncture of these two group benefits.

The Afterlife of Greco-Roman Monogamy

As both the notion of civic rights and the institution of chattel slavery declined in the Greco-Roman world of the later Roman Empire, Christianity maintained and reinforced monogamous norms. The canonical New Testament tradition has Jesus take sides in Jewish debates about the propriety of divorce in a way that implies rejection of any non-monogamous practices (Matthew 19:3–12; Mark 10:2–12; Brewer (2000) 89–100).

The roughly contemporaneous Qumran movement likewise opposed polygamy (Brewer (2000) 80–82). Pauline doctrine, however, fails explicitly to address this issue (Brewer (2000) 104). Later Church Fathers saw fit to explain away Old Testament polygamy as motivated by God’s command to populate the world, an expansion that was no longer necessary or desirable (for example, Clark (1986) 147). However, monogamy per se does not play a central role in early Christian writings, and the fact that Augustine labeled it a “Roman custom” ( On the Good of Marriage 7) indicates that Christianity may simply have appropriated it as an element of mainstream Greco-Roman culture.

Prescriptive monogamy came under pressure as the Roman Empire unraveled: powerful neighbors and conquerors, from Zoroastrian Iranians and Islamic Arabs to nominally or not at all Christian Germans and later Slavs, Norse, and steppe populations, did not subscribe to comparable marital norms. In the East, the Sasanid Empire with its polygamous elite (Hjerrild (2003)) was replaced by Islamic polities.

The Qur’an prefers monogamy and tolerates plural marriage only if it is feasible and serves the interests of individuals who would not otherwise be provided for: “If you fear that you shall not be able to deal justly with the orphans, marry women of your choice, two or three or four; but if you fear that you shall not be able to deal justly with them [i.e., as wives], then only one” (Qur’an 4.3). Post-Roman Germanic practices are less well documented but polygamy and parallel concubinage did occur; only one of the several Germanic Roman-style law codes outlawed polygamy (Brundage (1987) 128–33). Thus, Germanic arrangements do not appear to have differed greatly from the polygynous dealings recorded in the early medieval Irish tradition (Bitel (2002) 180–81, 184; cf. Ross (1985) ).

Under these circumstances, Greco-Roman-style prescriptive monogamy found itself in a precarious position, and its eventual expansion as a Christian institution was by no means a foregone conclusion. The unfolding of this drawn-out process is well beyond the remit of this chapter. Suffice it to say that the very considerable normative power of monogamy within Christianity is highlighted by the fact that sectarian polygamy – among the Anabaptists of Münster in the early sixteenth century and the first generations of the Mormons – remained a sporadic fringe phenomenon. In recent centuries, Western-style prescriptive monogamy achieved global reach through demic diffusion and acculturation, with the areas least affected by European influence (the Middle East and tropical Africa) showing the greatest resilience of polygamous preference. These developments can ultimately be traced back to Greek and Roman conventions and form an element of our Greco-Roman heritage that deserves a far more prominent status in our historical consciousness than it has so far achieved.

By Walter Scheidel in "A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds", edited by Beryl Rawson, Wiley-Blackwell,UK, 2011, excerpts pp. 108-115. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Food historians tell us prehistoric peoples most likely consumed fungi and mushrooms. These foods were easy to forage and incorporate into meals. The Ancient Romans appreciated the taste and grew mushrooms. Modern cultivation commenced around the 16th century. Truffles, from the Perigord region in France are considered some of the most delicate and expensive specimens of this particular type of food. Portobello and Cremini are relative newcomers. Mushrooms are a subset of the larger plant world of fungus:

"Fungus in the scientific sense, means any group of simple plants which include mushrooms and similar plants, yeasts, moulds, and the rusts which grow as parasites on crops. Unlike more advanced plants, fungi lack chlorophyll and so can only grown as sprophytes (from dead plants or animals); or as parasites (on living plants); or in a mycorrhizal relationship (symbiosis between fungi and the roots of trees)...The importance of fungi for human food is not limited to those which are eaten as such, or are visible. Many which are microorganisms play an important part in making or processing human food. Yeasts are an obvious example, and are regarded as beneficent because of their role in, for example, the making of bread dough...'Musrhooms', to use the term loosely as applying to edible fungi in general, are far better known as food in the northern than in the southern hemisphere."

(Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson [Oxford University Press:Oxford] 1999 (p. 326))

"Mushrooms and other large varieties of fungus have geen eaten since earliest times, as traces of puffballs in the prehistoric lake dwellings of Switzerland, Germany, and Austria show; but not by everyone and not everywhere. The rarest and finest mushrooms, such as the truffle and the oronge, were highly esteemed in classical Greece and Rome, and have always been expensive...some mushrooms have been successfully cultivated for a long time. In classical times both Greeks and Romans grew the small Agrocybe aegerita...on slices of a poplar trunk. The Chinese and Japanese may have been growing chitake on rotting logs for even longer. Modern European cultivation goes back to 1600, when the French agriculturist Olivier de Serres suggested a method in his work Le Theatre d'agriculture des champs. In 1678 another Frenchman, the botanist Marchant, demonstrated to the Academie des Sciences how mushrooms could be sown in a controlled way by transplanting their mycelia (filaments whcih spread through the soil underneath them like fine roots)."

(Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson [Oxford University Press:Oxford] 1999 (p. 519, 521))


"Fungi have been associated with humans since prehistoric times and must have been collected and eaten along with other plants by hunter-gatherers prior to the deveolpment of agriculture...Although their prehistoric use remains uncertain, they may have been employed as food, in the preparation of beverages, and as medicine. There is, however, no specific evidence for the use of fungi prior to the Neolithic period, when fungi consumption would have been associated with the drinking of mead (yeast-fermented diluted honey) and yeast-fermented beer or wine, and, somewhat later, the eating of yeast-fermented (leavened) bread."

(Cambridge World History of Food, Kenneth F. Kiple & Kriemhild Conee Ornelas [Cambridge University Press:Cambridge] 2001, Volume One (p. 314))


"Cave drawings and paintings tell us hardly anything about the plants the cavedwellers ate, and it is even rarer to find them showing mushrooms, which does not mean that the latter never featured on prehistoric menus. Residues identified prove that other vegetables were in fact eaten, even if few felt any urge to depict them on cabe walls. Morever, if we look at the dietary customs of contemporary peoples who are still at the Paleolithic or Neolithic stage of development, there is plenty of evidence of an interest in mushrooms both edible and poisonous. The latter can be used for hunting, fishing, or indeed for homicial purposes...The ancient Egyptians and Romans greatly enjoyed mushrooms...The Bible, although full of references to food of many kinds, never mentions mushrooms, either in praise or otherwise..."

(History of Food, Maguelonne Toussaint-Samat, translated by Anthea Bell [Barnes & Noble Books:New York] 1992 (p. 57))

"The first evidence that mushrooms were used as human food in prehistoric Europe is the recent find of a bowl of field mushrooms in a Bronze Age house near Nola in Italy. Mushrooms were gathered from the wild. Classical Greek authors tend to treat them as famine food, on the level with acorns. By Romans, however, they were so highly regarded that the Stoic writer Seneca gave up mushrooms (boleti) as unnecessary luxuries---an approach to the vegetarianism and asceticism that he toyed with. Recipes are suggested by Diphilus of Siphnos, in the third century BC, and in Apicius in the fourth century AD."

(Food in the Ancient World from A to Z, Andrew Dalby [Routledge:London] 2003 (p. 223))

Why are they called "mushrooms?"

"The word mushroom, first recorded in the early fifteenth century, was borrowed from Old French mousseron. This has been traced back to a late Latin mussirio, a word of unknown origin."

(An A to Z of Food and Drink, John Ayto [Oxford University Press:Oxford] 2002 (p. 221))

About mushrooms in America

"...it may seem surprosing that mushrooms entered the American culinary limelight only in the late nineteenth century. Until the 1890s, most mushroom recipes were for ketchups, sauces, and pickles, with occasional stewed mushooms or French-influenced dishes named "champignons." Few Americans included mushrooms in kitchen gardens, which was undertandable given Hannah Glasse's rare and unappetizing instructions for mushroom cultivation...mushroom gathering was fraught with danger, for no reliable American guides distinguished between gustatory pleasure and peril. Typical is The Kentucky Housewife (1839) by Lettice Bryan, which simply warns the cook to "be careful to select the esculent mushrooms, as some of them are very poisonous." Mushroom cultivation began in seventeeth-century France...The techniques were perfected in the 1870s and spread abroad, just as French cookery became fashionable in America. By the 1890s, a veritable fungus frenzy was sweeping America, bot as a fad food and as a scientific curiousity. Mushrooming clubs, were forager swapped tips, spring up quickly. Meticulously illustrated literature educated amateurs and professionals in identifying and cooking mushrooms...The first professional information on mushroom cultivation in America was disseminated on a large scale in the 1890s, mainly through the efforts of William Falconer."

(Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink, Andrew F. Smith, editor [Oxford University Press:New York] 2007 (p. 396-7))

In http://www.foodtimeline.org/ adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Ontario's vintners are standing up to bureaucracy and pushing wine into bold new territory.

In February of this year, the owners of the Old Third winery in Prince Edward County received a strange email from Ontario's Vintner's Quality Alliance (VQA), the quasi-government body that regulates and enforces rules for wineries in the province. The VQA had taken umbrage with the header on the Old Third's website, which read: "Producers of fine wine and cider in Prince Edward County."

According to the VQAs email, listing "Prince Edward County" on the website was illegal. An official cease and desist order followed two months later, warning of possible fines between $5,000 and $100,000. The Old Third's owners, Bruno François and Jens Korberg, were shocked at the notion that they were- apparently - prohibited from listing the winery's location on their website.

The Old Third is a five-acre vineyard with a beautifully restored 150-year-old barn. It produces some of the finest examples of pinot noir in the province and is one of Ontario wine country's hidden gems.

François and Korberg had left successful jobs in software development and interior design to chase their dream of making wine in bucolic Prince Edward County. They bet on the region's potential for winemaking long before it was designated a viticultural region.

Their vineyard was planted with pinot noir on a sloping hill full of rocky glacial till from the ice age. François took this route of winemaking not for yield or ease of farming, but because when stewarded and gently pushed, the vines would compete for minerals and would dig their roots deep, allowing you to taste, feel and smell their little corner of Prince Edward County. The very definition of terroir.

In a handful of years they built a fervent following among pinot-philes who travel to Prince Edward County to grab the winery's diminutive production before it sells out. The journey hasn't been without its challenges. Just a few years ago, a late frost practically wiped out the Old Third's entire crop, leaving virtually nothing to sell from the remarkable 2012 vintage- widely considered Ontario's best ever. But overall, things had been going quite well. That was, of course, until the VQA sent that email.

At the heart of the maner were issues of origin and labelling. While Prince Edward County is a place, it's also a designated viticultural area and the use of that name for wine is governed and protected under the VQA Act. Non-VQA members, like the Old Third, are prohibited from using the term on their labels to describe their wines, even if- as is the case with the Old Third -their wineries have operated in the region since before it received designation.

François and Korberg felt the cease and desist order was stepping beyond the act's scope of powers. They stood their ground and informed the VQA they were not going tO take the website banner down.

The matter went to Ontario's Licence Appeal Tribunal, which ruled in the Old Third's favour this July. The tribunal rejected the VQAs arguments that a website banner is a modern-day extension of a wine label and that using the term "Prince Edward County" violates labelling laws.

It also ruled that the VQAs position would result in "an unreasonable if not an absurd" conclusion by not allowing the business to reveal its location, and that the VQAs interpretation of what constitutes a label would give it too much control over the use of the term "Prince Edward County."

The decision could still be appealed, but VQA Ontario's executive director, Laurie Macdonald, said she could not comment beyond saying that the VQA is "looking into the implications and determining what we should do and what the options are."

François actually agrees with the VQA on one of its core principles: respecting the value of origin. Wineries should join VQA, he says, "if they believe in the soil they grow their vines on and that their vineyard and the region are worth something."

Macdonald views "VQA as shorthand for origin and quality." She is proud of the organization for having built a system of appellations, regulations and rules to assure the consumer that the grapes in a VQA-certified bottle of Ontario wine are 100 per cent grown in Ontario, in some cases down to a single vineyard.

The whole system "comes back to the integrity of the wine; and that's assured by "making sure the labels are truthful, so the consumer is protected; she says.

Where they differ is that François believes there shouldn't be a financial incentive tied to being a part of the VQA. Currently, non-VQA Ontario wines are subject to additional fees when selling to restaurants through the LCBO. While the case was a matter of survival, it was equally a matter of principle.

"If they [the VQA) had won, it would not have been possible for us to continue to operate without joining VQA," he says. "We could have easily removed the 'Prince Edward County; but it came at a time where there were a number of things we were dealing with and we thought, 'that's it, we're not putting up with this bullshit'"

Smaller wine operations are burdened with extra work and extra costs. At his small, 1,000-case-a-year winery, François is also vineyard manager, winemaker and general manager. Little things -like an out-of-the-blue cease and desist order- can add up to a lot of hassle and lost money for an up-and-coming winery.

That's why disruptors like François and Koberg have been crucial to the development of Ontario's lauded wine culture. And the province has a long and strong history of them. In the 1930s, Harry Hatch turned the failing T.G. Bright and Company winery into a powerhouse by talting a calculated chance on unproven vinifera hybrids.

More recently, Inniskillin founders Donald Ziraldo and Karl Kaiser kick-started the modem Ontario wine industry in the 1970s when they had the moxie to ask for, and get, the first new winery licence in the province since Prohibition by proving they could grow and make world-class wine.

Today the industry has a $3.3-billlon economic impact annually, employs 14,000 people full-time and attracts nearly two million visitors per year. Things are pretty good, but Ontario's disruptors have quietly made the case that things could be better.

"The system exists for us, so we should be able to change it," François says.

He has received support not only from customers and wine lovers, but also from winery owners who consider him an inspiration for standing up to bureaucracy.

Another VQA process - the tasting panel -has been a massive point of contention in Ontario. The VQA uses trained LCBO product consultants to taste prospective VQA wines in bllnd tests and to evaluate them as "acceptable" or "unacceptable." While the VQA and the LCBO try to make the process as objective as possible, there is some subjectivity involved- and that's where the panel has generated controversy.

According to a 2015 report, one in five wineries that submitted to the panel saw a failure lhat year - but no winery has generated as much discussion and public support for its challenges wilh Lite panel as Pearl Morissette, the Niagara winery lhat has developed a cult following for its small-production wine.

"We try to do as little as we can to the wine as late as possible; says Brent Rowland, Pearl Morissette's associate winemaker, "so that the vintage, the variety and the region speak loudly in the glass".

Pearl Morissette has been fighting an ongoing battle to have its Cuvée Blackball riesling approved by the VQAs tasting panel It's a dey, austere and textured approach to the grape that contrasts vividly with its peers.

Of the four vintages, only the 2013 Blackball has VQA certification. All vintages were made in the same way and aU passed VQAs lab test, which helps determine whether a wine is safe and not faulted.

The other vintages failed the panel multiple Linles, which has made Blackball a rallying point for wine critics, sommeliers and wine lovers alike, who feel that as long as a wine is safe to drink, only the market should determine whether Lite wine is ultimately successful.

Of course, a wine that fails the tasting panel can still be sold as non-VQA wine, but as a consequence it would no longer be exempt from additional fees when selling to restaurants through the LCBO. This effectively acts as a financial penalty.

Winemakers often say their wines fail for being "atypical." In fact, Blackball is promoted by the winery as made in "classically 'atypical' Pearl Morissette style".

But Macdonald says it's a misperception that the panel tastes for typicity.

Still, the VQA has recognized frustration with the tasting panel and has done a number of things to help, including putting out a comprehensive industry report last year and allowing wine makers to see the process for each winery. The result is that the pass rate now sits at 97 per cent, while one in five passed 16 years ago.

Looking west to B.C. might provide answers for dealing with the tasting panel and helping small wineries thrive. B.C. has decoupled many of the financial incentives from VQA certification and has moved to more of a defect panel than a tasting one.

This has given wineries an escape valve from the system. And the failure rate there is just 1.5 per cent, according to Sandra Oldfield, CEO of Tinhorn Creek Vineyards.

The government is also reviewing an industry-supported proposal that calls for a fiat fee to cover grape levies, wine certification costs for small wineries and membership in the B.C. wine authority - which would go a long way toward helping small wineries grow and be profitable.

Luckily, the VQA was built for change. It has successfully incorporated draught wine, canned wine and appassimento - the process of making wine with dried grapes - in the last five years, and it says it's ready and receptive to even more change.

"It really should be a living system"; says Macdonald. "We need to keep trying to make it better and responsive to industry."

There is action backing this statement. The VQA has reached out to Pearl Morissette, for example, and invited Rowland to join a special comminee to investigate how to incorporate the rising trend of skin-fermented white wine (a.k.a orange wine) into the VQA framework.

But the most promising sign that Ontario is poised to continue its growth is the positivity and resilience of even its disrupters.

Knowing all the battles he'd have to go through, François says he would start the Old Third all over again. "Making wine is a privilege; he says. "To make money off of grapes you grow and to be lucky enough to count yourself in an industry that people view with a sense of awe - there aren't a lot or things that people do in this world that have that kind of mystique".

By Michael Di Caro in "Foodism", magazine n. 1, 2016, Toronto, Canada, excerpts pp.70-74. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

Cardamom is harvested by hand just before the fruit is ripe—if left to mature, the pods will split open and the seeds will be scattered and lost. Because the pods do not all ripen at the same time, harvesting takes place over several months, with skilled workers choosing only those pods that are ready. The best cardamom is dried in special sheds heated by wood-fired furnaces rather than under the hot sun, which would bleach the pods.

Green cardamom pods are about half an inch long and contain twelve to twenty dark brown to black seeds that may be oily or somewhat sticky. Cardamom has a warm, sweet fragrance with delicate citrus and floral top notes and a refreshing undertone of eucalyptus. The seeds are aromatic, with a floral scent and a fresh, lemony flavor. Look for bright green pods. White cardamom pods have been bleached and should generally be avoided, although white cardamom is used in some Indian desserts where the green color would be undesirable. When used whole, the pods are usually cracked before being added to a stew or other dish. Some recipes call for the whole seeds, but they are more often ground; the seeds are best ground in a spice grinder. If buying ground cardamom, note that it should be a fairly dark brown; lighter powders are made from ground whole pods and are of lesser quality, as the husks have little flavor.

Cardamom is used in a wide variety of savory and sweet preparations. It features prominently in Indian, Persian, Turkish, and Arabic cuisines, in stews, curries, and biryanis and other rice dishes; it is also used to season vegetables. It is an essential ingredient in garam masala, and it is found in many other spice blends as well, including baharat and ras el hanout, and in curry powders. It flavors many Indian sweets and desserts, including kulfi and rice pudding,and it complements poached pears and other fruits. Cardamom pairs well with sweet spices such as cinnamon, allspice, cloves, and nutmeg, and in Scandinavia, it is used in cakes, cookies, and Danish pastries. In the Middle East and North Africa, cardamom often flavors the coffee served after a meal; it is also added to tea. Since cardamom is a stimulant, it was used in love potions in mythology.

Black cardamom (sp. Amomum subulatum), also called brown cardamom, is not true cardamom; its many common names include bastard cardamom and false cardamom. Also known as Bengal cardamom, Nepal cardamom, and winged cardamom, it is valued for certain preparations. The dried oval pods, which are much larger than those of regular cardamom, are dark brown, ribbed, and rough, and they can contain as many as fifty seeds. The pods have a smoky, woody aroma, and the seeds have a camphorous fragrance and taste, with slightly sweet notes. Black cardamom is used whole, usually crushed, or finely or coarsely ground in certain Indian meat and vegetable dishes, especially more rustic or spicier preparations.

Chinese black cardamom (sp. Amomum costatum), also known as red cardamom, is a different species, grown in southwestern China and in Thailand. The large dark-reddish-brown pods, which can be 1 inch long or more, are ribbed and sometimes still have the stems intact. They have a strong, spicy flavor and, unless dried in the sun, a gentle smoky flavor from the drying process. Chinese black cardamom is popular in Szechuan and other Chinese regional cuisines and in Vietnamese cooking. The hard pods are added whole to slow-cooked dishes, such as braises, and to steamed rice or soups. The ground seeds are sometimes added to stir-fries.

By Padma Lakshmi (with Judith Sutton) in "The Encyclopedia of Spices and Herbs",Harper Collins Publishers,USA, 2016. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa

There has never been a shortage of reasons to travel in France: gothic cathedrals, Norman churches, and royal châteaus are all attractions, but when all is said and done, star-hunting (by which I mean Michelin stars) is often the explanation for a tour de France. Measured against history, this is a new phenomenon. In the eighteenth century no one could have justified a trip to France for gastronomic reasons. Its people ate very badly. The high nobility and more refined townspeople were, of course, well served, their tables so prodigiously laden that guests consumed barely a third of what was offered (the surplus went first to servants, then to regrattiers, tradesmen who specialized in buying up leftovers). Few Paris apartments had a real kitchen; an oven was a rare exception. Most housewives had to make do with a cauldron often precariously balanced in the hearth. Roasting spits were only to be found in inns or substantial houses.

Despite these limitations, before the Revolution people ate at home (unless they were traveling or staying in another town) and received guests at home. Meals were regarded as something private and, except in a few privileged households, menus could hardly be called exciting. These were tough circumstances for travelers from far afield who had no friends or letters of introduction, and found themselves at the mercy of unpleasant innkeepers: they complained as much about the rudimentary food as the general lack of comfort.

They had to settle for whatever badly cooked fare was put on the table, with no element of choice. At an inn, you bought not a particular dish but the right to sit at the communal table; another, scarcely better solution consisted in going to a table d’hôte, a sort of boardinghouse where regulars met at a set time. If there was an empty chair, the traveler could sit down; if not he had to try his luck elsewhere. There was never anything pleasant about the experience. According to Mercier, the author of Tableau de Paris (1788), the middle of the table, where the hostess put the most desirable dishes, was only accessible to regulars. Equipped with indefatigable jaws, they left only crumbs for the unfortunate visitor, who never ate as much as he had paid for and, on top of that, had to tolerate their noisy but vacuous conversations. The famous English agronomist Arthur Young complained particularly about this enforced proximity to louts.

The visitor often ended up buying a saucisson or a slice of ham from a charcuterie stall, or a cooked chop or chicken wing from a rotisserie, and eating it in his room. If he wanted a hearty stew, he had to go to a traiteur, who had the monopoly of ragouts and would deliver whole prepared meals. There were also lively street markets, where women made the most of an age-old privilege and set up shop behind a great cauldron of simmering tripe while their partners tended constantly steaming pots of cooked chicken. The whole arrangement was neither practical nor salubrious. The guilds imposed stringent rules on every kind of tradesman and determined very precisely what each of them could sell or cook, therefore forbidding anything resembling what we would call a restaurant, in other words a place where the customer can sit at an individual table and order a meal he or she has chosen, paying only for this chosen food. In fact, in the eighteenth century, the French word restaurant* meant not an establishment but a food or drink with restorative qualities—a glass of wine, a cordial, or some reduced stock which was effectively essence of meat.

When in about 1780 a few unclassifiable establishments—neither grocers, inns, traiteurs, nor table d’hôtes—appeared in Paris as clean, discreet establishments where a lady could sit alone at a table covered with a cloth and order a bowl of stock or a salad, they were given the name restaurants because they seemed intended not to satisfy a major appetite but simply to offer passersby a pick-me-up, something restorative.

The first restaurant proper opened on the rue des Poulies (the present-day rue du Louvre); a few years later it moved to the Hôtel d’Aligre on the rue Saint-Honoré. The manager, whose name was Boulanger, served poached poultry with sea salt, fresh eggs, and, of course, highly concentrated stock. He could not serve stews but was exempted from the tough restrictions that imposed set mealtimes on table d’hôtes. The attraction of this new setup was that if someone felt a little tired during the course of the day, they could find something here to invigorate them. A rare few innovators followed this lead. There were only four or five restaurants in Paris before 1789. The most famous, Vacossin, played host to Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who described the dinner he had as a picnic,* implying that the fare was light and the billsplit fairly.

Amongst many other things, the Revolution transformed the gastronomic landscape of Paris. It might seem frivolous to take an interest in the cuisine of an era scarred by violence, terror, murderous war, and scarcity culminating in 1794, but there are many factors that fully justify an interest in the subject: the astonishing parade of fine foods delivered to people in prison (those condemned to death made arrangements to have roasts and pâtés delivered by traiteurs and other suppliers, who made sure their cards were circulated around the dungeons); sumptuous public feasts; and, most significantly, a transformation of the entire industry of eating.

Three days after the storming of the Bastille, when the Prince of Condé fled into exile, he left behind an army of spit roasters, sauce makers, and pastry cooks who had all worked under orders from the chef, Monsieur Robert. The latter lost no time in opening a restaurant, which he called Robert, at 104 rue de Richelieu—a real restaurant with a varied menu, serving whatever he wanted. Regulations, some of which dated back to the Middle Ages, had just been slackened, and the primary beneficiaries were these newcomers, the restaurateurs. The head cook to the Comte de Provence, the king’s brother, set himself up at the Galerie de Valois in the Palais-Royal as soon as the prince had left in June 1791, and unabashedly invited diners into this luxurious setting and offered them a doorstop-sized menu. The whole neighborhood was soon a meeting place for gastronomes ... and there were hordes of them.

The nouveaux riches, who were plentiful because there was no shortage of opportunities to make money, had good appetites. But in these troubled times no one was keen to display their wealth—at least not before the post-Revolutionary regime, the Directory, was established. Setting up and running a household in grand style or laying oneself open to envy or denunciation by giving dazzling dinners would have been dangerous; it was better to invite and receive guests at a restaurant, where private rooms even offered a degree of discretion. Still more important: at the time, Paris thronged with single men, members of the Assembly, journalists, interested onlookers, and foreign observers. Many had no connections in the capital but still had to eat, hence the rush to these pleasant modern establishments with menus to suit every purse and meals at every hour of the day. The sheer convenience of this arrangement meant that restaurants opened in every quarter, and their numbers kept on growing. The movement expanded further under the Consulate and the Empire, and one English journalist, Francis Blagdon, who came to Paris once peace was restored in 1802, eager to see the result of more than ten years of war and revolution, described the capital in one word: restaurants. At the time, the accepted figure was two thousand establishments, a figure that rose again under the Restoration and reached three thousand. (Table d’hôtes had mostly disappeared or had adopted the current fashion by adding a few individual tables to their dining rooms and offering a choice of dishes.) One consequence of this phenomenon was that a new timetable was adopted, and this had a profound effect on the structure of the day for Parisians.

Before the Revolution, people in good society ate three times a day: they had something between six and eight in the morning, then dined at about two o’clock and supped after nine o’clock. Peasants and laborers made do with two meals. Supper was reserved for the privileged minority who went to balls or performances. During the Revolution, the system dissolved: all those men unleashed into the streets of Paris at the crack of dawn for discussions in the Assembly, clubs, and various societies, were collapsing by eleven o’clock … and eagerly headed for restaurants toward the end of the morning, which did nothing to stop them from wanting to eat again at about six o’clock in the evening. This late morning meal was then given the name déjeuner,* as compared to the petit déjeuner (little breakfast) eaten on rising, and the last meal of the day took on the name dîner (dinner). Souper (supper) all but vanished. This was a wonderful windfall for restaurateurs, who now benefited from two sittings a day.

From that point on, people took to gathering with friends and arranging to meet and eat in public places, and this was true of all social classes. It was a period in which cooking was granted incredible importance; it became the order of the day and remained so during the Empire and the following regimes. Gastronomy became a subject of conversation and even of literature. In the seventeenth century, two books of recipes—Le cuisinier français and Les délices de la campagne—had been all that housewives needed for generations, but these gave way to ambitious works by Cabanis and Brillat-Savarin, whose La physiologie du goût, a series of meditations on the art of eating, was prodigiously successful. Alexandre Dumas published a cookbook with witty illustrations, crammed with anecdotes and excellent recipes. France had become the homeland of great cooking. And Balzac, who depicted its times, its people, and its interests, appointed himself as a mouthpiece for this trend.

“If the French have as great an aversion to traveling as the English have a propensity for it,” he said, “both English and French have perhaps sufficient reasons. Something better than England is everywhere to be found; whereas it is excessively difficult to find the charms of France outside France.” And the essence of these French charms lay in its cooking; “as Borel [the great chef at Le Rocher de Cancale] elaborates it for those who can appreciate it … it is the wines of France, which … are to be regarded as myths.” And Balzac had a tremendous time disparaging foreign cooking. Italy was the country where they put cheese in soup, he wrote disdainfully in Gambara, and Poland the one where there were seventy-seven ways of preparing gruel, not to mention their repulsive beet soup, barkschz (Balzac perhaps chose this variant spelling because it comes close to the French word for “yuk”). The Germans, he claimed, liked different sorts of vinegar, collectively referring to them as Rhineland wines. As for the English, they needed fiery condiments to reawaken their taste buds.

Balzac takes us all over Paris, on the right bank as much as the left, sending his characters off into the most refined establishments and the most lowly, and through his succession of novels gives us a real social and gastronomic report on the capital. Some forty restaurants are referred to in The Human Comedy, because he is not satisfied with mentioning only the biggest names. Whether discussing the most spectacular or the most modest, Balzac lingers over the menu. As is always the case with him, he is also interested in the cost. His work, therefore, amounts to a guide, one that discerns the stars but does not neglect the bill. Two restaurants in The Human Comedy warrant the full three stars: Véry and Le Rocher de Cancale. Let us start with the oldest, Véry, because it was here that Balzac took Lucien de Rubempré to be initiated into the joys and perils of Parisian life.

The ninth day of Thermidor* marked the end of Robespierre’s reign and of the terrible excesses of the Terror. The guillotine with its cortege of executioners and victims was transferred from the place de la Concorde to the eastern outskirts of Paris. Parisians could start to breathe more freely. The Terrasse des Feuillants on the northern edge of the Tuileries Gardens, cut off from the road by a wall covered in arbors, was a delightful spot once more. It was here that, under the Directory, two brothers from the Lorraine region set up a magnificent restaurant that they called Chez Véry. Gastronomic purists occasionally criticized the fare for staying so classic and having little inclination for innovation, but the quality of the service, the luxurious décor, and—in particular—the profusion of mirrors attracted and dazzled customers. Véry had to move in 1801 when the rue de Rivoli was laid down. But it did not leave the neighborhood: it moved toward Palais-Royal to take over premises in the rue de Beaujolais which are now home to the restaurant Le Grand Véfour. Like other restaurants, Véry set out individual tables in the main room where columns afforded space between the tables. A movable screen could be used to divide up the room, and Véry went one step further by offering large groups or intimate twosomes private rooms where the waiter never entered without knocking.

Véry’s fame was unstoppable. Russian officers coming into France with the 1814 invasion headed to the Palais-Royal at the gallop, crying “Véry, Véry.” “As soon as a stomach arrives in Paris, that is the first table it wishes to visit, and it will return again and again. For it is quite sure that there, throughout the year, it can eat fish as fresh as in the sea, excellent game, trotters stuffed with truffles, white pudding and black pudding, papillotes of partridge with truffles, brains and even macaroni … Véry is the palace of all restaurants and the restaurant of palaces,” according to a diners’ guide from the Restoration. Hardly surprising then that the hero of Lost Illusions, the young poet Lucien Rubempré, who is reeling after a chilly rebuff from the woman who lured him to Paris, decides to go there to console himself. He has to demonstrate a degree of courage to venture into the best and most elegant restaurant in Paris fresh from his provincial home, when he ate in a restaurant for the first time only the day before.

Lucien is so new to Paris that he has to ask the way to Palais-Royal, but he boldly “went to Véry’s and ordered dinner by way of an initiation into the pleasures of Paris and a solace for his discouragement. A bottle of Bordeaux, oysters from Ostend, a dish of fish, a partridge, a dish of macaroni and dessert—this was the ne plus ultra of his desire. He enjoyed this little debauch, studying the while how to give the Marquise d’Espard proof of his wit, and redeem the shabbiness of his grotesque accoutrements by the display of intellectual riches. The total of the bill drew him down from these dreams, and left him the poorer by fifty of the francs which were to have gone such a long way in Paris. He could have lived in Angouleme for a month on the price of that dinner. Wherefore he closed the door of the palace with awe, thinking as he did so that he should never set foot in it again.”

Balzac himself was often surprised by the extraordinary final sum of his bill at Véry’s, but unlike his character, he had perfected a strategy. He gave a large tip, signed the bill, and had it sent to his publisher by Madame Véry (a tremendously buxom woman, if we are to believe a sketch by the English painter Rowlandson), who presided over the room behind her counter, keeping a watchful eye on waiters and customers while she swiftly totted up figures.

All the same, I wonder whether Balzac did not prefer Véry’s great rival, Le Rocher de Cancale, which was more cheerful and modern with a more relaxed atmosphere, as is fitting for a restaurant in Les Halles, a neighborhood with a greater working-class population than Palais-Royal. And Le Rocher particularly distinguished itself for the quality of its oysters. Now Balzac—and in this he differed little from his contemporaries—seems to have had a real fixation for oysters. Louis XVIII often swallowed a hundred of them at the start of a meal while he was in refuge at Gand during the Hundred Days, the brief period in 1815 when Napoleon reclaimed power after his escape from Elba. As the dining room looked out over the street, the officer on duty had to shoo away street children who heaved themselves up to the windows to count how many platefuls the exiled king ate. It is therefore hardly remarkable that Balzac’s characters consume them with such abandon.

From a conversation reported in The Duchess of Langeais, we are not surprised to learn that the Count of Montriveau, in exile in Saint Petersburg, consoles himself by gulping down a hundred oysters a day, without suffering gout or gallstones as a result of these excesses. The pretty Coralie, wanting to please her lover Lucien, orders oysters with lemon for their first lunch, and in César Birotteau there is nothing peculiar about the fact that the hideous Claparon, the corrupt traveling salesman who lives in a hovel, still manages to eat oysters on a corner of his paper-strewn work desk. Being a true connoisseur, the rich middle-class Balthasar Claes, the unhappy hero of The Quest of the Absolute, always orders them directly from Ostend.

In Paris, the king of oysters was the first owner of Le Rocher de Cancale, Alexis Balaine, who started out selling oysters in Les Halles, in the very heart of the fish market. It was a lucrative position. There was considerable demand for oysters in Paris, given that six million dozen were consumed a year. At the turn of the century, Balaine opened a restaurant on the corner of the rue Montorgueil and the rue Mandar; it was a good, second-tier establishment that attracted attention from connoisseurs, particularly Cambacérès, who was then second consul. The regime of the Consulate was instituted after the coup d’état of the eighteenth of Brumaire, when Napoleon Bonaparte seized power, and lasted from 1799 to 1804. Bonaparte, who had adopted the title of first consul, actually governed; Cambacérès, who was a legal specialist, and Lebrun, the third consul, who was in charge of financial affairs, both aided him but only had consultative powers. Cambacérès’s patronage could make a great difference for a restaurant because the excellence of his table was so well documented. One anecdote claims that, in 1801, enraged by an order from Bonaparte to reserve the postal service specifically for dispatches, he went straight to the first consul to protest, saying, as the rumor has it: “How do you expect us to make friends if we do not offer them sought-after delicacies? It is through food that one governs.” Confronted with such indignation, Bonaparte gave in to him and allowed him to continue taking delivery of turkeys stuffed with truffles from the provinces, pâté from Strasbourg, hams from Mayence, and his rock partridges, which he so preferred to the gray variety.

Soon the Société des Épicuriens (Epicurean Society) started holding their dinners there. Le Rocher de Cancale was launched, prices soared, and it sustained its reputation for many years. Balaine fine-tuned an exceptional menu and perfected stunning lighting but continued to offer the most simple dishes: ham with spinach, vol-au-vent pastries with cream, and, of course, oysters, all year round, always of the finest quality, even in stifling weather. In Balzac’s day, Balaine had already retired and sold his business to Borel (who had been tutored by one of the Prince de Condé’s former chefs) for 170,000 francs, a very considerable sum, equivalent to the dowry for a daughter of a marshal of the Empire, but this did the restaurant no harm at all. Balzac granted it preference, as is proved by the invitation he sent to one of his admirers, a young Russian called Monsieur de Lentz. The latter had insisted most vigorously that he wanted to meet him, Balzac reported to Madame Hanska. He eventually yielded and organized a dinner at Le Rocher with his friend Léon Gozlan and Victor Hugo, whom he invited with these words:

"My dear Master, I wish to speak to you and, as this entails a dinner to be had at the Rocher de Cancale this Thursday, take on no engagements and reserve your evening for me; I shall come to explain the above tomorrow morning, Wednesday. With my heartfelt regards,"
...

There will be only one Russian who adores you, Léon Gozlan and myself. Sadly, we know nothing of the menu, except that Balzac and Lentz nibbled on the odd prawn and radish while waiting for Hugo. They were welcomed most considerately by Borel, who looked after them as well he knew how for his most famous customers, and were seated before the most sumptuous and appetizing of spreads, where “the beauty of each piece, all braised and garnished, their freshness, their cleanness created a ravishing sight.”

The present-day equivalent of Le Rocher de Cancale would be a cross between Le Taillevent, the most highly reputed restaurant in Paris, and a large, varied, and bustling brasserie like La Coupole, with incomparable dishes and an interesting clientele in which politicians, journalists, writers, editors, actors, and high society all rub shoulders. It is hardly surprising that Balzac sends the whole of his Human Comedy there, some for a lover’s meal, others for business meetings, late-night suppers with courtesans, or society dinners, from 1815 right through to 1845, when the restaurant closed.* De Marsay goes there to quell his impatience and “drank like a fish, ate like a German” while waiting for his appointment with the mysterious Paquita; notary clerks gather here for a blowout feast that starts at three o’clock but does not end till ten! It is here that, in Lost Illusions, du Châtelet brings Madame de Bargeton, the great lady newly arrived from the provinces with her young lover, Lucien de Rubempré, the very evening of their arrival, in order to make sure the lady understands his standing as an elegant Parisian who feels “quite in his element [there]. He smiled at his rival’s hesitations, at his astonishment, at the questions he put, at the little mistakes which the latter ignorantly made, much as an old salt laughs at an apprentice who has not found his sea legs.” Knowing how to order from “waiters, whom a provincial might have taken for diplomatists but for their age, [who] stood solemnly, as knowing themselves to be overpaid,” and leafing confidently through a menu, required a certain savoir-faire that Lucien quickly learned when he started spending time with actresses—rather more cheery and indulgent guides than du Châtelet, who so longs to humiliate him.

It has to be said that the endless menu, which was printed in four columns of small print, could have been mistaken for Le Moniteur Universel, the government’s official newspaper. Like Véry, Borel offered over one hundred dishes. Veal alone could be ordered roasted, fried, stuffed with peas, as a blanquette, a fricandeau, or a plate of sliced meat, and as medallions, brains, marinated ear, head, tongue, sweetbreads, or chops. (We should not forget that the restaurateur often bought the whole carcass and was therefore impelled to sell not only the noble cuts, such as loin and rib, but the entire animal.) On top of this, the vocabulary, which was inherited from great houses where chefs had done their apprenticeship before the Revolution, was often impenetrable to the uninitiated. Was it better to order Toadstone Pigeon or “invest” in Pigeon à la financière? What on earth could an epigram of lamb be? How to choose between sauces that called themselves Hollandaise, German, Spanish, Italian, Bavarian, à la pluche, à la barigoule, and à la Robert?

This nomenclature continued to produce astonishment for a long time, according to Flaubert. Is it a political gesture to refuse a “Pudding à la d’Orléans” and should legitimists order their turbot “à la Chambord”?* To facilitate diners’ choices, a journalist called Honoré Blanc had the idea of collating menus from twenty-one restaurants, and translating them into simple French so that all apprentice gastronomes could order their meals without making fools of themselves in front of head-waiters who were far more familiar with the terms than their nouveaux riches customers.

Nevertheless, despite difficulties in choosing a meal, everyone was flattered to be invited to Le Rocher de Cancale. In The Muse of the Department, Dinah invites her lover there to soften the blow of her decision to leave him; in Lost Illusions, the awful Vautrin makes the most of an exquisite dinner to persuade the young courtesan Esther to obey him blindly; Baron Hulot takes Valérie Marneffe there again and again to win her favor in Cousin Betty. Even the Duchess of Maufrigneuse, who is too refined to go to restaurants, is intrigued by Le Rocher: “she liked anything amusing, anything improvised. Bohemian restaurants lay outside her experience; so d’Esgrignon [the young man wooing her] got up a charming little party at the Rocher de Cancale for her benefit, asked all the amiable scamps whom she cultivated and sermonized, and there was a vast amount of merriment, wit, and gaiety, and a corresponding bill to pay.” Despite the pretty Diane’s clearly demonstrated independence of mind, Balzac spares her from witnessing the final ending of Cousin Betty. At Le Rocher de Cancale that particular evening, “ravishing women walked through the dining room towards a large private room, their satin gowns trimmed with English lace in such quantities it would have fed an entire village for a month, wearing rare flowers in their hair and decked in pearls and diamonds.”

Gathered around a table decorated with the silver service that Borel reserved for this sort of feast and under streaming lights, the noisy, laughing courtesans, surrounded by admirers, tucked into oysters and, still chattering and joking, started in on soups, poultry, pâtés, fish, and roast meats. What are we to think of the forty-two bottles consumed by fourteen diners? The figure seems unrealistic and yet, throughout the century, whether people ate alone, with one other person, or in groups, they drank heavily. Flaubert finds nothing remarkable in pointing out that in A Sentimental Education, Arnoux, the middle-class Parisian, and Frédéric, the provincial young student, order a bottle of Sauternes, a bottle of Burgundy, some champagne, and liqueurs at lunchtime. True, when Frédéric arrives home, even though he has drunk less than his companion, he feels he needs a siesta. Théophile Gautier once saw Balzac celebrate sending a manuscript off to his editor by downing “four bottles of Vouvray white wine, one of the most intoxicating known to man and [which] did nothing to alter his sturdy mind and only served to add an extra sparkle to his gaiety.” Wine did not have the least effect on him, perhaps, he thought, because of his longstanding habit of drinking coffee. All the same, Balzac did admit to being a “costly guest.”

So people drank a great deal at the time, and very rarely water. The only characters in The Human Comedy who drink nothing but water are the writer Daniel d’Arthez, the very picture of the idealistic artist, and the Marquise d’Espard, an inveterate coquette who wants to preserve her youthful looks. Balzac mentions one other man who drinks water, but he does so in very specific circumstances described in The Red Inn. In this passage, the banker Taillefer is at a dinner and hears another guest telling the story of a mysterious murder. As far as Taillefer is concerned, there is no mystery at all because the murderer is none other than himself. In his nervous state, he knocks back two whole carafes of water in quick succession, thereby awaking suspicions. Finally, at the end of The Splendors and Miseries of Courtesans, when Vautrin is reeling with concern about Lucien’s fate, he drinks a tub of water in his cell at the Conciergerie. In Balzac’s world, drinking a glass of water is never a natural gesture, it is a clue.

Balzac has too much fun at Le Rocher through his characters to give the same weight to the other great restaurants. He does, however, refer to Frères-Provençaux (Provence Brothers), whose owners, three cousins in fact, came up to Paris during the Revolution and moved into premises very close to Palais-Royal, on the rue Helvétius (now the rue Sainte-Anne), opposite the rue Louvois. On tables covered with oilcloths, they introduced Provence cuisine to Parisians, who delighted in their bouillabaisse and their brandades. After the terrible years of Robespierre’s reign, the Brothers moved to the galerie de Beaujolais and, although the prices were more modest than in the most famous restaurants, the cuisine matched theirs.

But Balzac does not linger there long and sends only unsympathetic characters to eat there, such as Félix de Vandenesse’s parents or the fake banker, the loathsome Claparon, who contributes to the ruin of César Birotteau, the honest perfumer brought down by his own credulity. The restaurant may well have been excellent, but in the Balzac guide, the Brothers do not warrant the stars of high repute. Nevertheless, the place continued to thrive, and Flaubert’s Arnoux was still eating there in 1848, complaining all the while that its food was not as impeccable as it once had been. What Balzac really did not like, in fact, was the Palais-Royal neighborhood.

It seems that from 1830 onward fashionable people actually started tiring of the district. Men might, for example, still meet at Grignon’s for lunch, but these lunches were more ostentatious than elegant and always disintegrated into drunken scenes. This was clearly a bad sign for the area. Somehow, Palais-Royal (which had been the belly of pleasure and business throughout the eighteenth century, with is galleries lined with shops, cafés, restaurants, gaming houses, and discreet brothels) had become unpleasant and even, in places, sinister. Esther, one of the famous courtesans of The Human Comedy, lives there for a while on the rue de Langlade, a “narrow street, dark and muddy ... [that] wears at night an aspect of mystery full of contrast.” In Gambara, Balzac has his hero walk along the rue Froidmanteau, “a dirty, poky, disreputable street—a sort of sewer tolerated by the police close to the purified purlieus of the Palais-Royal, as an Italian majordomo allows a careless servant to leave the sweepings of the rooms in a corner of the staircase. The young man hesitated. He might have been a bedizened citizen’s wife craning her neck over a gutter swollen by the rain.” Balzac uses the word bourgeoise for this “citizen’s wife,” and the word is chosen deliberately: the shamelessness and vice around Palais-Royal displeased the burgeoning bourgeoisie.

From then on, the boulevard des Italiens—the thoroughfare that “anyone who was anyone crossed at least once a day”—became fashionable. In an article about new neighborhoods, Balzac enthuses: “The boulevards are now to Paris what the Grand Canal was to Venice … the Corso to Rome ... the Graben to Vienna … that is, where freedom of intelligence is to be found, and life itself.” It was the site of choice for the great cafés, Hardy’s on the corner of the rue Lafite, Riche’s on the corner of the rue Peletier, as well as the Café de Paris and the Café des Anglais. Of course, these “cafés” were restaurants, but new-wave restaurants, not as serious as the former greats of Palais-Royal that focused so intently on gastronomy. These were restaurants where cool counted for more than cost. People went there to be seen rather than to have a delectable meal, although the food was excellent at the Café des Anglais. The latter had the added advantage of having twenty-two private rooms. It is not surprising then that the pretty Delphine de Nucingen, who takes little persuasion to cheat her fat banker of a husband with the latest young men, has access to the place. It is from here that she orders a dinner to be delivered to the bachelor apartment she has just set up for her new lover Eugène de Rastignac. A few years later, Rastignac becomes a regular at the establishment, and is often seen there with the king of dandies, Henri de Marsay. While the cooking may have been discernibly worse at the Café de Paris, the decor was very refined, the furnishings were comfortable, the silverware was always gleaming, and this was where wealthy young things liked to be seen. They were happy to spend time there.

One of the great cafés is conspicuous by its absence in The Human Comedy: the Café Hardy, the place that introduced the déjeuner à la fourchette (fork lunch), so named because a waiter would stand in front of a large buffet and use a long fork to reach for the cold cuts pointed out by each customer. Indeed, when it opened during the Revolution, the owner, Madame Hardy, served no hot food. Her lone male customers ate oysters, tripe, cold meats, and pâtés from about eleven o’clock in the morning. Interestingly, salads were available, but no vegetables were served. For dessert there were table creams, charlottes, and ice creams. Then, when lunch became a more important meal under the Empire, Madame Hardy set up a large grill beside the buffet displaying her wares. Customers looked on while the headwaiter cooked breaded pigs’ trotters with truffles, kidneys or chicken fillets served with the “fires of hell,” which meant covered in a layer of salt and pepper strong enough to take the roof off your mouth. But, to its great regret, Hardy’s, which was wildly successful under the Empire, never established itself as an evening restaurant. It did not recover from its founder’s retirement, and lost much of its standing during the Restoration. It was relaunched many years later, in 1839, under the name Maison Dorée, a mixed establishment that was often frequented by women best described as escorts and where any respectable woman would be offended to be invited.

Lunch now became a meal that was highly prized by the young. Good manners dictated that this meal should not be taken too seriously, although it had become very substantial. In an article published in La Mode, Balzac advocated a sort of gracious disorder for lunch. Demonstrating too much elegance at this particular meal was the height of vulgarity. In The Unconscious Comedians, Sylvestre Gazonal, a lace maker recently arrived in Paris from the eastern Pyrenees on a business trip, is invited to lunch by his cousin, the fashionable painter Léon de Lora. The provincial guest makes the mistake of wearing his bright blue suit with gold buttons over a shirt with a jabot and a white waistcoat, as well as yellow gloves. Worse still, he commits the blunder of arriving early. Lunching at ten is considered ridiculous in Paris, the headwaiter points out to him: gentlemen here lunch between eleven o’clock and noon. Lora and Bixiou, his caricaturist friend, duly arrive at half past eleven, wearing whatever came to hand, according to Gazonal. They have a “monster” of a meal, “in the course of which they consumed six dozen Ostend oysters, half a dozen cutlets à la Soubise, chicken à la Marengo, a lobster mayonaise [sic], mushrooms on toast, and green peas, to say nothing of hors d’oeuvres, washed down with three bottles of bordeaux, three of champagne, several cups of coffee and liqueurs.” Gazonal was less impressed by the food than by the quantity of gold coins handed over in payment. He even noticed the tip the waiter was given, thirty sous, a day’s wages for a laborer, he pointed out to his friends back home in the country.

By Anka Muhlstein in "Balzac's Omelette", Other Press, New York, 2010, originally published in French as "Garçon, un Cent d’Huîtres, Balzac et la Table", translated by Adriana Hunter, excerpts chapter II. Adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.