Philology and Cuisine in De Re Coquinaria

The text of Apicius' De Re Coquinaria contains many disputed readings. Through bisociation, the use of one discipline to illuminate another, some of them can be resolved. To put it simply, the translation should fit the plate. Just as Homer, the poet of the Achaians, wrote a description of a Troy whose existence was proven by close textual readings and subsequent field work by Schliemann, so Apicius, the Roman artist of cuisine, left recipes whose language can be emended and whose tastes can be verified through practical experiment in the modern kitchen.

The limits of a strictly philological approach to Apicius became apparent when, during my composition of The Roman Cookery of Apicius, the translation of a number of recipe titles was inconsistent with the technical information which followed. This was extraordinary because of Apicius' imperative, laconic style, whose formulae more resemble the ritualistic epithets of the annals of the Hittite kings than the informed, conversational prose of an Elizabeth David or an M. F. K. Fisher. In his text there is little question of subjectivity in the nomenclature, or puns or literary allusions to test the reader. Indeed, in all ten books of the Coquinaria and in the later and derivative Excerpts of Vinidarius only twice does Apicius emerge from anonymity, at 4.2.12 ("ad mensam nemo agnoscet quid manducet"), and at 1.9.1 (miraberis); and, in any case, I think these uncharacteristic asides are really the happy observations of a copyist. The third atypical remark which puzzles is a reference to a lost and presumably illustrated version of his book. The reference is tantalizing and colloquial, the words perhaps of an editor: "patellam aeneam qualem debes habere infra ostenditur" (4.2.14).

The Coquinaria is not written in the colloquial Latin of Petronius' Satyricon, with which it is probably contemporary. His text is spare to the point of postmodern bleakness; there is nothing, except some of the actual ingredients, of the decadence of the Cena Trimalchionis. It is a collection of lists and brief instructions, often formulaic, never personal. It follows, then, that what remains is the essential manual, stripped of nuance and personality through centuries of use and transmission, rather like the spare lists of foodstuffs written by Anthimus in his De Observatione Ciborum or in Gargilius' De Hortis. The words must literally convey their meanings to the careful cook. The temptation to be swayed by a perhaps unusual or delicious adjective must be resisted. Although his text refers obliquely to his predecessors (the authors of lost Sicilian, Greek, and Egyptian monographs) and in spite of the fact that the sea routes which supplied Italian markets with oriental spices in the first century reached as far as southern China and the Banda Sea, the ascription of an historically interesting definition should be resisted unless the culinary facts are convincing.

An illustration of a probably misunderstood recipe title occurs at 5.3.3, Pisum Indicum, in the Milham text (1969). The variant readings are pisum indicam in the Codex Vaticanus and indicum pisum in the New York Academy of Medicine Codex.

These phrases take the accusative because the verb coques is assumed, while the gender is arbitrary throughout the section of recipes for peas in book 5, Ospreon. At 5.3.5, for instance, one reads Pisam Vitellianam sive fabam and later at 5.3.8, Pisam adulteram versatilem. These cases are consistent; but in the phrase pisum indicam the gender is confused, and in the phrase indicum pisum the syntax is irregular, since all of the other eight recipes for peas begin with Pisum, Pisam, Aliter pisa, or Aliter pisam. These variations are caused by the mixing of classical and late Latin forms in a text much altered by the long history of its transcription. Another example of unusual, that is English, syntax occurs with Frontinianum porcellum (8.7.10), "Frontinian pork."

If one rejects the Vatican and the New York codex readings, the ambiguous...