< PreviousCQ10Cahn’s Quarterly 3/2017When Trimalchio invited the servants to join the party and Encolpius had to share his couch with aforesaid cook, who “reek[ed] of pickles and sauces,” the bounds of good taste were most definitely overstepped. The friends’ at-tempt to leave failed, however, for no guest was ever let out through the same gate: “‘They come in one way, and go out another.’” Thus, they were obliged to witness the staging of Trimalchio’s funeral before they could flee through the entrance demolished by the fire-men. (70-78).Although the narrator Encolpius emphasizes his disgust at what he sees and endeavours to dissociate himself from it, his behaviour is also characterized by curiosity, admiration and delight in eating. This ambivalent attitude towards culinary luxury and extravagance in general is typical of Roman society in the Late Republic and Early Imperial Period.From the standpoint of moral philosophy, there can be no question that a life governed by the principles of simplicity, moderation and frugality – epitomized by the idealized image of rural life – is to be preferred to the opulence of city life that is dearly bought with worries. The fable with which Horace ends Satire 2.6 sums up this attitude: A town mouse visits a country mouse in his humble hole. Even the best, carefully saved titbits which the country mouse offers his friend cannot tempt his discerning palate. The town mouse suggests that the country mouse ac-company him to the city and experience first-hand how wonderful life is there. In a mag-nificent townhouse the mice recline on scarlet blankets and enjoy the leftovers of a feast celebrated the previous evening, when all of a sudden Molossian hounds burst into the room and chase them away. “Then says the coun-try mouse: ‘This life’s no use to me: and so, farewell! My woodland hole, safe from such scares will comfort me despite the humble le-gumes that make up my fare.’” (81-111).Legumes are also eaten by Horace in the sim-ple dinner described in Satire 1.6. “Then I return home to a dish of leek, chickpeas and lagana. […] a white stone bears two cups and a ladle; a cheap bowl, two oil-flasks and a sau-cer stand nearby: all Campanian ware.” (115-118). Like the country mouse, Horace declares that he is satisfied with such a simple life, but Satire 2.7 gives reason to doubt the truthful-ness of his avowal. The slave Davus makes Recipe from AntiquityDisastrous Dinners“It was enough to make you spew. Trimal-chio […] in his repulsive drunkenness or-dered trumpeters to be summoned to the dining-room. Reclining on a mound of pil-lows, […] he said: ‘Imagine I am dead. Play something nice.’ In harmony, the trumpeters blared out the dead march. […] The city sen-tinels, thinking that Trimalchio's house was on fire, suddenly kicked in the door […]. We seized this most opportune moment [and] took to our heels.” (Petronius, Satyricon, 78). Brooding over the series of misadventures they had undergone and “discussing how to avoid the storm-clouds ahead,” the three friends Encolpius, Asclytos and Giton were delighted to receive a surprise invitation to dinner at Trimalchio’s, a freed slave who, as a shrewd businessman, had amassed immense riches but unfortunately was not as success-ful in attaining social refinement. To be able to wallow in luxury for an evening promised to be just the right thing for them. However, following a “most elegant hors d’oeuvre” fea-turing olives, dormice dipped in honey and sprinkled with poppy-seed, hot sausages, Syr-ian plums and pomegranate seeds, the plea-sure of eating was increasingly paired with disgust. To begin with, Trimalchio simply teased his guests with the possibility that the food served might be repugnant: When, for the first course, peahens’ eggs were distribut-ed, Trimalchio cautioned, “‘My friends, I gave instructions for these peahens’ eggs to be hatched under the hen. Good Lord, I’m afraid the chickens are on their way out! However, let’s see if they are still soft enough to eat.’” Encolpius almost discarded his helping, “as it seemed already to have hardened into a chick-en, but then I heard an experienced guest say: ‘There is sure to be something good in this.’ I poked my finger through the shell and found inside a plump little fig-pecker, coated in pep-pered egg yolk.” (26, 31, 33).As the banquet progressed and the guests’ initial curiosity was satisfied, the culinary excesses and distasteful behaviour of their host and his entourage became increasingly unbearable. For a moment the merriment of the guests, which had quite vanished, was re-stored by a sweet course composed of cakes and mock fruits that “when disturbed by the slightest touch, began to squirt out saffron,” the juice even shooting into their faces. How-ever, Encolpius and his friends would have preferred “death by starvation” rather than taste the “preposterous dish” served soon af-terwards. “Placed before us was a fat goose surrounded by fish and every kind of bird. Tri-malchio then announced: ‘My friends, all that you see before us here is made out of a single body. […] my cook has made all these out of pork. There can’t be a more valuable man any-where. If you ask him, he’ll make a fish out of a womb, a pigeon out of bacon, […] a hen out of pork-knuckle. So I [coined] a suitable name for him: he’s called Daedalus.’” (60-70).Rainbow trout with squillas natantis cooked in ius mixtum. A SILVER OINOCHOE. H. 18.3 cm. Roman, 2nd-3rd cent. A.D. CHF 7,800. A BLACK-GLAZED KANTHAROS. H. 9.2 cm. Clay. Campanian, mid-4th cent. B.C. CHF 1,200.By Yvonne YiuCQ11Cahn’s Quarterly 3/2017use of Saturnalian license to accuse his mas-ter of double standards and fickleness, illus-trating this with various examples including that of food and dining: “If by chance you’re not asked out to dinner, you praise your quiet dish of cabbage (securum holus) […] and you call yourself happy and hug yourself that you are not obliged to party […]. But if Maecenas sends you a late invitation at twilight, you scream: ‘Where’s the lamp-oil? Quick, are you deaf?’ at the top of your voice, then off you scurry (cum magno blateras clamore fugis-que).” (2.7.29-35).Thus, for Horace, if we believe Davus, the prospect of an elegant dinner sweeps away any moral maxims or reservations. However, to partake of a sumptuously laden table, even that of a cultured man, can be a risky venture. In Epode 3 Horace relates that Maecenas, in a joking mood (iocose Maecenas), took pleasure in almost poisoning his guests with garlic (cf. CQ 1/2017). It is even more perilous to entrust oneself to the cuisine of a vulgarian. The din-ner at Trimalchio’s is not the only example of this. Prudently, in Satire 2.8 Horace does not accompany his friends to the banquet given by the parvenu Nasidienus, but listens at a safe distance to the account of the disastrous dinner in which one fiasco follows another.With annoying pedantry, Nasidienus explains the special features of each dish and his par-asite Nomenatus is entrusted with the task of “point[ing] out with his finger anything that escaped [the guests’] attention”. However, the wordy commentaries exasperate the guests and cast a dubious light on the food that Na-sidienus thus tries to blandish. The Lucanian boar which is served at the beginning of the meal is surrounded by “pungent (acria) tur-nips, lettuces and radishes” as befitting the belligerent temper of the beast (acris apros; Epod. 1.31-32). It was “caught when the soft south wind blew (leni fuit austro captus).” (6-9). This poetic juxtaposition of fierce and gentle and turns out to be a caustic intertext: In Satire 2.2.41-52 the south wind is also invoked, but here its task is to breathe cor-ruption onto the gluttons’ food: “But O [say I] ye southern blasts, be present to taint the delicacies of the [gluttons]: though the boar and turbot newly taken are rank, when sur-feiting abundance provokes the sick stomach; and when the sated guttler prefers turnips and sharp elecampane.” Against this backdrop, it is all the more ambivalent when Fundatius goes on to relate that he and his friends “were eating oysters, fish and fowl hiding far differ-ent flavours than usual.” (27-28).The pièce de resistance of the dinner is a lam-prey (murena) “stretched out on a dish with prawns swimming around it (inter squillas natantis). ‘This,’ the host said, ‘was caught be-fore spawning, for after they spawn the flesh Horace’s simple dinner (Satire 1.6.115)Horace eats a dish of leeks, chickpeas and lagana (thin pastry sheets which are similar to pasta, flatbread or pancakes, which were baked, fried or boiled). In Horace’s Satire, there are no clues as to how the three ingre-dients were combined. However, this tasty chickpea and leek stew with crispbread would certainly have pleased him:is inferior.’” What a paradoxical dish in which not only the life of the fish but also that of its young is sacrificed for the pleasure of eat-ing and in which the dead prawns seem to be alive! The broth (ius mixtum) in which they are cooked contains “fish sauce made with juice of the Spanish mackerel” and vinegar, both the products of fermentation, a process whose proximity to that of putrefaction is under-lined: The Methymnean grape is “vitiated” or “corrupted” in order to produce vinegar (ace-to, quod Methymnaeam vitio mutaverit uvam). Furthermore, deliberately impure ingredients are added: unwashed sea urchins (inlutos echinos) supposedly ensure a better flavour. In view of these characteristics, amongst other things, the dish has been interpreted both as a criticism of Roman law (ius) and as a meta-phor for the genre of satire. Be that as it may, the lamprey was robbed of its life in vain, for before it could be eaten, “the wall-hanging over it collapsed heavily onto the dish, drag-ging down more black dust than the North wind blows from Campania’s fields.” (41-56). Nasidienus “wept, head bowed, as if his son had met an untimely death.” However, when Balatro ended his consolatory speech with the words “‘But as with a general, so a host: adversity often reveals his genius, success conceals it,’” Nasidienus took courage and, to the astonishment of his guests, put on his sandals and left the room. Soon thereafter he returned “with an altered countenance, as if to repair [his] ill-fortune by art.” Slaves car-ried in a “vast dish” with the mangled mem-bers (discerpta membra) of a crane, torn-off shoulders of hare (armos avolsos), blackbirds with their breasts burned off (pectore adusto) and pigeons without their rumps (sine clune): a downright culinary massacre. The key word “burnt bread” in Balatro’s speech may have re-minded Nasidienus of the remaining courses of the banquet, which had been forgotten amidst the turmoil caused by the falling wall-hang-ings. One imagines Nasidienus sneaking off to the kitchen and attempting to save what could be saved, separating what was still edible from what was hopelessly burnt, in part with his bare hands. His explanation that the food was “much tastier” served in this manner, did not, however, convince his guests. “In revenge we fled from him, so as not to taste them, as if Canidia had breathed on them with a breath more deadly than African serpents.” (58-95).Cook 150 g chickpeas in salted water until they are soft; drain. Finely chop 1 leek and fry lightly in olive oil. Mix together with the chickpeas and season to taste. For the lagana make a supple dough out of 200 g flour, 100 ml water, 30 ml olive oil and 5 g salt. Add herbs or finely chopped olives for a more savoury version. Roll out into thin sheets, cut into the desired shape and bake for ca. 6-8 minutes at 200 °C.Fish and crustaceans poached in Nasidie-nius’ ius mixtum (Satire 2.8.45-53)The broth in which Nasidienus’ lamprey and prawns swim sounds rather exotic. This is, however, largely due to the elabo-rate choice of words. In fact, its compo-sition is very similar to that suggested in the six recipes for ius for boiled or roasted lamprey in Apicius’ De re coquinaria (nos. 448-453). All the recipes call for wine, vinegar, oil, pepper and various herbs. The main difference is that Apicius adds hon-ey and dried fruit to his iura, giving them the sweet taste so typical of his cookery style, whereas Nasidienus uses rocket and elecampane to create a bitter flavour. As lampreys are difficult to procure in Swit-zerland, I used rainbow trout instead.For the broth, bring the following ingre-dients to a boil: 1.5 l water, 250 ml red wine, 50 ml olive oil, 50 ml red wine vinegar, 50 ml fish sauce, white pepper, a handful of chopped rocket and 1 tsp elecampane root. Add sea urchins or fish stock if desired. Place the fish and crusta-ceans into the hot, but no longer boiling broth and poach gently for ca. 15 minutes. A GUTTUS WITH GORGO MEDUSA. D. 10,5 cm. Clay. Campanian, ca. 350-330 v. Chr. CHF 1,060 CQ12Cahn’s Quarterly 3/2017Attic vase paintings of the Archaic and Classical Period frequently pres-ent one of countless variations of a single motif: that of warriors arming themselves ready to set off for war.This is the scene that fills the main picture field, framed by rather plain ornamental bands, on side A of this large column krater. Drawn in profile is a quadriga facing right that is still stationary, although there are signs that its departure is imminent: One nervous horse has raised a foreleg in readiness, and the reins are being pulled taut by the charioteer standing in the chariot box at left. A young man with curly hair and a slender, beardless face, he is clad in a long, finely ribbed robe, rather like the one worn by the famous bronze charioteer of Delphi. As a youth no older than an Ephebe, he is smaller than the second male figure facing him in the middle of the scene, who is visibly older and bearded and is shown wearing a headband and a long, billowing cloak. In his lowered left hand he holds the warrior’s weapons, specifically a shield, sword, and lance that are partially obscured by the four horses standing in front of them. In his right hand he is ostentatiously holding aloft a Corinthian helmet with magnificent crest and tail, which as protection for the head was traditionally a highly charged piece of equipment. We are reminded of Homer’s account of Achilles arming for battle outside Troy:Highlight“And he lifted the mighty helm and set it upon his head; and it shone as it were a star – the helm with crest of horse-hair, and around it waved the plumes of gold that Hephaestos had set thick about the crest." (Iliad, 19, 380-383).The narratives of such vase paintings cannot, and should not, be read literally. Otherwise, we would have to wonder how the young man will ever be able to take the helmet and other weapons be-ing proffered, given that he evidently needs both hands merely to keep the horses in check, his wide-open eyes firmly fixed on them? The subject is rather the pulling power of the war chariot, the high social status conveyed by the four noble steeds (here shown multiply overlapping), the emblematic significance of the helmet, and the symbolically charged gesture of the older man. The quality of the painter is evident both in the articulation of these ciphers and in the composition itself (the diagonals inter-secting at the tail stump of the horse at the front) and clearly he was not one of the greatest. Following the lead of Sir John Beazley (1885–1970), many archae-ologists of the twentieth century devoted a great deal of time and effort to classifying the various Attic vase painters, distinguishing one hand from another, and compiling entire oeuvres. The ceram-ic vessels that they studied often presented mysteries that remain unsolved to this day. Thus there are no fewer than three different painters (easily told apart) who signed a range of vases: “Polygno-tos painted it.” Whether even one of them was really called Poly- gnotos is uncertain. It is more likely that all three of them wished to be considered direct followers of the famous panel painter of that name. Polygnotus of Thasos, who was also active as a bronze sculptor, was granted Athenian citizenship and painted the Stoa Poikile of the agora in Athens (in ca. 457 B.C.) with multi-figural cycles of both mythical and historical Athenian victories on the battlefield, from Troy to the recently fought Battle of Marathon.While no one who chose a pseudonym linking him to such a paint-er could be lacking in self-confidence, the aim was presumably to assert analogies of content, too. There is a piece by “our” painter signed “Polygnotos” showing antithetical tripods and Nikes deco-rating the bulls waiting to be sacrificed in honour of the victory. His oeuvre comprises over sixty vases, while at least another ten have been attributed to his workshop. But back to the vase at Gallery Cahn: The reverse side B shows a simple, but by no means trivial scene. Standing in the middle is a woman clad in a long robe. Her body is viewed frontally with her right hand planted firmly on her hip, while to the left and right of her are two younger men, who clearly are no longer mere youths since they each hold a gnarled staff and wear the cloak of an Athe-nian. All three are gesticulating vigorously – that is to say, they are doing what they have learned to do in a democracy, namely debating. And unless the three are anonymous citizens of the polis, then viewed together with the “father figure” on the front, they are most probably the family of the warrior about to set off for war.A Classical Warriors' Departure The intimate visual world in the eyes of the democratic polis By Martin FlasharA RED-FIGURE COLUMN KRATER ATTRIBUTED TO THE NAUSIKAA PAINTER. H. 37.5 cm. Clay. Attic, ca. 450 B.C. Published. Price on requestNext >