As a matter of fact, the various differences of opinion in minor questions are of little import to us as compared with the delightful fact that we here possess an Apicius, not only a genuine Roman, but an “honest-to-goodness” human being besides. A jolly fellow is Apicius with a basketful of happy messages for a hungry world. We therefore want to make this work of ours the entertainment and instruction the subject deserves to be. If we succeed in proving that Apicius is not a mummified, bone-dry classic but that he has “the goods,” namely some real human merit we shall have accomplished more than the savants to whom this popularization of our hero has been denied so far.
After all, we live in a practical age, and it is the practical value, the matter-of-fact contribution to our happiness and well-being by the work of any man, ancient or modern, which counts in these days of materialism.
So let us tell the truth, and let us sum up in a few words:
We do not know who Apicius is. We do not know who wrote the book bearing his name. We do not know when it was written, or whether it is of Greek or of Roman origin. Furthermore, we do not understand many of its precepts!
We do know, however, that it is the oldest work dealing with the food and the cookery of the ancient world’s greatest empire, and that, as such, it is of the utmost interest and importance to us.
In this sense we have endeavored to treat the book.
Dining in Apician Style
Past attempts to dine à l’Apicius invariably have ended disastrously. Eager gourmets, ever on the look-out for something new, and curious scholars have attempted to prepare dishes in the manner prescribed by Apicius. Most of such experimenters have executed the old precepts literally, instead of trying to enter into their spirit.
“Das Land der Griechen mit der Seele suchen!” says Goethe. The friends of Apicius who failed to heed this advice, also failed to comprehend the precepts, they were cured of their curiosity, and blamed the master for their own shortcomings. Christina, queen of Sweden, was made ill by an attempt of this kind to regale her majesty with a rare Apician morsel while in Italy as the guest of some noble. But history is dark on this point. Here perhaps Apicius is blamed for a dastardly attempt on the royal lady’s life for this daughter of the Protestant Gustavus Adolphus was in those days not the only crowned head in danger of being dispatched by means of some tempting morsel smilingly proffered by some titled rogue. A deadly dish under the disguise of “Apicius” must have been particularly convenient in those days for such sinister purposes. The sacred obligations imposed upon “barbarians” by the virtue of hospitality had been often forgotten by the super-refined hosts of the Renaissance.
But Apicius continued to prove unhealthful to a number of later amateurs. Lister, with his perfectly sincere endeavor to popularize Apicius, achieved precisely the opposite. The publication of his work in London, 1705, was the signal for a number of people, scholars and others, to crack jokes, not at the expense of Apicius, as they imagined, but to expose their own ignorance. Smollet, Dr. W. King (“Poor starving wit”—Swift), Dr. Hunter and others. More recently, a party of English dandies, chaperoned, if we remember correctly, by the ponderous George Augustus Sala, fared likewise badly in their attempt to stage a Roman feast, being under the impression that the days of Tiberius and the mid-Victorian era may be joined with impunity, à la minute, as it were.