“…and there I have sailed the seas and come to the holy city of Byzantium” – W.B Yeats, Sailing to Byzantium
There are few places on earth which greet the sea traveller with a breathtaking sense of awe: Manhattan, with its tight-packed skyscrapers, the Grand Canal in Venice, the fortifications of Valletta while entering the Grand Harbour, and Istanbul, which once was known as Constantinople, on a high and narrow peninsula, with the Marmara on one side and the deeper water of the Golden Horn on the other. Its skyline is dominated by domes and pinnacles, huge hulks of buildings; everywhere, there are ships of all descriptions. Modern-day Istanbul – to my mind, there is nowhere in the world quite like it; it is a city where I could lose myself amongst those millions.
Constantinople was founded in 324AD, as the capital of the Roman Empire in the East, an empire which evolved into something separate with a culture all of its own: Byzantium. Art, culture and the culinary delights flourished with an eastern influence on that of Rome. This city of palaces and churches, of intrigue and intricate decoration, of gold and incense, tantalized every one of the senses. Dining at the Byzantine court was a tremendous affair, if the Bishop of Cremona can be taken as a reliable witness. “Everything was served in vessels, not of silver, but of gold,” he wrote, describing how the “solid food” was brought in “on three golden bowls which are too heavy for men to lift”. These bowls were borne in to the hall on pallets covered in purple cloth. The Bishop of Cremona may have entered the palace after passing by the Hippodrome and, immediately opposite the Hagia Sofia, the Bucoleon. Here, he may have been entertained in a palace full of astonishment and sleight of hand. When he reached the imperial presence, the bishop would have found the emperor on a fabulous throne, covered in embroidered and jewel-encrusted robes of many colours and dripping in diamonds. Before the bishop could perform his homage, the emperor would have been whisked into the air to the sound of organ music, only to descend some time later wearing still more dazzling robes for dinner.
“Two golden bowls are put on the table in the following way,” the bishop of Cremona tells us at a distance of centuries. “Through openings in the ceiling hang ropes covered with gilded leather and golden rings. These rings are attached to handles projecting from the bowl, and with the help of four or five men assisting from below, they swing onto the table by means of a moveable device in the ceiling.”
Out of these golden bowls and onto the plates presented to the guests, were a young kid stuffed with garlic, leeks and onions, coated with garum and roasted whole. The Byzantines were lovers of meat, presenting with pride at their tables pigs, goats, sheep, deer, hares, rabbits, and cattle. They preferred very young animals, possibly those that had not yet been weaned. Wine was the most popular drink, as it is today, with a choice between sweet dry or sour, red, white, resinated or unresinated. Vintage white wine was drunk alone or spiced, sometimes with honey mixed into it. There were also a number of esoteric drinks like meligola and urdumeli, which was the foam taken from boiling wine with honey.
Perhaps, as a man of the cloth, the Bishop of Cremona would not have been invited to an imperial symposium. These were parties at which drinking and high-flown conversation were the order of the day. ‘Good’ women – like wives – did not attend symposia. Any women present would have been entertainers of one kind of another. A law laid down by the Byzantine emperor Justinian allowed a man to leave his wife if he found out that she had gone to a symposium. The parties were rowdy, bawdy affairs, with rough banter – perhaps like an extreme version of a modern-day stag night, with rather more money spent and in lavish surroundings. Things sometimes got somewhat out of hand; Justinian II had some of his enemies executed at his symposia. Well, perhaps their manners were not quite up to scratch.