A cultural history of food

The most surprising new knowledge I've gained since I started dvelving into the cultural history of food in Italy, that isolation is the keyword not in the most southern (and less developed) regions but even in those parts of the peninsula where the most famous historical cities like Firenze or Bologna are located.  I was searching something food related content linked to the mountain of Corno alle Scale ( the hilltop finish of Giro d'Italia Stage 9 in 2026 ) located both in Emilia-Romagna and Tuscany, and just bumped into a type of bread, called tigelle, made in this part of Italy.  It's the northern slopes of the Appennine mountains, a neighbourhood more relaxed and family friendly for winter sport lovers than the big popular ski resors in the Alpes. It's not far either from Bologna or Firenze, ideal for a shorter trips from those cities not only in winter but also during the warmer and more dry months of the year. (There is a Corno alle Scalle Regional Park offers lo...

The most intriguing part of writing this little blog about the cultural history of food, that although I had a preconception what I would like to write about, from time to time I find myself in the middle of discovering more and more interesting subject within the main topic of this website.  Chesnut is one of the protagonists of this story Of course, I knew, that I wanted to dive deeper into this part of 18th-century everyday life because of my long-term plans to write stories set in this time period. Also, I always plan to connect at least three of my different online projects, so it was obvious that I would try to make a connection between this blog and road cycling especially Tour de France, as you can see in the category French food ). But I was not sure about the history of Italian cuisine, not just because last autumn, when I started this blog I was not entirely sure about I would do anything with Giro d'Italia in this May, but also for a very private reason.  To me, It...

Currently reading a book about the cultural histoy of cheese, and one thing made me think a bit more about.  A few weeks ago I already posted an article about the way of storaging and stocking food in the time of Ancient Rome , but that was rather ablit trading and my never ceasing interest in early forms of globalization.  But let's just go even further back in time, a few thousand years, back to around 6000-7000 BC and see what significant changes in human histoy brought the developement of pottery.  A cooking revolution  Before pottery,  people usuall roasted meat over open flames or used heated stones. Obviously,  cooking options were quite limited. But with the arrival of clay pots that could withstand fire, entirely new cooking methods emerged.  Boiling  and stewing became possible. Suddenly, tough grains and fibrous plants could be softened, and meats could be cooked slowly to release more nutrient, which made food easier to digest an...

Across Europe, some of the world’s most respected beers trace their origins not to commercial breweries but to quiet monasteries.  Long before modern brewing science, monks were perfecting recipes in stone abbeys, guided by discipline, patience, and a belief that honest labor was a form of devotion. Today, the legacy of those traditions lives on in the renowned beers produced by Trappist and other monastic communities.  Work, Prayer, and the Monastic Economy The roots of monastic brewing lie in the Rule of Saint Benedict, written in the 6th century. This foundational text for many Western monasteries emphasized the importance of ora et labora, a.k.a “pray and work.”  Monks were expected to sustain their communities through manual labor rather than relying on outside wealth. Brewing fit naturally into this system. Monasteries needed safe, nutritious beverages for daily consumption, and beer was often safer to drink than untreated water. The boiling process killed many h...

The cuisine of the French Alps is often associated with hearty cheeses, rustic breads, and warming dishes designed to sustain people through long winters. Yet behind many of these foods lie fascinating stories shaped by hardship, ingenuity, and occasionally a bit of clever rule-breaking.  Gâteau de Savoie From tax-avoiding farmers to royal desserts, Alpine culinary traditions reveal much about the region’s history and the communities that lived there.  Reblochon: A cheese Blborn from tax evasion  One of the most famous cheeses of Savoy, Reblochon, owes its existence to a clever medieval trick.  In the mountain valleys around Thônes in the Aravis range, farmers once paid rent to landowners based on how much milk their cows produced. To reduce the tax burden, farmers would only partially milk their cows when the landlord’s representative was present. After the inspection ended, they returned to the cows for a second milking—known in the Savoyard dialect as re-blocher,...

Capture long-term social progresses in small-scale human interactions is one of the biggest and most exciting challenges of fictional retelling of history. One of my favourite question, for example, how to capture the 18th-centurian decay of the once glorious and powerful Venice. But the "century of the light", as it often-called carriesa lot of big social changes, this is the time period where may of our modern habits, and many element of our modern mentality roots. The best known change is how marriage became an emotional union rather  financial transaction, and people can show very extreme (sometimes tragically extreme) reaction towards domestic happines being denied, as  novels like The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang Goethe, and even more the impact of those kind of stories on the younger generations demonstrated.  The modern interpretation of family (a small core-group of emotionally bounded people) roots in this time period, as well as the modern dichot...

The more into history as the ultimate source of fictional storytelling, the more I'm drawn to the tiniest details of the life people lived in the past.  Human feelings are basically the same: love, hate, anger, pride, vanity, disappointment, curiosity, etc., but always shaped by our material sourroudings. (That's one the main drives of hisforical fiction, discovering why and how it's different, therefore makes it possible to create different stories - rewriting the old ones - again and again and again.)  We, here, in the 21st century, are living in a "global village", the world became small and cozy comparing to the imaginations of bygone eras. We are also taking granted that most of our foods, or their ingredients can be shiped and stored most conveniently.  But let's just jump 2000-2500 years back in time, and we'll see how different these everyday taks in, for instance, the Roman Empire were carried out and we easily can so imagine how these different a...

Stretching from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, the French side of the Pyrenees has long been more than a natural border. It has been a corridor for people, goods, and ideas—and nowhere is this more visible than in its food.  Local dishes and products are not simply recipes; they are records of survival, smuggling, migration, and adaptation. Here are seven historical anecdotes that reveal how deeply food and history intertwine in the French Pyrenees.   Royal beginnings with garlic and wine  In 1553, in the city of Pau, the future King Henri IV was baptized in a manner that would become legendary. According to Béarnais tradition, his grandfather dabbed garlic on the infant’s lips and gave him a few drops of Jurançon wine.  The gesture was meant to instill strength and bravery—qualities expected of a mountain prince. While historians debate the literal truth of the story, it anchored Jurançon wine firmly in the region’s identity and tied Pyrenean foodways to...

In the early stages of Britain’s industrial transformation, work and drink were closely intertwined. Alehouses stood at the centre of working life, wages were sometimes supplemented—or undermined—by alcohol, and employers often exercised control through drink. Yet by the mid-19th century, this practice had largely disappeared. The expansion of the factory system, combined with social reform and legal change, brought about a decisive shift: workers were increasingly paid in cash, and sobriety became a defining expectation of industrial labour.   A pre-industrial custom Before large-scale factories became dominant, many forms of work were organised through agriculture, small workshops, mining, and domestic production. In these settings, payment was not always made purely in money. Workers might receive part of their compensation in goods, food, lodging, or drink.  Beer — often weak “small beer” — was widely consumed and considered safer than water. Drinking did not necessar...

Ethical cuisine often presents itself as a corrective to the harms of industrial food systems. By celebrating sustainability, tradition, and cultural authenticity, it claims to restore dignity to foods and practices marginalized by modern capitalism. Ancient grains, Indigenous crops, heirloom techniques, and “traditional” diets are elevated as solutions to environmental and moral crises. Yet beneath this celebratory narrative lies a troubling continuity with colonial patterns of extraction, appropriation, and erasure. The exoticization of ethical food reveals how postcolonial power relations persist within contemporary food ethics — reproduced not through overt domination, but through admiration, consumption, and moral branding.   From stigmatized staples to ethical superfoods   Many foods now celebrated as ethical were once devalued precisely because of colonial hierarchies. Crops such as quinoa in the Andes, teff in Ethiopia, millet across Africa and Asia, or t...

 Ethical eating is often framed as a moral response to global injustice. Choosing fair-trade coffee, organic produce, plant-based diets, or “authentic” cuisines is presented as a way for consumers — largely in the Global North — to act responsibly in a deeply unequal world. Yet beneath this moral language lies a persistent tension.  Ethical cuisine frequently reproduces the very power relations it claims to challenge.  When viewed through a postcolonial lens, ethical eating emerges not only as a practice of concern, but as a performance of moral authority rooted in histories of empire.   Colonial food systems and moral authority  Colonialism fundamentally reshaped global food systems. European empires reorganized land, labor, and agriculture to serve imperial markets. Cash crops such as sugar, coffee, tea, cocoa, and spices were cultivated through coerced or enslaved labor, while local food systems were undermined or destroyed.  Colonized populations o...

Ethical cuisine is often framed as a progressive response to modern crises: climate change, industrial farming, animal suffering, and global inequality. Organic food, fair trade labels, plant-based diets, and local sourcing are presented as moral advancements — evidence that contemporary consumers are more aware and responsible than their predecessors.  Yet when examined through a postcolonial lens, ethical cuisine reveals deep continuities with colonial systems of power, knowledge, and extraction. Far from being a purely modern or emancipatory phenomenon, ethical cuisine is shaped by histories of empire that continue to structure who defines ethics, who benefits from them, and who bears their costs.  Colonial food systems and moral authority   Colonial empires reorganized food systems on a global scale. European powers transformed land, labor, and crops to serve metropolitan markets, often displacing Indigenous food systems and knowledge. These transformations w...

In the rugged uplands of France’s Massif Central, where winter is long and the land has always demanded resilience from its people, a rustic dish of potatoes, tome fraîche, and duck fat has become a beloved emblem of the region.  Today, truffade is celebrated in Cantal as a gold-tinged comfort food—simple, hearty, and unmistakably tied to the rural identity of Auvergne. Yet behind this unpretentious dish lies a story of suspicion, rebellion, hunger, and ultimately redemption.   Long before truffade became a staple in mountain inns and farmhouse kitchens, the potato itself had to fight for its place on the table. Suspicion of a strange new food  When potatoes first arrived in France in the 18th century, they were met with hesitation bordering on hostility. Rural communities in Cantal, like many others, viewed the tuber with deep distrust. Its knobby, soil-stained appearance gave it the look of something meant for livestock, not for human consumption.  Some peasan...

Few baked goods carry as much quiet symbolism as the pretzel. In Alsace, where food traditions often sit at the crossroads of religion, empire, and everyday life, the pretzel—bretzel in the local tongue—has been a familiar presence since the Middle Ages. More than a simple snack, it emerged as a ritual bread, shaped and seasoned to reflect devotion as much as appetite.  According to a long-standing legend, the pretzel’s distinctive form—loops folded like arms crossed in prayer—won the favor of Emperor Frederick II in the 13th century. A ruler known for his interest in law, culture, and order, Frederick II is said to have encouraged bakers who produced pretzels for religious festivals, granting them special privileges in return.  Whether strictly historical or embellished over time, the story reflects how closely baking guilds were tied to both church life and imperial authority. Bread was not just nourishment; it was a public expression of faith, discipline, and communal rhy...

Few concepts dominate contemporary food discourse as powerfully as sustainability. Organic farming, local sourcing, seasonal eating, and low-carbon diets are widely framed as ethical imperatives—ways for consumers to respond to climate change and environmental degradation through everyday choices.  Yet beneath this moral consensus lies a persistent and often unspoken tension: food that is environmentally sustainable is not necessarily socially just, and food produced under fair labor conditions is not always environmentally optimal.  This conflict is not a flaw in implementation alone. It reflects a deeper historical pattern within ethical cuisine itself—one in which moral concern is unevenly distributed, and where labor is repeatedly subordinated to other ethical priorities.  The rise of Ssustainability as ethical centerpiece  Environmental sustainability became the dominant ethical framework in food relatively late. While earlier moral food discourse s focused on ...

Some foods nourish the body. Others nourish memory. Fish—especially the fish we grow up with—often do both at once. Across the world, certain fish become inseparable from identity, carrying the weight of childhood, place, language, and belonging. They are not always the most elegant or convenient foods. Many are bony, oily, difficult to prepare, or hard to find once you leave home. That difficulty is part of their meaning. To crave a particular fish is often to crave a version of yourself that existed somewhere else.   Learning a fish is learning a place In the Philippines, milkfish—bangus—is everywhere and nowhere at once. It is the national fish, served fried, grilled, stewed, or stuffed, yet it is also notoriously full of fine bones.  Children learn early how to eat it: where to slow down, how to feel with the tongue, how to separate danger from nourishment. This knowledge is bodily, not written. You learn it at the table, under supervision, with reminders and correc...