Imagine being invited to dinner in Ancient Rome.
You arrive in the late afternoon. There are flowers, perfume, servants moving around the room, couches waiting for the guests, wine to be diluted, performances to be staged and an extraordinary amount of food still to come.
You are not simply having dinner.
You are attending a convivium.
What Was a Roman Convivium?
When Romans wanted to celebrate a birth, a wedding, a political or military victory, or a public holiday, they hosted or attended a convivium: the Roman banquet.
These banquets could be very different depending on the historical moment—and, naturally, on the wealth and intentions of the host.
Republican and Imperial Rome
In Republican Rome, frugality was the ideal: the table was laden with cereals, legumes, flatbreads made with farro, cheese, meat, fish, and wine.
By the late Republic and especially during Imperial Rome, after the conquest of innumerable territories brought enormous wealth, enslaved people, and both basic and exotic goods into the city, things changed quite a bit.
Especially for the rich.
What Did a Roman Banquet Look Like?
Around the middle of the afternoon, the triclinium room—named after the three reclining couches—filled with slaves putting the finishing touches.
In the most opulent houses, there were fresh flowers, perfumes, precious tableware, decorations, and entertainment to prepare.
A few moments later, men and women arrived and took their places on the couches arranged in a U.
Yes, women too.
Unlike the Greek symposium, respectable Roman women could join men at the convivium and, at least by Imperial times, recline with them.
What Was a Roman Triclinium?
A triclinium was a dining room arranged around three reclining couches.
Three couches, usually three people on each: nine diners.
Guests reclined mostly on their left side, leaving the right arm free to reach for food.
But choosing where to lie wasn’t simply a matter of finding an empty space.
The central lectus medius included the place of honour. The lectus summus, or high couch, included less prestigious places, while the host usually reclined on the lectus imus, the low couch, close to the guest of honour and in a convenient position to keep an eye on the gathering.
Even at dinner, Rome had its hierarchies.
What Happened at a Roman Banquet?
The banquet could last until very late at night, or even into the early morning.
It was a parade of food, wine, entertainment—poets, dancers, musicians, acrobats, comic performers—and philosophising speeches by the host.
The slaves, who at a particularly wealthy banquet might even outnumber the guests, had a lot of duties.
Upon arrival, and throughout the meal, they brought water for the guests to wash their hands.
And in very opulent—and tacky—gatherings, even this simple gesture could become a display of wealth.
At Trimalchio’s famous fictional banquet, for example, the guests had their hands washed with wine instead of water.
And this was only the beginning.
Food at a Roman Convivium
The slaves had to perform snappy entrances for spectacular courses.
Gigantic wild boars.
Peahen’s eggs whose pastry shells revealed a little bird surrounded by peppered egg yolk.
A roasted pig that, when cut open, released an abundance of sausages and black puddings.
A hare transformed into Pegasus.
Foods arranged according to the signs of the zodiac.
These dishes were described by Petronius in his Satyricon, at the famous Cena Trimalchionis: the banquet held by Trimalchio, an emancipated slave who had become enormously rich.
So enormously rich that nothing could simply be served.
It had to perform.
At one point, a huge wild boar was brought in and, when its belly was opened, live thrushes flew into the room.
The slaves had to catch them.
Everything was excessive.
Everything was theatrical.
And everything was meant to be noticed.
Naturally, Trimalchio isn’t exactly the average Roman host. Petronius was writing satire, and Trimalchio’s vulgar extravagance is part of the joke.
But what a banquet.
There is another image traditionally associated with Roman excess: congested guests being handed feathers to provoke vomiting, so they could start eating and drinking all over again.
As irresistible as the image is, this one belongs much more safely to the mythology that later grew around Roman decadence than to the description of an ordinary convivium.
Which leaves us, fortunately, with plenty of excess anyway.
Flirting at the Convivium
Finally, probably rolling their eyes, the slaves had to witness flirting attempts—and successes—between the guests.
And here things become surprisingly familiar.
Ordering a glass of wine, drinking from it, and then passing it to the object of your attention to see if they would drink from the same side where your lips had rested.
Dipping a finger in wine to draw signs on the table and communicate your passion to someone on the other side of the room.
Secret signals.
Lascivious glances.
Accidental touches.
Murmured words.
And, if the husband happened to be present, being extraordinarily nice to him.
This last strategy comes directly from Ovid, who in his Ars Amatoria gives remarkably precise advice on how to flirt during a banquet.
Write your message in wine.
Speak with your eyes.
Drink from the place on the cup where her lips have been.
Reach for the food when she does, so your hands might touch.
And make friends with the husband.
Sometimes fun, sometimes exciting, too often embarrassing spectacles.
A couple of millennia later, perhaps dinner parties haven’t changed all that much.
If you’d like to explore more of ancient Rome—its recipes, she-popes, fountains, traditions, lost gods, creatures, ancient celebrations, and myths—you can find them in my Rome Simposio, the travel cookbook dedicated to the Eternal City.
Enjoy the eternity of Rome’s heritage!
Claudia