An Unexpected Discovery in Pompeii

In the mid-1950s, archaeologists excavating near Pompeii’s amphitheater made a curious discovery: a small terracotta vessel, approximately 20 centimeters tall, with a distinctive spiral track running along its interior walls. This object, soon identified as a dormouse jar, offered a fascinating glimpse into the daily life and culinary habits of ancient Romans. The jar featured small holes for ventilation, external feeding trays, and a lid designed to prevent escape—and possibly to disrupt the creature’s circadian rhythms, preventing hibernation. This find, though modest in size, speaks volumes about the sophistication, and at times eccentricity, of Roman gastronomy.

The dormouse jar was not an isolated artifact. Similar vessels have been uncovered throughout Pompeii and its surrounding regions, confirming that these containers were a standardized tool in Roman households. Their design aligned almost perfectly with descriptions from agricultural writers of the 1st century BCE, who detailed how dormice were fattened indoors in specially shaped pots equipped with runways and food trays. Oak acorns, walnuts, and chestnuts were placed inside, and with the lid closed, the creatures would grow plump in darkness, destined for the dining table.

Historical Context: Roman Dining and Social Status

To understand the significance of the dormouse jar, one must first appreciate the role of food in Roman society. Dining was not merely a necessity but a performance of status, power, and cultural identity. The Roman elite used banquets as arenas for displaying wealth, sophistication, and social hierarchy. Extravagant meals were mythologized in literature and historiography, often serving as metaphors for moral decay or imperial excess.

Emperors and wealthy patrons hosted lavish feasts that became legendary. The biography of Elagabalus, a 3rd-century emperor known for his eccentricity, describes color-themed banquets where guests were served wax or wooden replicas of food while the host dined on the real delicacies—a stark demonstration of social stratification. Such accounts, whether factual or exaggerated, reveal how deeply food was intertwined with notions of power and privilege.

Roman writers like Petronius, in his Satyricon, satirized these culinary spectacles through the character of Trimalchio, a freedman who hosts an absurdly opulent feast. The meal features deceptive dishes: a wild boar surrounded by pastry piglets, live birds bursting from cooked animals, and other culinary illusions that challenge guests’ perceptions. This literary tradition highlights both the creativity and the pretension embedded in Roman dining culture.

The Dormouse in Roman Cuisine

Dormice, though small, held a notable place in this gastronomic landscape. They were considered a delicacy, often stuffed with a mixture of pork, pepper, nuts, silphium , and fish sauce, then baked or roasted. A recipe attributed to Apicius, the famed gourmet whose name became synonymous with Roman cookery, detailed this preparation. Though the historical Apicius lived centuries earlier, the 4th- or 5th-century compilation bearing his name preserved this recipe, ensuring its legacy.

In Petronius’s Satyricon, dormice glazed with honey and sprinkled with poppy seeds appear as part of Trimalchio’s extravagant appetizers. This reference, combined with archaeological evidence, confirms that dormice were not merely eaten but celebrated as symbols of luxury. Their cultivation in specialized jars underscores the lengths to which Romans went to refine their palate and impress their guests.

Cultural and Social Impacts of Roman Banqueting

Roman dining customs extended beyond food to encompass social rituals, etiquette, and even political maneuvering. Banquets were microcosms of Roman society, where hierarchies were reinforced and challenged. The practice of reclining—a posture adopted from Greek customs—was reserved for freeborn men of status. Women, if permitted to recline, did so under specific circumstances, often sitting upright to denote modesty or lower rank.

The arrangement of couches followed strict protocols. The most honorable position was the locus consularis, reserved for distinguished guests. Timing one’s arrival was also crucial; arriving too early or too late was considered improper, prompting guests to linger outside until the optimal moment. These nuances reflected the intricate social codes governing Roman life.

Food itself became a medium for artistic expression and deception. Apicius’s cookbook included recipes like “anchovy casserole without anchovies,” which used alternative fish and roe to mimic the appearance and flavor of the prized ingredient. Such dishes entertained and bewildered guests, turning meals into theatrical experiences.

Art from Pompeii vividly captures these scenes. A wall painting in the House of the Chaste Lovers depicts couples reclining on cushioned couches, surrounded by tables laden with drink. One figure slumps in drunkenness, while another is supported by a servant—a testament to the excesses that characterized these gatherings. Another painting shows an outdoor banquet with a shaded couch and attending slaves, emphasizing the ubiquity of these rituals across settings.

Legacy and Modern Perceptions

The dormouse jar and the practices it represents have left a lasting imprint on how we view ancient Rome. Modern portrayals—from Hollywood films to academic studies—often emphasize decadence: nude revelers, grapes fed by slaves, and bizarre dishes like stuffed dormice. These images, while not entirely inaccurate, simplify a complex reality.

Roman culinary habits were indeed extravagant, but they also reflected broader cultural values: innovation, social stratification, and a desire to blend pleasure with prestige. The dormouse jar exemplifies this duality—a practical tool for husbandry that also served as a symbol of gourmet excess.

Today, this legacy endures in various forms. University toga parties mimic Roman banquets, often substituting dormice with candy or other novelties. A handful of experimental restaurants have attempted to recreate Apicius’s recipes, though these efforts are typically short-lived due to the challenges of sourcing authentic ingredients like garum or dormice. These modern interpretations, however playful, keep the spirit of Roman culinary adventure alive.

Moreover, the dormouse jar reminds us of the everyday ingenuity of ancient Romans. Their ability to domesticate and cultivate wild animals for gourmet purposes speaks to a sophisticated understanding of agriculture and husbandry. It also hints at the resourcefulness required to sustain an empire whose appetite for luxury knew few bounds.

Conclusion: Beyond the Myth

The discovery of the dormouse jar in Pompeii offers more than a quirky anecdote; it provides a window into the complexities of Roman life. While the image of decadent banquets persists, the reality was nuanced—a blend of social ritual, culinary art, and economic practicality. The jar itself, with its clever design and specific purpose, embodies the ingenuity and extravagance that defined Roman culture.

As we continue to uncover artifacts from the ancient world, each find adds depth to our understanding. The dormouse jar, small though it may be, challenges us to look beyond stereotypes and appreciate the rich tapestry of habits, values, and innovations that made Rome both legendary and profoundly human. In doing so, we not only honor the past but also enrich our perspective on how food, culture, and society intertwine across the ages.