Apicius had no sympathy for me. When I asked if we could hold off his party until I found a new cook, he said, “No, we can’t. This will be the ultimate party, Thrasius. I know you don’t want to miss it. Do it for me this time and I promise that you won’t need to cook again in my house unless you absolutely want to. You can wait till after the party to find a new cook.”
I groaned, but he had me. I wanted to stop cooking. I was starting to tire of spending so much time in the kitchen, and the thought of doing it without Timon was especially daunting at my age. “Do I have your word on that?” I asked, still wary.
He smiled. “I give you my solemn oath. After this convivium you will be able to decide if and when you want to cook again.”
I didn’t believe him.
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Still, I began the preparations. My initial intention was to cut corners on costs but Apicius hovered over all my plans, preventing me from saving precious coin. I sent messengers on horseback to the farthest reaches of Italy for the goods one could carry back to Rome in a few saddlebags. I spent an inordinate amount of time at the markets, Apicius on my heels, purchasing the most costly spices; reams of opulent silk for pillow coverings; ornate, one-of-a-kind oil lamps; and hundred-year-old wines so thick that only the best honey, lead, and spices would bring them back to life. I buried fish in salt, and sealed plums in spirits and left them to age in the dark. I made Roman absinthe and apple wine. I bought the best suckling pigs and began to fatten them on the most expensive figs. I fed our goats a specially sourced mixture of apples, hay, and clover to give their milk new flavor.
The guest list was the biggest challenge of all. We could fit only two hundred or so people in the house, even if we transformed some of the rooms into additional triclinia. Which meant we had to pare the guest list back by more than seventy-five people.
“We don’t have to seat them all,” Apicius insisted. “Let them wander.”
It was late afternoon and Apicius had returned from the baths, where he had apparently invited several random friends who didn’t happen to be on the initial guest list.
“We don’t have room in the house, Apicius. We don’t have the space we had at the school, or when we could throw parties at Caesar’s villa. Maybe we could stretch the list to two hundred but that will be pushing our limits.”
Apicius looked out the window down onto the Forum below. “Do what you can. Invite two hundred for now but maybe more will show up.” He sounded wistful to me, as though he didn’t believe anyone would attend.
“Do you trust me to create the list?”
He glanced back at me. “Implicitly. But I may invite some who aren’t on your list.”
“Apicius!” I was exasperated. “If you trust me to invite two hundred people, you shouldn’t need to invite anyone else. Didn’t we just discuss we have no room?”
“That’s fine. I’m sure all the right people who need to be at the party will be there.” He turned back to the window.
One of his moods crept across him. He stopped answering any of my additional questions, so I left, wondering to myself the very thing Passia had asked me—how did I endure him?
I thought a lot about that over the coming weeks as I prepared for the meal. Apicius tried my patience at every twist and turn. Why, then, did I put up with his mood swings and irrationalities? A sane person would have left long before. Was I insane?
No, I had to admit I did it because Apicius was my friend, my family, and because without me he was nothing; he had nothing. I thought of myself in his place—I would want a friend by my side. I continued the preparations, despite all my misgivings.
I’m not sure what I expected the party to do for him. I knew it wouldn’t satisfy his grief, nor would it change Rome’s opinion of him. It might make people think he was richer than he was, but it would only serve to worsen the dilemma he faced—how to continue to maintain the appearance of such wealth when in truth it was dwindling.
The last thing I expected, of course, was what actually happened.
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On the morning of the convivium Apicius came to the kitchen, a slender box tucked under one arm. I looked up from the pastry dough I had rolled onto the counter. I was surprised to see him awake.
His smile was broad. “What a beautiful morning!” He glanced over my shoulder through the window toward the sunny garden. The pigs were being slaughtered and we could hear their final squeals.
“Yes, it is,” I agreed, wishing I were out walking in the sun rather than trapped in the kitchen making pastry animals.
“I brought you something to celebrate.”
“To celebrate what?”
He laughed, his jowls shaking. “All the amazing meals you’ve made for me! You, of course!” He slid the box across the table toward me, careful to avoid the piles of flour.
I wiped my hands on the towel at my waist, curious and a bit dismayed by his gracious speech. The box itself was gorgeous, made from a beautiful piece of citron wood. I was reminded of a table Cicero once bought that had been made from the exorbitantly expensive wood. He wrote that the veins were “arranged in waving lines to form spirals like small whirlpools.” It was such a vivid description, I had always remembered it, and now, as I looked at this box, I realized how true the statement was. I could not imagine how much the box cost—and it made me wonder what on earth the contents might be.
“Go on, open it!” Apicius jerked his chin toward the box. A crooked smile decorated his face.
With a deep breath, I opened it. Inside lay two beautiful ebony-handled knives, both made in shapes I had myself personally sketched—Apicius and I had long talked about how to improve our kitchen knives. I had never imagined the designs would have gone beyond our brief conversations, and yet here they were, inventions of my own mind come to life.
One knife was longer, meant for carving, and the other was shorter, designed for smaller kitchen tasks. The metal of each blade contained a beautiful and delicate pattern that looked very much like flowing water. I touched my finger to the flat of the larger blade, expecting to feel a raised impression, but instead found it was smooth. And oh! The blades were very sharp. I nicked my finger with the slightest test.
When I looked up at my former master, I had a lump in my throat.
Apicius clapped a hand to my shoulder. “They’re from Damascus. I had them made for you. They should last for centuries. They are unique, truly, as there are no others like them in the world and likely never to be again. Just as you, my friend, are rare and unique. You have been a great source of pride in my life. Thank you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.
“Then say nothing! Cook with them today. Cook me the best meal I have ever had. No, the best meal Rome has ever had!”
“I will. I promise you.”
And I did. I cooked him the best meal of his life. It was also the best meal Rome never had.
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