Minutal Terentinum (Roman pork and fruit stew, Apicius)

A Roman ragù from the world's oldest cookbook: pork and prunes in wine and fish sauce, fragrant with coriander and cumin

Origin: Ancient Rome, Italy

From the journey of Coriander/Cilantro.

This recipe is drawn directly from De Re Coquinaria (On Cookery), attributed to Marcus Gavius Apicius: the world's oldest surviving culinary text, compiled in its present form c. 4th century CE from earlier Roman sources dating back to the 1st century CE. Minutal Terentinum is a Roman-style 'mince' or ragù of diced pork, dried plums, wine, and fish sauce (liquamen, also called garum: the ubiquitous fermented fish condiment that functioned as Rome's salt and umami), abundantly spiced with coriander seeds, cumin, caraway, and ground pepper. The dish illustrates the Roman palate's characteristic embrace of sweet-savoury-salty complexity, and the central role coriander played in it: Apicius lists coriander in over one hundred recipes across the ten books of De Re Coquinaria, treating the seed as one of Rome's most important imported spices alongside cumin, pepper, and caraway. Rome spread coriander throughout its empire via trade and military movement; archaeological evidence of coriander seeds has been recovered from Roman sites across Britain, France, and Germany, confirming that soldiers and colonists carried the spice wherever the legions went. This adaptation maintains the spirit and the primary flavour relationships of the original while translating quantities and technique for a modern kitchen.

Ingredients

Meat

  • 600 g pork shoulder or pork loin, cut into small 2cm dice

Fruit

  • 150 g pitted dried prunes (dried plums), halved

Liquid

  • 200 ml dry white wine (or a dry Roman-style wine such as Greco di Tufo)
  • 200 ml chicken or pork stock

Seasoning

  • 2 tbsp good fish sauce (nam pla or Italian colatura di alici, this is the liquamen/garum substitute)

Spice

  • 2 tsp coriander seeds, lightly toasted and ground
  • 1 tsp cumin seeds, lightly toasted and ground
  • 0.5 tsp caraway seeds, lightly toasted and ground
  • 1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
  • 0.5 tsp ground ginger (laser/silphium substitute, the Romans used the now-extinct silphium; ginger is the best modern approximation)

Sweetener

  • 1 tbsp honey

Acid

  • 1 tsp red wine vinegar

Fat

  • 2 tbsp olive oil

Thickener

  • 1 tbsp plain flour or cornflour, for thickening

To serve

  • Crusty bread or polenta (or, more authentically, soft flatbread), to serve

Method

  1. Heat the olive oil in a heavy casserole or sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add the diced pork in batches and sear until lightly browned on at least two sides, about 3–4 minutes per batch. Remove and set aside.
  2. Reduce the heat to medium. Add the ground coriander, cumin, caraway, black pepper, and ginger to the pan. Stir for 30 seconds until fragrant; the spices will bloom in the residual fat.
  3. Return the pork to the pan. Add the wine, stock, fish sauce, and honey. Stir to combine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan.
  4. Add the prunes. Bring to a simmer, then reduce heat to low. Cover and braise for 30 minutes until the pork is tender and the prunes have begun to break down into the sauce.
  5. Mix the flour with a tablespoon of cold water to form a smooth paste. Stir into the stew to thicken the sauce. Simmer uncovered for a further 5–8 minutes until the sauce is glossy and coating.
  6. Add the red wine vinegar and taste carefully. Adjust the balance: more fish sauce for salt/depth, more honey for sweetness, more vinegar for sharpness. The final flavour should be complex; savoury, sweet, slightly tart, warmly spiced with the coriander as the clearest note.
  7. Serve with crusty bread, polenta, or soft flatbread to absorb the sauce.

Notes

The original Apicius recipe calls for lucanian sausage and dates alongside the pork; these are entirely authentic additions if you wish to move closer to the Roman original. The fish sauce can be reduced in quantity by half for a milder version, compensating with a small pinch of salt. This dish reheats beautifully and is arguably better the following day. For the most historically accurate serving, present it with garum passed separately at the table (as the Romans did), allowing guests to adjust the saltiness themselves. De Re Coquinaria Book IV (Pandecter) is the source for the minutal recipes; Book V contains the fruit-based sauces that informed this preparation.

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

To explore — select an ingredient below.

Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1900 CE
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14 of 14 stops
1900 CE
5000 BCE100 BCE1300 CE1900 CE
Coriander/Cilantro

Coriander/Cilantro

Coriandrum sativum

Spices & AromaticsHerbsApiaceae

🌍Origin

Fertile Crescent, Levant — c. 5000 BCE

🌱Domestication

Coriander is one of the very oldest of all cultivated plants, and one of the strangest, for it is in truth two ingredients housed within a single species. Coriandrum sativum, a slender annual of the carrot and celery family, the Apiaceae, yields both the warm, citrus-scented dried seed that the English-speaking world calls coriander and the pungent, polarising fresh leaf that the Americas call cilantro, and these two forms, drawn from one plant, have such utterly different flavours that they belong to entirely separate culinary traditions and are seldom thought of as the same thing at all. The whole plant is edible, from the aromatic root that the Thai kitchen pounds into curry pastes, through the lacy fresh leaves, to the round ripe seeds, and this versatility has carried it into the cooking of almost every inhabited region of the earth. The plant's antiquity in human hands is documented across the ancient Near East. Seeds of C. sativum have been recovered from Neolithic deposits in the Levant dating to around 6000 BCE, amongst them the celebrated finds from the Nahal Hemar cave in the Judean Desert, and the plant is named in the ancient Egyptian Ebers Papyrus of around 1550 BCE, the oldest surviving medical compendium of the world. Coriander seeds were even laid in the tomb of Tutankhamun amongst the provisions intended to sustain the pharaoh through eternity, a mark of the value placed upon a plant that was at once food, medicine, and fragrance. Because the plant grows readily from seed and the dried fruits store and travel well, coriander spread early and far, and unlike many spices it was domesticated not in a single remote place but across the broad arc of the Fertile Crescent, where its wild ancestors grew. The dual use of the plant was present from the very beginning of its cultivation, and it is this that sets coriander apart from almost every other ancient culinary herb. In the Levantine cradle the seeds were ground into spice mixtures and steeped into medicinal and fermented drinks, whilst the fresh leaves were gathered as a green herb for the table, so that a single sowing yielded both a warm baking spice and a sharp, fresh garnish. That doubleness has shaped its entire history: the seed travelled west into Europe as a spice of bread and brewing and a medicine for the digestion, whilst the leaf travelled into the kitchens of Mexico, Vietnam, Thailand, India, and North Africa as one of the most essential, and most divisive, of all fresh herbs.

Global Voyage

From its Levantine cradle coriander travelled outward in every direction at once, for the Fertile Crescent sat at the crossroads of three continents, and the dried seed, light, durable, and easily carried, moved along every trade route that left the region. The southwestern path led into Egypt, where the plant was cultivated throughout the Nile Delta within centuries of its domestication and recorded in the Ebers Papyrus as both medicine and flavouring; from Egypt it passed westward along the North African shore and, in time, far south across the Sahara into West Africa, carried on the same caravan routes that bore gold and salt. The eastern path was the longest and the most consequential. Coriander moved along the Silk Road and the Indian Ocean trade into Persia, where it entered the great herb stews of the Iranian kitchen, and into India, where it became, in seed and leaf alike, the single most widely used flavouring of the subcontinent, the backbone of garam masala and the green finish of almost every dish. From India and Persia the plant continued eastward into China, reaching the Han court by way of the Silk Road and the diplomatic missions to Central Asia, where it became the fragrant herb xiangcai of the northern and Muslim kitchens. The western and northern path carried coriander into the classical Mediterranean. The Greeks received it through their trade with Egypt and the Levant and set down its medicinal virtues in the writings of Hippocrates and Dioscorides; the Romans cooked with it lavishly, Apicius calling for it in scores of recipes, and the Roman legions then carried the seed across the whole of the empire, planting it in the cold soils of Gaul, Britain, and the Rhine and Danube frontiers where it had never grown before. Archaeobotanists have recovered Roman-period coriander from sites as far apart as Wales and the Danube, and the Carolingian emperor Charlemagne ordered it grown on every royal estate, ensuring its unbroken survival through the early medieval centuries into the permanent repertoire of the European kitchen. The Arab expansion then carried coriander deep into the Maghreb, where it fused with the indigenous Berber herb traditions of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia to produce the chermoula and the spice blends of the North African table. In Southeast Asia, reached by the maritime spice routes and the spread of Indian culinary influence, coriander took a wholly distinct path, for there it was the root rather than the seed or leaf that became prized, pounded into the curry pastes of Thailand and the broths of Vietnam. The final great dispersal came with the Spanish conquest of the Americas in the sixteenth century: Spanish colonisers carried the seed across the Atlantic, and the fresh leaf integrated so swiftly and so completely into the indigenous cooking of Mexico, already built upon chillies, tomatoes, tomatillos, and avocado, that within a single generation cilantro had become inseparable from Mexican food, and from there it spread down the Pacific coast of South America into the ceviche of Peru and northward, in the twentieth century, into the everyday cooking of the United States. No other plant has achieved so nearly universal a culinary adoption across every inhabited continent.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

Coriander is at once the most widely consumed fresh herb in the world and one of its most widely used spices, a double distinction that no other plant can claim, and it owes that reach to the fact that its seed and its leaf are, in flavour and in use, two separate ingredients drawn from a single plant. The dried seed, warm, citrus-scented, and gently sweet, is foundational to the spice blends of an entire hemisphere: it is a leading note in the garam masala and curry powders of India, in the dukkah and baharat of the Arab world, in the ras el hanout and chermoula of North Africa, and in the recados and adobos of Latin America, and it flavours the breads, sausages, pickles, and brewed drinks of Europe besides. The fresh leaf, pungent and bright and unmistakable, is essential to the cooking of Mexico, where it finishes nearly every salsa, taco, and pot of beans; to Vietnam and Thailand, where it crowns the herb plate and the noodle bowl; to India, where chopped dhania patta finishes almost every dish; and to the soups and stews of West Africa. Yet coriander is also the most divisive of all common herbs, for a significant minority of people, the proportion varying by population, perceive the fresh leaf not as fragrant but as harshly soapy or metallic, an aversion now traced to inherited variants of an olfactory receptor gene that change how its aldehydes are smelled. This genuine genetic divide gives coriander a notoriety no other herb shares, dividing tables and even whole regions, as in China, where the north embraces it and much of the Cantonese south avoids it. For all that, the plant remains indispensable across the greater part of the world, the rare ingredient that supplies both a warm baking spice and a sharp green garnish, and that finishes the everyday food of more people, on more continents, than almost any other plant in the kitchen.

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