What did the Nabateans grow?

You know how the internet is. Endless rabbit holes down which to lose oneself. Some questions answered. Others, not so much. New ones arise. Here’s an example. It all started with the Mosaic of the Seasons in the 5th century Byzantine church at Petra in Jordan. I visited the site last week and thought the agrobiodiversity-themed mosaics wonderful.

That got me thinking about Nabatean crops more generally. What did these people grow in the middle of the desert? Did it include the plants depicted in these mosaics? The Nabateans were known as spice (and incense) traders, but more as middlemen rather than actual producers. Why, indeed, did they find it necessary to grow anything at all in such a harsh environment? Couldn’t they have traded for everything they needed, sitting astride a major trade route from the East to Rome?

So I googled a bit, and it turns out there’s a book called Nabatean Agriculture. Or Al-Filahah al-Nabatiyah in fact, written by a 9th century Mesopotamian scholar called Ibn Wahshiyah. Unfortunately, though the Arabic text is online, I could not find anything that I could actually read on the contents of the book beyond that it includes “a wealth of knowledge on the preparation of basic foods from the agricultural products mentioned throughout the book.” Frustrating.

However, I did find an enormous amount on the sophisticated water management practices of the Nabateans, for example in the supporting document to Israel’s proposal for inscription of the “Desert Cities of the Negev” as a World Heritage Site. It’s a huge pdf, so watch out, but it does have great descriptions, starting on page 108, of the channels, damns and cisterns these communities built to save and manage water in a region with less that 100mm of annual rainfall. Some of these practices are in fact being revived. One consists of enigmatic piles of rocks called tuleilat el anab in Arabic, which means “grape mounds.” ((The photo is from that World Heritage Sites supporting document.))

They measure 1 m in diameter by 30 cm in height and in some places extend for several square kilometers. So it’s not just pleasure gardens we’re talking about. The prevailing view seems to be that the grape mounds were intended to enhance the flow of run-off water into agricultural terraces. Their name is the only clue to the crops grown by the Nabateans that I’ve been able to find ((Or does that refer to their appearance?)), apart maybe for those mosaics. There must surely be some archaeobotanical evidence somewhere? More rabbit holes beckon.

Ancient Egyptian toffs were wine snobs

An article in The Independent a few days ago on daily life in ancient Egypt included this intriguing snippet of information.

Similarly to today perhaps, wine was the booze of choice for high society individuals. Fine wines were labelled with the date, vineyard and variety as the tax assessors requested, such as the ones found in Tutankhamun’s tomb.

I don’t know about you, but I’d love to see a list of ancient Egyptian grape variety names…

Ancient foods get a blogger

Joanna Linsley-Poe is a “chef, artisan bread baker, ancient food historian, food archaeologist and anthropologist as well as a writer. Although that sounds like quite a mouthful, I guess it’s all about a love of history and food.” We can relate to that! Joanna started blogging at Ancientfoods in September last year. I’ve added her to our blogroll and subscribed to her RSS feed.

Nibbles: Biofuels, No-till corn, BBTV, Coffee pest, Air potato, Neolithic, Turkish roses, Cowpea conference

Bread or beer? Why choose?

The Cartesian Dualists of the press, if not those of the hallowed groves of academe, are at it again. Der Spiegel, ((And don’t miss the photo slide show there for some sparkling web 2.0 goodness.)) late last month, and The Independent, late last week, report on Professor Patrick McGovern’s latest book, Uncorking the Past: The Quest for Wine, Beer and Other Alcoholic Beverages, almost entirely in terms of which came first, beer or bread.

All the familiar old arguments are trotted out. That bread is actually quite hard to make, while a forgotten soaked seed or rotten fruit is easy enough to swallow and packs enough punch for the brain to say, in Der Spiegel’s memorable phrase, “whatever that was, I want more of it!”. But this convenient opposition ignores things like porridge or gruel, both of which probably represent easier ways of consuming cereals than bread. ((Rachel Laudan writes well on this, and much else.)) Most cereals don’t even make very good bread, at least not as it is understood by European journalists.

Professor McGovern, who runs the delightfully named Biomolecular Archaeology Laboratory for Cuisine, Fermented Beverages, and Health at the University of Pennsylavania’s Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, is actually claiming far more than that beer came first. He seems to be laying nothing less than the development of settled agriculture, and with it civilisation as we know it, at the door of drunks. According to Der Spiegel:

[A]griculture — and with it the entire Neolithic Revolution, which began about 11,000 years ago — are ultimately results of the irrepressible impulse toward drinking and intoxication.

“Available evidence suggests that our ancestors in Asia, Mexico, and Africa cultivated wheat, rice, corn, barley, and millet primarily for the purpose of producing alcoholic beverages,” McGovern explains. While they were at it, he believes, drink-loving early civilizations managed to ensure their basic survival.

He knits together all sorts of fascinating evidential threads, and at least as far as the articles go, makes a convincing enough case. But then, I remain deeply skeptical of single explanations for anything as complex as the evolution of settled agriculture. And I suspect McGovern does too. As he told The Independent:

As for his theory on how alcohol motivated man to adopt agriculture, McGovern said: “I just wanted to put it out there as a worldwide hypothesis. Then over time maybe the different pieces can be put together from across the world.”

I’m trying really trying to avoid this, but I can’t: I’ll drink to that.