Panis Quadratus
The most famous bread from Roman times is the Panis Quadratus. We know its name from Ateneo de Naucratis (Athenaeus of Naucratis, Deipnosofistas, 2nd century AD). Its appearance has frequently been depicted in frescoes and is known from archaeological finds. It is shaped like a wheel. In 1862, 81 of these circular loaves were excavated from a large industrial oven at the Bakery of Modestus at the Pompeii site and since then these beautiful examples of ancient food preparation and food culture have intrigued bakers, archaeologists and food historians alike.
De Luca (1863) conducted an in-depth study of the loaves and some of the finds at The Bakery of Modestus and notes that the wedge divisions on the top of the loaf are relatively even in relation to each other, they’re convex, and the divisions between them were created by ‘something sharp’ and with the application of pressure. De Luca also remarks that a central ‘sag’ is common in the loaves with a hole-like indentation that is not perfectly circular or centred. He suggests that the horizontal rim around the external edge was created with several slashes of a knife as he felt that that contour was not even or created with one single motion. De Luca also notes that the exterior of the bread is a darker ‘brown’ with the inside crumb appearing to be lighter in tone. The density of the crumb is also less than the crust demonstrating some cavities in the crumb than can be found in leavened breads. The loaves, on average, measured 20 cm in diameter but fluctuated, due to composition, oven-spring, or spreading, anywhere from 18 cm to 22 cm (7 inches – 8 2/3 inches).
Complementing some of this form-related archaeological data at Pompeii in a very useful way are a group of 25 bronze pans that were found in situ in the Bakery of Sextus Patulcius Felix at Herculaneum. Judging by their sizes and location in a pistrinum at the 2,000-year-old site that is located fifteen kilometres north of Pompeii. These pans were interpreted as being pans that were used for forming bread and pastries, not for baking them, by Amedeo Maiuri (1958). This interpretation is also supported by the fact that the loaves excavated at The Bakery of Modestus were not found to have been baking in pans in the oven that they were excavated from but rather were found resting on the oven floor.
De Luca (1863) also records that on August 7th, a small grain mill was excavated at the Bakery of Modestus that contained a large amount of unmilled grain. Physical (visual) and chemical analysis of the carbonized grains revealed that all of the grain found in this mill was ordinary bread wheat (triticum aestivum). This wheat was often milled and sieved several times, refining it to a delicate, fine flour that was called ‘siligo’, thus the other name often used when referring to this bread: panis siligineus.
On a side note, the term ‘Panis Quadratus‘ is the most commonly used term for this bread when referred to in English. It wasn’t fabricated by academics or classicists, though; it is derived from a quote by Atheneus: “Seleucus (fr. 40 Müller) says that warm bread crumbled into liquid is called blema. Philemon says in Book I of A Complete List of Sacrificial Offerings that purnos is the name for bread that is made from unsifted flour and contains all parts of the grain; he also reports that incised loaves, which the Romans refer to as kodratoi, are called blomiaioi, and that brammite is the term for bran bread, which Amerias (p. 10 Hoffmann) and Timachidas (fr. 26 Blinkenberg) call eukonos. Philetas in his Miscellany (fr. 11 Dettori) reports that spodeus is the name of a type of bread consumed only by one’s relatives.” (Athenaeus, The Learned Banqueters. 114.e). Some readers may consider the name to be confusing, as the loaf is cut into 8 sections, but if you consider that those eight sections could be created by four long linear divisions, created from end to end of the loaf edge (travelling straight though the centre node), you’re then looking at four lines, not eight.
Baking Bread with the Romans: Part III – The Panis Strikes Back
from https://tavolamediterranea.com/
When I published my first article and interpretation for a Panis Quadratus recipe in September of 2017 here on Tavola Mediterranea, the response was overwhelming and wonderful. Readers from all corners of the web and all areas of culinary and academic backgrounds chimed in to offer their thoughts and theories on how this iconic bread was made and which kitchen implements may have been used to create its intriguing and unusual form. What was the loaf made of? Why was the loaf sectioned into 8 or more pieces? What tools were used to create its forms and features? The overall response prompted me to do some further research and experimentation in an attempt to try to get closer to understanding the process that went into making this stunning bread and recreating it as true to its original form as possible. This article will delve into some of my new research, experimentation, ideas and theories and will quite possibly take us one step closer to understanding how the Panis Quadratus (or Panis Siligineus) was made and what tools and ingredients were used to make it.
De Luca (1863) conducted an in-depth study of the loaves and some of the finds at The Bakery of Modestus and notes that the wedge divisions on the top of the loaf are relatively even in relation to each other, they’re convex, and the divisions between them were created by ‘something sharp’ and with the application of pressure. De Luca also remarks that a central ‘sag’ is common in the loaves with a hole-like indentation that is not perfectly circular or centred. He suggests that the horizontal rim around the external edge was created with several slashes of a knife as he felt that that contour was not even or created with one single motion. De Luca also notes that the exterior of the bread is a darker ‘brown’ with the inside crumb appearing to be lighter in tone. The density of the crumb is also less than the crust demonstrating some cavities in the crumb than can be found in leavened breads. The loaves, on average, measured 20 cm in diameter but fluctuated, due to composition, oven-spring, or spreading, anywhere from 18 cm to 22 cm (7 inches – 8 2/3 inches).
Complementing some of this form-related archaeological data at Pompeii in a very useful way are a group of 25 bronze pans that were found in situ in the Bakery of Sextus Patulcius Felix at Herculaneum. Judging by their sizes and location in a pistrinum at the 2,000-year-old site that is located fifteen kilometres north of Pompeii. These pans were interpreted as being pans that were used for forming bread and pastries, not for baking them, by Amedeo Maiuri (1958). This interpretation is also supported by the fact that the loaves excavated at The Bakery of Modestus were not found to have been baking in pans in the oven that they were excavated from but rather were found resting on the oven floor.
De Luca (1863) also records that on August 7th, a small grain mill was excavated at the Bakery of Modestus that contained a large amount of unmilled grain. Physical (visual) and chemical analysis of the carbonized grains revealed that all of the grain found in this mill was ordinary bread wheat (triticum aestivum). This wheat was often milled and sieved several times, refining it to a delicate, fine flour that was called ‘siligo’, thus the other name often used when referring to this bread: panis siligineus.
Ingredients (for two loaves)
1650 g (13 cups) of whole wheat flour (hand-milled or store-bought)
990 g (1 L) of tepid water
100 g (1/2 cup) of bread starter*
salt as desired
Implements
Flour sieve
Large mixing bowl
Large cotton tea towel
2 shallow 8” (20 cm) circular baking pans
Baking or gardening twine
Parchment paper
Cooking scale
A thin dowel or an 8” (20 cm) circular wooden wheel
Optional: A ceramic baking cloche or a custom testa. You can also use a dutch oven if you use parchment paper below the bread during its final rise. You may also use a pizza stone or large baking sheet.
*The hydration of your bread starter may affect the hydration of your dough. Your end goal is to achieve a large ball of dough that is firm but workable; Not too dry as to crack or rupture when rising but not too wet or tacky as to spread too much during the proofing process. Here is a recipe for Pliny the Elder’s levain, or bread starter, if you’d like to make your own.
Begin preparing your dough by mixing the starter in with the tepid water until it is fully dissolved.
Sieve your flour, hand-milled or otherwise. Use the exact amount indicated above as your refined flour component in the dough.
Add the flour and salt and to the mixture and begin mixing your bread dough. If the pistores used a kneading machine, you go ahead and power up that Kitchen-Aid mixer if you want to sip your mulsum with your other hand! You may also take an old-school approach and use a donkey and a plank of wood… or your hands. Again, depending on the coarseness of your flour and the hydration of your starter, assess the dough as you go and add water or flour as needed to obtain a workable ball of dough that is not too sticky or too dry.
Cover your mixing bowl with a damp tea towel (ring the water out well) and let the dough stand until it doubles or triples in size. This time will vary depending on the temperature of your kitchen and its humidity levels.
Once the dough has risen, retrieve your cooking scale and your 8” baking pans. Here’s where things get interesting. At this stage I decided to experiment with how much dough would fit nicely into the size of a proofing pan that has a lip that is equal in diameter to the average panis quadratus loaf. I considered that the pistores in the Roman bakeries likely weighed their bread to maintain a consistent size and output when making these loaves, especially considering the fact that the loaves were often weighed before distribution. Beginning with one Roman pound of dough, which is equivalent to 329 grams, I began pulling dough from my mixing bowl and weighing it until I had an amount in on my scale that looked like it could sit inside the 8” pan (De Luca’s 20 cm average diameter) with enough room to expand, both towards the sides of the pan and slightly over the upper lip. This amount turned out to be an even 4 Roman pounds of dough per loaf which equates to 1kg and 316 grams, or 1316 grams. This recipe provides for enough quantities to make 2 loaves which each call for approximately 1316 grams of dough.
Do as I did above: Pull 4 Roman pounds (1316 grams) of bread dough from the mixing bowl and form it all together, fold it, stretch it, and shape it into a ball. Don’t spend too much time flattening your dough, just give it a few stretch and folds and then shape it. Dust the bottom of your 8” baking pan with a bit of flour and then place the ball into one of the 8” baking pans and then press it down gently so it’s somewhat flattened into a disk. One of the defining factors of the Panis Quadratus loaf is the large, bulbous bottom that appears to be a bit larger than the top in many cases. This could be due to the bottom of the baked loaf actually being the top of the loaf during proofing that expanded over its forming/proofing tray prior to being flipped onto a table or oven surface during preparation for baking. The bulbous bottom may also be due to a restrictor around the waist of the loaf during baking but we’ll get to that shortly. Repeat this step for your second loaf of bread and then cover both pans again with a damp tea towel and let the loaves rise until they’ve mushroomed slightly over the lip of their pans.
Preheat your oven to 375F/190C/Gas Mark 5.
Dust a clean work surface with some flour. Flip one of the pans over and hold it slightly above your dusted work surface until it falls out onto the table. Dust the upper surface of the loaf lightly with flour. Here’s where things are going to get interesting again: we are going to create the pointed wedges on the top of the loaf known in Italian as the ‘otto spicchi’. Upon closer observation, it is clear that the grooves that create the eight wedges on the top of the panis quadratus are not knife slashes in the top of the dough, as previously thought. These are impressions in the dough. If we look closer at the inside of the grooves that separate each of the eight wedges, we can see that they’re slightly curved downwards and appear to have been made with a blunt, not sharp instrument. De Luca’s assertion is not entirely accurate, nor was my initial interpretation of these divisions in September of 2017. Making these impressions with the back of a knife would have also been dangerous, especially if you were pivoting it from the centre outwards, so consider this when you choose your tool to make the wedge formations. I had something completely different in mind when I decided to approach the form and fabrication of this iconic loaf once more: I had a wooden wheel custom made for me with thin spokes that creates blunt, linear, and rounded grooves between the wedges and also creates a centre depression where the cog of the wheel sits. I pressed this wheel into the top of my loaf prior to baking and then used my finger to create the depression in the centre of the loaf where the cog impression was visible. Did the Roman pistores use discarded wagon wheels or custom made wheels to stamp their bread? A wooden, wheel-like implement made a lot of sense to me considering that any tool of this kind would have been burnt at Pompeii, and thus eliminated from the archaeological record. A wheel-like tool would have also created an even distribution pattern between the wedges, as De Luca observed. It also created an outer rim along the horizontal edge of the loaf. This seemed to me to be the most likely tool that was used to create the otto spicchi but I could not figure out why they chose this form, what inspired it, and where they got the device… until I met Franco Tella, and classical archaeologist working with MiBACT in Rome. Franco and I met at Ostia Antica weeks after I had conducted these experiments and we had a long conversation in front of the Grandi Horrea (grain store-houses) in the heart of the ruins of the ancient Roman port town. Tella explained that the horrea were situated in close proximity to the bakery at Ostia in order to facilitate the milling of flour. Grain and flour was moved back and forth between the two buildings by either slaves or by a small wagon called a ‘carrus’. He showed me the photo of a carrus that was rebuilt based on one that was excavated at Ostia Antica and I immediately looked at the wagon and examined its features. Small wooden wagon. Small wooden wheels. Eight wooden spokes.
Perhaps this wheel was inspiration for the bakers? Perhaps the image on the bread was symbolic of the wheel and the industry? Perhaps discarded or broken carrus wheels were used to create the impressions on the panis loaves? We can’t be too sure until I can measure the wheels of the carrus but it certainly got my blood pumping when I saw the wooden wagon and understood its use at the bakery at Ostia Antica. I was one happy little bread-nerd indeed. Now, I understand that no one at home will have a custom-made wooden wheel like mine (yet) so take a device that is accessible to you to create the divisions in the top of the loaf be it a thin dowel, a thin pencil, or something else that is linear, thin and blunt. Make the sections even and the depth the same from groove to groove.
Now, we arrive at the part of this experiment/recipe that will cause the internet to collapse in on itself and some academics and food writers to become very cranky. I stand behind the theory that a ‘spread restrictor’ was used on the horizontal waist-line of the bread. Why? Because it works and it provided results that were similar to the carbonized loaves that were found at Pompeii. Was it twine? A ring? A band of some sort? Who knows…. But something created that severe indentation and spreading did not occur during baking. The bread dough for this experiment was dense and of low hydration (approximately 55%) which allowed the dough to be malleable but to also hold its form while baking, as the loaves did at Pompeii while they were being ‘incinerated’. What did not hold, however, was a horizontal groove when it was created by a knife or by the bottom, rounded inner edge of the wooden wheel after it was pressed into the formed dough. Spreading occurred each time and the loaf expanded outwards during the baking period (oven-spring) almost eliminating any indication of a horizontal groove around the waist of the loaf. So I used a restrictor again. You can too. I used heavy, untreated garden twine and gently tied it around the loaf prior to baking.
Once the loaf is tied with the cord, place the loaf onto a flat baking sheet or a preheated pizza stone and bake for 45 minutes. Cover with a cloche lid or a testa, if you have one. Remove the cloche during the last 15 minutes of baking to allow for a golden crust. Once baked, remove the loaf from the oven and let stand. Let the loaf cool for several hours after removing it from the oven and before removing the cord or cutting into the crumb. Serve with soups, stews, porridges, olive oil or honey and enjoy…
Conclusion
Revisiting the recipe for Panis Quadratus, its form and fabrication was a wonderful experience. Finding additional data regarding fabrication was helpful in narrowing down how much materials to use and how to prepare it all. The form, yet again, remains somewhat of a mystery but is less elusive than it was before. I believe that the theories of a wheel-like tool for creating the eight wedges and a horizontal ‘spread restrictor’ has validity. The eight wedges on the top of the loaf were likely formed to be broken apart easily and used as an ‘edible eating utensil’ for sopping up stews, soups and pulses. But what functional purpose could the horizontal groove serve other than being evidence of a horizontal restriction of some sort? The loaves were not ripped apart horizontally and there are no wedge separations on the bottom of the loaf; this loaf isn’t two halves, one on top of the other. The groove along the waist-line appears to serve no purpose other than being residual evidence of spread-control that was implemented in order to preserve oven floor space during baking and to keep all loaves a uniform size. It is uncertain as to how it was made, however, as the grooves are not as defined on the waist-line as the divisions on the top of the loaf.
There is simply no evidence that Roman bakers used string. This rather nutty idea seems to have been originated by the Italian baker who cobbled together a (widely criticized) recipe for the Pompeii bread. The one image we have of someone distributing Pompeii bread shows no string on it and the first Italian archaeologist to examine the loaves said the indentations had been made with a knife.
I’m very confused by the lack of a leavening agent, not least because the breads shown are if anything over-risen relative to the actual breads found in Pompeii. But Pliny the Elder (who died during the eruption) says quite specifically that the Romans mainly used sour dough as a leavening and that is almost certainly what was used at Pompeii (it certainly woudn’t have been yeast, since that required beer, which wasn’t made in Pompeii.)
Thanks for you comment. Indeed, twine and leaven are two very heated topics! There is no archaeological evidence, but experiments show that twine could account for the horizontal line around bakery bread (1st century AD). Still debated! We did not use leaven, and whole wheat and spelt loaves rose well anyway, but we also experimented with letting the dough rise (2-30 hours).
I’m still confused. Are you saying the bread rose with NO leavening agent? Neither yeast nor sourdough? I suppose that’s just possible if you leave the dough so long it in effect picks up yeast from the air (effectively becoming sourdough), but I’ve never seen that method referenced.
The thing about the string is, sure, it COULD explain the indent (found only in certain breads, all so far as I know in Pompeii), only there is utterly no evidence that it actually did. The image below is is, I believe, the only one we have of someone actually distributing these loaves and one would think that if string were used anywhere to carry the loaves, it would be here.
But there is no sign of it. Nor on the image you use from the Villa Julia for your post.
The ONLY source I know for the idea is the Italian baker who did the recipe for the British Museum (“Locatelli believes a string may have been tied around the loaf as a carrying handle after it was baked. You could buy a trussed up loaf at a street market and carry it home on your wrist like a purse”), and his whole approach is roundly criticized by bread historians. And so a really flimsy hypothesis has been given extended life not because it is proven, but because it is theoretically possible. And now TWO major museums have lent their credit to it.
One of the most frustrating things about being a bread historian is fighting these myths once they get established. Hell, there’s one that cites ME as its source and I haven’t been able to fight even that.
Jim,
Thanks for your responses and investment in ancient bread. I appreciate interest in fact-based research. We’ve made some edits to the post for clarification.
Cato’s bread
My first goal within as constrained space was to encourage people to try Cato’s whole grain bread, using only flour and water, and bake it right away. It did rise well and made very dense, nourishing loaves. Not a style appreciated today, though! I also experimented with all purpose flour and with different lengths of time before baking (bread rose higher but was still dense).
The twine issue
SRA. de Luca examined Pompeiian loaves from the bakery of Modestus in the early 1860s and concluded that the wedges and the horizontal line around the loaves were made by multiple knife cuts. The idea of twine for carrying grew later. I agree that the one fresco showing this kind of bread doesn’t show twine.
De Luca wasn’t a baker, and a new examination of the indentation over 150 years later is worth considering. Farrell Monaco recently gained permission to examine carbonized loaves and also experimented with various ways to bake a successful loaf with the indentation. She felt that it was an impressed rather than a cut line (so twine was feasible – not certain). And cuts on the top and sides of a loaf before baking have a different effect than we see on the loaves.
Even if twine was used, why make the horizontal indentation? I was having fun with the idea that in crowded professional bakery ovens (post-Cato), where loaves were packed in together, twine might help a low hydration loaf hold its shape. That actually worked for me in my home oven. Without the twine the loaves spread out a bit.
I hope some day we’ll find archaeological evidence that solves the heated debate, and meanwhile, although the blog must remain relatively simple, I have amended it to sound less certain on this topic!
Thank you for your comments.
Thank you for your response. (Sorry if I got a bit fervent in my own.)
There is one school of thought that this was actually two different layers (a style which exists elsewhere). There are also a number of images of such quadrati without any lower layer at all.
I do note this in your own instructions: “if the dough sags and spreads, it will cover the twine. ” I suspect this would have happened more often than not another argument against the concept (though one could of course have removed the string before the actual baking).
We are, I fear, a long way from having a definitive answer. But that is a good reason to be tentative on the subject.
Some time’s we over think our art or science .Variables always play a roll , controlled and uncontrolled . Current environment factors, water content ,wheat composition etc. . If we were there with what we know now , then we would know, maybe .Other than that, it’s partially opinion and personal experience , in which both are not absolute ,and that’s what is great about History discussion
30 hours. That explains the rising. Do you know how old the use of leaven is? For the Romans around Cato’s time? It must have been around earlier somewhere where ever they were brewing beer and wine.
My sourdough bread takes about 2 days to make from start to finish and that’s with a starter. It should be easy to do if it survived this long, but it takes practice and a lot of patience!
Wonderful article, thank you so much. Next time I make bread, I’ll be thinking of the Roman Ladies and their patience, grinding grains, kneading dough, waiting 30 hours to proof it and baking it just right…then serving it to their family and guests, to be eaten in one hour.
Maryke
