Second Class

Compared to the elaborate French dining of first class, second-class passengers were served a more traditional British-style meal. While simpler in selection, the menu, preserved by Royal Museums Greenwich, still consisted of multiple varied and substantial courses.

The meal began with consommé tapioca, a light soup slightly thickened with tapioca pearls. The fish course followed, featuring baked haddock with sharp sauce (a tangy reduction), then a series of main dishes influenced by familiar British fare: curried chicken and rice, spring lamb with mint sauce, and roast turkey with cranberry sauce.

As in first class, the mains were served with vegetables and starches, including green peas, pureed turnips, boiled rice, and both boiled and roast potatoes. The meal then moved into desserts and sweets, with wine jelly and plum pudding, followed by coconut sandwich cookies and American ice cream.

Second-class passengers were also offered a selection of nuts, fresh fruit, cheese, biscuits, and coffee to round out — and close out — the meal.

Third Class

Unlike menus for the dining rooms of the upper classes, third-class menus from the Titanic are a rarity in surviving archival materials. What is known about the final meal in steerage comes primarily from the White Star Line, the company that operated the Titanic. Its provisioning records, as well as later historical reconstructions, serve as the best blueprint for this historic meal.

As noted in Last Dinner on the Titanic, the final scheduled meal for third-class passengers was high tea rather than a formal dinner service. (In keeping with working-class British traditions of the period, the main Sunday meal was generally served at midday rather than in the evening.) 

In contrast to afternoon tea, high tea was a more substantial savory meal eaten with cutlery. White Star Line provisioning plans indicate that third-class passengers would likely have had a final meal consisting of ragout of beef with potatoes and pickles, stewed fruit, fresh bread and butter, currant buns, and tea. Though far simpler than the lavish multicourse meals served upstairs, the spread was still considered hearty and respectable for the working-class travelers on the ill-fated ship.

Salmon

Wild salmon owe their vibrant pink-orange color to their diet, specifically carotenoids from krill and other small crustaceans they eat. Farmed salmon, meanwhile, are raised on manufactured feed in ocean net pens and thus don’t naturally consume these foods. Without intervention, their flesh would be a rather unappealing dull grayish color — not exactly the first thing you’d reach for when shopping for dinner.

Salmon’s appearance became important as farmed salmon moved from experimental aquaculture into grocery stores in the late 20th century. Customers, it turns out, were willing to pay more depending on the color of the cut, and so farmers began adding astaxanthin, a naturally occurring carotenoid pigment found in the food wild salmon eat, to their fish feed. 

Much of this pigment supply was industrialized and scaled by companies such as DSM, a Swiss-Dutch chemical company. In the late 1980s, DSM (formerly Royal DSM) even introduced the SalmoFan, a color chart resembling a paint swatch, allowing farmers to select the exact shade of pink they wanted their salmon to be — a practice that continues today.

Oranges

Contrary to what the name suggests, oranges are sometimes not orange at all. When they grow in tropical climates such as southern Florida, high temperatures prevent chlorophyll breakdown in the peel. This leaves the peel a patchy green, even if it’s perfectly ripe. As U.S. citrus production expanded in the early 20th century, oranges from California — where cooler nights naturally encouraged a brighter peel — helped shape consumer expectations by promoting perfectly orange-colored fruit through advertising and packaging.

Florida growers had to compete. In the 1930s, they began using dyes such as Citrus Red No. 2, applying it to the peel and giving the fruit a brighter color. The practice continues today, but as the U.S. government plans to phase out Citrus Red No. 2 dye, growers may need to rely on another method: exposing the oranges to ethylene gas in degreening rooms.

Maraschino Cherries

In the early 20th century, concerns over food adulteration led to the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act, enforcing closer scrutiny of synthetic additives. This included early versions of food coloring such as toxic and synthetic coal-byproduct dyes. At the time, maraschino cherries had already been transformed from preserved Adriatic fruit into a heavily processed product. They were often preserved in sulfur or chemical brine solutions, then rehydrated in sugar syrup, artificially flavored with vanilla or almond, and finally dyed a vivid red using aniline dyes — one of the toxic coal-tar dyes. 

So did consumers have to suffer with what The New York Times described as “sickly yellow” maraschino cherries after the Pure Food law? Not exactly. As certain coal-tar dyes fell out of favor, foods were able to get that bright, artificial color through an evolving roster of government-approved synthetic reds.

Butter

There’s not much better than a pat of golden-yellow butter on fresh bread, but the rich dairy product didn’t always look like what we expect today. That’s largely because butter’s natural hue comes from beta-carotene in the fresh grass that cows eat, which shows up in their milk. Butter made in spring and summer, when cows grazed on pasture, was naturally deeper yellow, while winter butter, made from hay-fed herds, often turned noticeably pale.

Seasonal variation lessened once cows left the pasture and entered the industrial dairy era in the second half of the 1800s. So, producers started standardizing color, most commonly with plant-based additives such as annatto, creating a more uniform yellow year-round. 

By the late 19th century, the focus on color intensified during the so-called “butter wars” as margarine emerged as a cheap competitor. Margarine was often dyed to resemble butter, prompting legislation in parts of North America that restricted its coloring — or even forced it to be a different color entirely, such as pink. In response, butter producers leaned even more heavily into a consistent golden-yellow hue year-round as a marker of reliability and authenticity. 

Meat

Before modern additives, processed meat products looked far duller than the vibrant reds and pinks we see today. Fresh meat can appear bright red at first, thanks to oxygen binding to myoglobin, a protein found in muscle. But as oxygen decreases, the pigment changes again and leaves meat a brownish-gray that gives the appearance of spoilage.

That’s partly why producers began using curing agents long before synthetic dyes entered the picture. Early curing relied on naturally occurring nitrates in salt (often called saltpeter), which was widely used for preserving meats. Over time, it was discovered that these compounds convert into nitrites, which interact with myoglobin to form a stable, heat-resistant pigment that keeps it the familiar pinkish-red color seen in bacon or sausages. (It also helped inhibit bacterial growth.) Synthetic dyes, of course, were eventually used, too, such as the once-common Red No. 2 or Red No. 3, creating the vivid reds seen in some regional hot dogs such as Maine’s famed red hot dogs.

Wine

Ancient winemakers sometimes used herbs or minerals to preserve and enhance the appearance of their wines. Modern winemakers can color their wine, too: Since the 1970s, a concentrated grape-juice-based additive known as Mega Purple has regularly been used in some mass-produced wines to deepen colors, improve taste, and standardize quality across batches. Lighter-skinned grape varieties, cooler growing seasons, early harvesting, or fermentation hiccups can make some reds paler, and Mega Purple can help round this out. 

Mega Purple isn’t the only coloring tool in winemakers’ kits. Some food-grade additives used in the broader food industry, such as FD&C Yellow No. 5, cochineal extract, and carmine, sometimes show up in wine in order to meet consumer expectations.

The Proof Is in the Plaque

It was dental research, not pottery, that offered scientists the first direct proof that humans consumed cow’s milk. In 2019, researchers at England’s University of York analyzed hardened plaque from Neolithic humans in Britain and found evidence that they consumed milk from cows, sheep, and goats around 6,000 years ago. Other similar studies traced milk consumption through the Bronze Age around 3000 BCE.

Most Neolithic people were, however, lactose intolerant; drinking fresh milk could cause severe stomach issues and illness. So researchers believe the dairy traces may have been from cheese or yogurt, which contain less lactose than fresh milk. Young children naturally produce lactase (the enzyme that breaks down lactose) for several years after weaning from breast milk, so it’s also possible that fresh milk served as an important, calorie-dense food for early childhood survival in early farming communities. 

Milk Became a Superpower — for Some

So, did adults also drink fresh cow’s milk? Based on human genetic patterns, researchers think it’s likely. Genetic mutations that allowed adults to digest lactose — called lactase persistence — began appearing around 8,000 years ago, likely because some populations were already drinking fresh milk. The mutations spread most rapidly in Northern Europe, where shorter growing seasons would have made milk a regular and reliable source of calories, protein, and hydration. Cows, in particular, produced higher yields than other domesticated animals, and in regions with cooler climates, milk could stay fresh and more suitable for drinking for longer than it did in warmer regions.

Drinking milk wasn’t just a dietary change — it was part of a much larger shift in human history. Studies show that populations with high milk consumption tended to be taller and heavier, and those who could digest lactose were more likely to survive famines or seasonal crop shortages, giving them an evolutionary edge. Still, the ability to comfortably drink fresh milk as an adult was the exception, not the rule, for thousands of years. In most early societies, milk was processed into cheese or yogurt more often than it was poured, and even today, lactose intolerance remains common in many parts of the world, showing that widespread milk drinking is a relatively recent — and uneven — chapter of human history.

Salt Meat and Preserved Fish

Biscuits alone wouldn’t keep sailors fit and healthy on a voyage lasting weeks or months. Having sources of protein was vital, and these were stocked on board in advance in preserved form. Salted beef and pork (known as salt tack) were a fundamental part of a sailor’s diet, as was salted fish — typically cod, favored due to its low oil content, which made for easier preservation. Salt preservation was one of the few reliable food technologies of the era, capable of keeping meat edible for months. Meat and fish were heavily salted and packed in wooden barrels before departure, and were essential for the success of any voyage. 

Livestock

Not all the meat stored for voyages was preserved. When space allowed, and especially for longer expeditions, ships carried livestock in the form of pigs, goats, chickens, and sometimes cattle, which were loaded aboard to be slaughtered and eaten as the journey progressed. 

The English ship the Golden Hind, on which navigator Francis Drake completed his circumnavigation of the globe between 1577 and 1580, carried livestock that was butchered throughout the voyage, with chickens providing eggs for as long as they could be kept alive. In general, however, livestock didn’t fare well on ocean voyages, and sailors would soon find themselves falling back on salted meat and hardtack. 

Butter and Cheese

Salted butter and cheese, both of which were ideal for long journeys, made hardtack more palatable and provided a much-needed contrast to all the preserved meat. During English explorer Martin Frobisher’s expedition in the 1570s, which sought the Northwest Passage for trade purposes, each sailor had a daily food allowance that included a quarter pound of butter and half a pound of cheese, to go with their pound of hardtack. Later, in 1677, Samuel Pepys, then secretary to the British Admiralty, included cheese and butter in his list of provisions for every sailor in the navy. 

Beer

Keeping stores of fresh water was one of the most logistically challenging elements of any long voyage. Even when stored in sealed barrels, water went stagnant quickly, developing algae, insects, and a foul taste within weeks. The solution was beer. This was a low-strength brew in which the alcohol acted as a mild preservative, keeping the liquid drinkable for far longer than water. Beer is also rich in vitamins, particularly B vitamins, as well as carbohydrates, both of which were needed to supplement a sailor’s diet. A sailor’s ration, including for those serving in the British navy, often included 1 gallon of beer each day.

Fresh Fruit and Veggies

Many sea expeditions set sail carrying fresh fruit and vegetables — but these supplies didn’t last long. While dried peas and beans could keep for extended periods of time stored in barrels, fresh produce such as apples, pears, onions, garlic, and citrus fruits would often perish within weeks. The lack of fresh produce took a terrible toll. From the 15th to 17th centuries, more sailors lost their lives to scurvy — caused by a dietary deficiency in vitamin C — than to war, storms, shipwrecks, or any other diseases combined. It wasn’t until 1753 that Scottish naval surgeon James Lind definitively proved that scurvy could be cured and prevented by consuming the juice of oranges, limes, and lemons, after which citrus juices (often mixed with a little alcohol to prevent spoiling) became a vital part of a ship’s supplies. 

Indigenous Foods

Explorers setting out on overland expeditions faced different but equally serious food challenges. Sometimes, however, they had a far wider array of potential solutions than those available during sea voyages. For example, Spanish conquistadors pushing through the Americas in the 16th century depended heavily on what they could extract — voluntarily or otherwise — from the Indigenous populations they encountered. Hernán Cortés and his men survived portions of their Mexican campaign on maize, beans, and whatever could be seized or traded from local communities. 
Other overland expeditions had fewer options, and in some cases relied heavily on pemmican, a concentrated mixture of dried meat (often bison) and fat traditionally prepared by Indigenous peoples in North America. In 1793, when Scottish explorer Alexander Mackenzie became the first European explorer to cross North America north of Mexico, he relied on pemmican as the core provision of his overland push, supplemented by whatever his party could hunt and fish along the route. Pemmican was arguably the most sophisticated long-distance food technology of the age, being calorie-dense, lightweight, and stable for months — the original energy bar.

Medicine Takes Notice

Only a few years after Courtois announced his discovery, Swiss physician Jean-François Coindet found that small doses of iodine could shrink goiters — often dramatically. Goiters are enlargements of the thyroid gland, located at the base of the neck, caused most commonly by a lack of iodine in the diet. 

Goiter was endemic in many parts of Switzerland, and Coindet suspected that the old folk remedy of using dried or ashed seaweed (or sponges) to cure it might indicate that iodine would be an effective remedy. He was right. Rarely had a new element made such an immediate medical impact.

Courtois and Coindet jointly won an award from the French Academy of Sciences in 1831 for their contributions to medicine. At the time, no one realized how widespread iodine deficiency truly was, nor how crucial iodine would prove for brain development and general health. 

Why Goiters Form

Goiters develop when the thyroid cannot make enough hormones due to lack of iodine. To compensate, the gland enlarges, sometimes dramatically. Iodine is present in seawater and coastal soils, but glaciation, flooding, and leaching stripped it from many inland regions. The result was a global patchwork of iodine-deficient zones.

In the United States, this included the Great Lakes, Appalachia, and parts of the Pacific Northwest — regions that became known collectively as the “goiter belt.” During World War I draft exams, Michigan physician Simon Levin found that more than 30% of local registrants had enlarged thyroids, sometimes severe enough to disqualify them from service. Around the same time, Ohio physician David Marine demonstrated in a landmark study that iodine dramatically reduced goiter rates in school-age girls.

Where Salt Comes In

Iodine is essential not only for preventing goiter but also for producing the thyroid hormones that regulate metabolism, support heart and digestive function, and play a critical role in fetal and infant brain development. For public health officials, the question quickly became how to supply iodine cheaply and universally. Salt — inexpensive, widely consumed, and used at predictable levels throughout the seasons — was an ideal candidate. 

Switzerland adopted iodized salt in the early 1920s. In the United States, University of Michigan pediatrician David Cowie pushed for a similar approach, arguing that fortifying table salt could eliminate simple goiter (the kind caused by iodine deficiency) nationwide. His effort succeeded: Iodized salt appeared on Michigan shelves on May 1, 1924.

There were occasional setbacks, including outbreaks of iodine-induced hyperthyroidism among adults with long-standing nodular goiters, but the public health benefits were overwhelming. Within a generation, goiter rates plunged across former deficiency regions.

Iodized Salt Today

More than 120 countries now require iodization of all food-grade salt. Globally, the percentage of households consuming iodized salt rose from about 25% in 1990 to roughly two-thirds today. (Though the health benefits of iodine had been known for decades, uptake was slow in certain parts of the world, due in part to public relations battles.) It remains one of the cheapest and most effective nutritional interventions in the world.

The United States takes a voluntary approach. Most table salt is iodized, but many processed foods rely on non-iodized salt, and labeling iodine content is not mandatory. Even so, iodine intake is supported by dairy (where it occurs thanks to cleaners used on teats and milk cans; iodine is also a disinfectant), seafood, grains, and eggs, and widespread deficiency has been largely prevented.

Still, an estimated 2 billion people worldwide remain iodine deficient, especially where iodized salt is scarce or costly. Some countries fortify bread instead or distribute iodized oil capsules.

Courtois set out to make gunpowder more efficiently and ended up uncovering an element that transformed global nutrition. The violet vapor rising from a seaweed vat in 1811 eventually led to a simple solution — adding iodine to everyday salt — that has prevented goiters, improved cognitive health, and safeguarded generations against a once-common deficiency.

Truffles

Truffles have commanded extraordinarily high prices for centuries, since long before they became a modern luxury. Their mystery only amplified their value: For much of European history, no one knew exactly how truffles formed, and around the 14th century they were even thought to be the food of witches. Not until 1711 were they recognized as a fungus, and it wasn’t until the 19th century that their association with tree roots was understood. By then, truffles were already firmly established in aristocratic cuisine — so prized that French food writer Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin called them “the diamond of the kitchen,” while Italian composer Gioachino Rossini reportedly dubbed them “the Mozart of mushrooms.”

This mushroom’s cost reflects its persistent scarcity. Even today, truffles can’t be reliably cultivated on a large scale and must be foraged by trained dogs. (Pigs tend to eat the prize instead of handing it over.) White truffles can fetch $3,000 to $5,000 per pound, and a 4.16-pound specimen sold at a Sotheby’s auction in 2014 for $61,250 (about $84,000 today). Seasonality, delicate handling, and rapid transport needs further elevate the price of this long-beloved treat.

Pineapple

In 17th-century England, the pineapple was one of the most extravagant status symbols imaginable. Fresh specimens were so rare that a single fruit could cost the modern equivalent of thousands of pounds, making it a luxury reserved for royalty and the elite. Because England’s climate couldn’t support tropical fruit, gardeners cultivated pineapples in hothouses — known as “pineapple pits” — requiring enormous expense in fuel and specialized care. 

The fruit quickly became a marker of prestige: Hosts sometimes rented pineapples purely for display at banquets, and portraits from the era even depict nobles presenting the fruit as a sign of wealth and global reach. The pineapple’s scarcity, exoticism, and difficulty of cultivation turned it into a culinary trophy, far more often admired than eaten, and one of the most coveted foods in early modern Britain.

Caviar

Caviar — particularly beluga caviar from sturgeon in the Caspian Sea — became a luxury in Europe in the 19th century, when dwindling wild populations and rising demand elevated it from a regional staple to an elite delicacy. Its price reflects the long maturation of sturgeon, which can take more than a decade to produce roe, as well as the meticulous processing required to salt and grade each batch. 

The rarest variety, Almas caviar, is sourced from albino beluga sturgeon and often packaged in 24-karat gold tins; it can cost more than $35,000 per kilogram (roughly $15,900 per pound). Caviar’s scarcity increased sharply in the 20th century as overfishing and habitat loss reduced sturgeon stocks, cementing it as a symbol of wealth and exclusivity. Today, even with aquaculture, top-grade wild caviar remains among the most expensive foods ever traded.

Bird’s Nest Soup

Bird’s nest soup has been a luxury in Chinese cuisine for centuries — a delicacy made from the hardened saliva nests of swiftlets, which cling high on cave walls. Harvesting them has always been perilous, requiring expert climbers and creating a built-in scarcity that pushed prices sky-high. 

In imperial China — especially during the Ming and Qing dynasties — the nests were reserved for nobles and elite banquets, prized for their rarity, supposed medicinal properties, and gelatinous texture when cooked. Even today, the soup can cost you $100 a bowl. The value remained high because each nest took weeks for a bird to build and was often damaged if not removed carefully. By the 19th century, entire maritime trade routes connected Southeast Asian nesting sites to Chinese markets. Even today, top-grade nests can cost thousands per kilogram — a testament to their centuries-long reputation as one of the world’s most unexpected luxury foods.

Ambergris

Ambergris — the waxy, grayish substance expelled by sperm whales — is one of history’s strangest and most valuable edible luxuries. It’s been called both “the treasure of the sea” and “whale vomit” (although it actually comes out of the other end of a whale). Formed in a whale’s intestines, ambergris originates as a protective secretion, then hardens at sea into a pale, rocklike mass. When it washes ashore, it can fetch thousands of dollars, prized less for appearance than for its extraordinary scent, described as a blend of forest-floor leaf litter and the delicate underside of mushrooms.

Though best known today for its use in elite perfumery, ambergris entered English cookery by the 1660s. Luxurious puddings, custards, and possets often called for it, pairing its sweet, earthy aroma with ingredients such as rose water, nutmeg, and almonds. By the 18th century, ambergris was used to flavor gelatins and medicinal drinks before tastes shifted. 

Today, ambergris occupies a legal gray zone: It’s still prized in the U.K. and European Union, where beachcombers can scavenge for it, but it’s banned in the United States due to whale protection laws. Where it’s legal, finding some ambergris on a beach can bring about a hefty payday. In 2012, one large piece found on a beach in England was estimated to net about $65,000 (close to $92,000 today).

Black Peppercorns

Black pepper seems ordinary now, but for much of history it was a prized and often prohibitively expensive spice. In ancient Rome, pepper was valuable enough to be used for taxes, tribute, and even ransom, and by the medieval period it was known as “black gold.” Its cost came from long-distance trade through India and the Middle East, where merchants guarded routes and supply tightly. 

Pepper’s portability made it especially valuable: A single sack could represent enormous wealth. In some European regions, peppercorn rents were paid to landowners, and elite households kept pepper locked in its own storage box. As demand rose through the 15th century — fueled by European tastes for heavily spiced cuisine — pepper became one of the central commodities driving exploration and early global trade. Its eventual affordability reflects just how valuable it once was.

Silphium

Silphium may be the ancient world’s most legendary lost luxury. A resinous plant native to North Africa — especially around the Greek city of Cyrene (in modern-day Libya) — it was so prized that it appeared on local coinage and was exported throughout the Mediterranean. Writers such as Pliny the Elder praised its medicinal and culinary powers, noting its high price and limited supply. 

Silphium’s value came from extreme scarcity: It resisted cultivation, grew only in a narrow coastal strip, and was harvested faster than it could regenerate. That meant it was often traded at prices comparable to precious metals. Yet by the first century CE, demand from Greek and Roman elites pushed the plant to extinction. Silphium’s disappearance became a symbol of overharvesting and luxury excess — an ancient food and medicine so expensive it vanished from history entirely. Recently, however, botanists have found a species in Turkey that may be the plant or a close cousin.