The Fork Had an Image Problem

Of all the eating utensils, forks had perhaps the most difficult path to acceptance. Although two-pronged forks existed in ancient Greece and Rome, they were mostly cooking tools used to handle hot food. Smaller forks for eating first spread among wealthy elites in the Byzantine Empire and the Middle East.

One of the most famous European fork controversies took place in Venice in 1004. Maria Argyropoulina, a Byzantine noblewoman marrying into a Venetian family, reportedly used delicate golden forks at her wedding feast. According to later accounts, scandalized Venetians considered the utensil decadent and unnatural. One critic supposedly complained that God had already provided humans with “natural forks” — fingers. When Maria died of the plague a few years later, some religious figures interpreted her death as punishment for vanity.

Even centuries later, forks retained an air of pretension in parts of Europe. In Renaissance Italy, they slowly gained popularity among the wealthy, and Catherine de’ Medici helped introduce fashionable fork use to France after marrying the future King Henry II in 1533. But elsewhere, many diners remained skeptical.

Around the early 1600s, English traveler Thomas Coryat returned from Italy enthusiastically describing forks he had encountered abroad. His friends mocked him relentlessly, nicknaming him “Furcifer” (Latin for “fork-bearer”). To many English people, forks seemed fussy, foreign, and faintly effeminate. That reputation lingered for a surprisingly long time. Some historians note that British sailors were still refusing to use forks around 1900 because they considered them unmanly.

Every Man His Own Fork

Medieval meals were deeply communal: People shared dishes, serving vessels, and sometimes knives or spoons. But beginning around the 17th century, European dining gradually became more formal and more individualized. Guests increasingly received their own plates, cutlery, and designated place settings.

As etiquette grew more elaborate, forks became increasingly useful — and increasingly expected. By the 18th century, forks were making inroads with wealthy Europeans, and by the 19th century, eating with your hands at formal meals was considered improper except for a few approved foods (such as bread or olives).

Victorian culture then took dining etiquette to remarkable extremes. Wealthy households accumulated specialized utensils for nearly every imaginable dish: fish knives, asparagus tongs, snail forks, tomato servers, and chocolate muddlers, to name just a few. Some upper-class cutlery sets approached 100 separate pieces.

But since then, flatware sets have been shrinking. Modern diners use far fewer utensils than their Victorian predecessors, partly because elaborate formal dining has declined — and partly because few people want to polish dozens of specialty forks.

Most of the World Never Stopped Eating With Their Hands

Even as forks became standard in Europe and North America, many cultures continued eating with hands or chopsticks. Chopsticks had already been used in China for thousands of years before forks became widespread in the West. Originally developed for cooking, they later became everyday eating tools across East Asia.

Meanwhile, in India, Sri Lanka, parts of the Middle East, Africa, and elsewhere, eating with the hands remains both ordinary and highly sophisticated. Different regions developed their own techniques and etiquette around handling food properly — from shaping rice with the fingertips to avoiding the use of the left hand (which is associated with bathroom use in some parts of the world).

And even in the modern West, people never entirely abandoned eating with their hands. Pizza, burgers, tacos, sandwiches, french fries, and fried chicken are all commonly eaten without utensils. In other words, some of the world’s most popular foods still rely on the oldest eating tools humans have ever had: what’s on the end of our arms.

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.