Hillary Eaton

While it might seem that the foodie douchebag—the bastard child of countless food blogs, our culture’s continuously growing obsession with all things new, bizarre, or extravagant in food, and the all-documenting eye of Instagram and its #foodie vortex—is something of a new phenomenon, it’s far from modern. In fact, the origins of acting like a tool when it comes to food can be traced all the way back to ancient Rome, to the first century AD. More specifically, the life and death of Marcus Gavius Apicius, the world’s first gourmand.

Lover of luxury and all things gourmet, Marcus Gavius Apicius was a wealthy member of Roman high society who lived and breathed all things excessive. As a member of the Roman elite, Apicius served under Emperor Tiberius as a culinary adviser, often cooking for and dining with society’s elite. But Apicius is usually credited (though it is often disputed) with penning the earliest known cookbook, Apicius. Divided into ten sections covering all categories of proteins, vegetables, and desserts—even housekeeping and gardening, the Apicius cookbook has some serious cornerstone classics, like a good soufflé.

Beyond his claim to ultimate foodie fame for being the first known cookbook author, Apicius was also a man who threw an unforgettable dinner party. While most of the Roman population lived off pottage—a bland stew made of wheat and millet, with the occasional bit of offal or fish—Apicius’s lavish dinner parties were legendary, consisting of numerous dishes made with exotic and expensive ingredients, from varieties of fowl to shellfish, seafood, and other meats, sourced from far away places. Apicius disapproved of anything that was remotely close to resembling peasant food, convincing the emperor’s son, Drusus, to refrain from consuming cabbage tops or sprouts because they were too  “common.” Things like fig-fed goose liver, dolphin meatballs, boiled parrot, roasted ostrich, sow’s womb, and camel heel were all regular appearances in his kitchen.

But the ingredients weren’t just exotic; they were also carefully sourced. After getting the word about some incredibly tasty shrimp off the coast of Libya, Apicius chartered a boat with a full crew to sail over and purchase some for himself. But when said shrimp were presented by the local fisherman who approached his boat, he turned back without even going ashore: the briny crustaceans weren’t up to his standards.

With a published cookbook under his belt, friends in high places, and his reputation for throwing the most raging feasts—not to mention his boatloads of sestertii, the Roman currency of the time—the Roman cooking scene in one AD was, without a doubt, Apicius’s bitch.

Everything looked like it was going his way, that is, until it wasn’t.

After years of constantly cooking luxurious meals in the midst of a life of true excess, Apicius realized—a little too late—that he had spent the majority of his rather large fortune by feeding his obsession with food.

While the amount of money left over would have been enough for him to live out the rest of his life in relative poverty, Apicius felt that having to live his life eating the peasant food he so reviled was not going to cut it. So he decided to throw on a party toga and spend the rest of his fortune doing what he did best—throwing one last over-the-top dinner party that would make even the modern eater weep. And then he poisoned himself, but not because he was worried about living out the rest of his existence in penniless obscurity, but because he was afraid of starving to death.

Let that sink in.

In prehistoric times, humans had to hunt for dinner with big rocks—or run away from it when it didn’t die off—if they wanted to survive another day. Fast-forward to the modern universe, and we’re almost effortlessly sourcing meals thanks to the aid of technology, from microwaves to ovens and refrigerators that fuel our gluttonous lives. But despite the world of #foodporn on Instagram and food bloggers who like to showboat the latest food trends, there are many global communities of great gustatory self-restraint with strict dietary disciplines.

Whether it’s because of political or ethical motivations, a concern over health and longevity,some highly questionable sanity, an eating disorder, or the neurotic habits of the modern eater, humans—myself included—are notorious for self-imposing restrictions on what we put into our bodies. But one of the most notable motivations for food restrictions stems from religious beliefs.

Piety is all up in our food in terms of influence, with nearly 84 percent of the global population practicing some sort of religion whose principal texts instruct dietary restriction. Aside from the degree to which these restrictions are followed or still seen as relevant, most religions of the world banish certain foods. The looser side of nutritional rules falls into the range of Christianity and Mormonism, while Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and Judaism come with tighter sanctions.

But while keeping kosher, halal, or vegetarian may sound over-the-top to some, there is one particular religion that surpasses all the others in the art of saying “hell no” to deliciousness. Known as Jainism, it’s a faith so extreme in its dietary restrictions that it makes all the primary global religions—even those with the strictest of dietary rules—look like a culinary free-for-all.

Jainism is one of the oldest and most ascetically extreme India-based religions in the world, with a current practicing population of about 5 million people. The name itself comes from the Sanskrit word Jin, meaning to conquer, and speaks to the Jains’ continual struggle to conquer all bodily needs, sensations, and worldly attachments, which eventually results in moksha (enlightenment) if you stick to the plan. Moksha breaks them out of the cycle of rebirth so that they don’t have to keep getting reborn over and over again into this shitty world. Jain philosophy also stresses the importance of ahimsa, or non-violence, to all living, karmic beings, in order to achieve moksha. But Jains believe that everything is a karmic being—essentially having a soul or whatever. This includes bugs, plants, root vegetables, and microorganisms.

So when you mix a combination of extreme asceticism, extreme non-violence, and an all-inclusive karmic cycle that even maggots get to be a part of, it results in the world’s most intense diet ever.

This means no meat, no fish, no eggs, no garlic or onions or any other root vegetables, no honey (which is seen as violence against bees), no alcohol, no fermented foods (it’s violent against microorganisms), no unfiltered water (it may have small organisms in it), no mushrooms, no fungus, and no yeast.

For stricter Jainism, there is the additional restriction of avoiding food consumption at night. And consuming any food that has been left out overnight is a no-no because this is violence against microorganisms or small bugs that may now be hanging out in the leftovers. Don’t even think about trying to look at the dairy group.

Jain eating habits read as an exercise in saying no, because eating anything on the “do not eat” list equals negative karmic points. Besides the basic items that Jains are allowed to eat, their diet is made even more extreme by limiting themselves to eating only enough food to sustain human life, as well as the 30-plus types of partial and total fasting—fromthe eight-day to the 180-day fast—which act as a killer cleanse for your soul.

But the most extreme part of all Jain religious dietary restriction is the practice of santhara, a religious vow of voluntary death by fasting.

Currently undertaken by an estimated 200 Jains per year—typically by the elderly, ill, or those who have surpassed worldly attachment—this fatal fasting is seen as a blessed approach to purifying the body. The effort is undertaken to purge negative karma and achieve moksha. With their prolonged death—a product of complete fasting from all food and water—the individual has ample time to meditate, release all physical and emotional attachment, and come to death in a peaceful manner while being surrounded by fellow Jains who chant and sing over them.

Recently, there has been a debate about whether santhara should be considered suicide or a form of euthanasia, both of which are illegal in India. But talks of making this practice illegal continue to be challenged as an unconstitutional violation of religious freedoms by Jains. It seems that, for now, the right to santhara—and an almost martyr-like death—is legally protected, which means that microorganisms and maggots are safe from consumption, at least within the Jain community.