Italian Greens from Italian Queens

Queen Bona and her ladies-in-waiting with some Medi veggies
By Maja Berezowska (1970)

Polish people are a nation of devoted soup lovers. The main meal of the day traditionally consists of two courses: the soup and “the other dish”. The soup is typically based on stock made by boiling meat together with some bay leaves, allspice grains and a bunch of vegetables: carrots, parsley roots, celeriac and leek. Every grocery in Poland sells ready-made bundles of these soup greens, which are collectively known as “włoszczyzna”,^🔊 or literally, “Italian stuff”. The origin of this name, as every Polish school kid will tell you, is that it was an Italian princess, Bona Sforza, who in 1518 married King Sigismund the Old of Poland and brought previously unfamiliar vegetables from her native peninsula to her new homeland. Did she bring just a single bundle or several cartloads? That we don’t know. What matters is that she forever revolutionized the local foodways in a country where, prior to her arrival, vegetables must have been completely unknown.

Is it true, though – or rather one of Poland’s most enduring culinary-historical myths?

Bona of Milan

By the time Bona Sforza was born in 1494, the Spanish had already begun their conquest of the Americas, which they had discovered two years earlier. Eventually, they would bring some previously unknown food products back to Europe: beans, maize, turkeys, cocoa, peppers, vanilla, pineapples, avocados, pumpkins, potatoes, tomatoes, sunflowers and peanuts. But not so fast; for now, the only novelty that had made its way from the Americas – was syphilis.

Europe, meanwhile, was the stage for a rivalry among three powerful dynasties. One was the Habsburgs, who held the elective throne of the Holy Roman Empire and reigned by inheritance in Austria and the Netherlands. In the east, the Habsburgs vied for influence with the Jagiellons,^🔊 who ruled a vast territory stretching from the Baltic to the Black and Adriatic seas. This rivalry would unfold mostly peacefully, conducted primarily through matrimonial diplomacy. Their opponents in the west were the French Valois, who cast a covetous eye toward the small and weak, yet fabulously wealthy, city-states of northern Italy – which (just like the German states) were nominally part of the Empire.

Bona Sforza d’Aragona (1494–1557), Queen of Poland

One of the wealthiest Italian city-states was the Duchy of Milan, which had been ruled for over a century by the forceful Sforza family, originally descended from common mercenary soldiers. At the time when Bona was born, it was her father, Gian Galeazzo Sforza, who was the Duke of Milan, although real power was held by his uncle, Ludovico Sforza. Bona’s mother, Isabella d’Aragona, fiercely competed with Ludovico’s wife, Beatrice d’Este, over whose children would inherit power in Milan. Since Isabella had the backing of her father, the King of Naples, Ludovico and Beatrice allied themselves with the King of France – who himself laid claim to the Neapolitan throne. Bona was only seven months old when French troops entered Italy, launching the so-called Italian Wars, which the Valois would mostly wage across a patchwork of Italian statelets with ever-shifting alliances and which would go on for decades until two years after Bona’s death.

Meanwhile, Isabella was forced to flee from Milan to her father’s Kingdom of Naples, where her daughter Bona would be raised and come of age. Thanks to Isabella’s wide network of family ties, both she and Bona could still rely upon some powerful allies. Isabella’s brother-in-law was none other than Emperor Maximilian I Habsburg, who – true to the matrimonial politics of his dynasty – personally arranged Bona’s marriage to the Jagiellonian King Sigismund I of Poland. Sigismund was more than twice Bona’s age, though it would only be much later that he would come to be known as Sigismund the Old. The wedding took place on 6 December 1517, in Naples, where the not-so-young groom was represented, as was customary, by a proxy.

The wedding banquet’s menu has survived and gives us some sense of the cuisine Bona may have been accustomed to. The cosmopolitan bill of fare reflected Bona’s Neapolitan and Spanish ties, but the aesthetic of the feast – with its abundance of colourful cakes and jellies, and sweet-and-sour sauces based on liberal amounts of vinegar and sugar – was still far more medieval than modern.

For the first table: pine nuts in syrup with sweet cream and fruit preserves Meat jelly with a fresh salad Boiled beef and blancmange with mustard Braised squabs Roasted meats in tangy wine sauce Puff-pastry pies Wild game boiled in the Hungarian style Meat pies, peacocks in their own sauce Florentine cakes Roasted game with elongated cheese dumplings Meatballs, nauma soup* Roasted pheasants, almongiavare [Spanish sweet rolls stuffed with cheese] Capons in pastry White pies, followed by molded meat jellies Rabbits in their own sauce, guanti [Neapolitan festive crown-shaped pastries with sweet filling] Partridges with lemons, quince jelly Purple pies Sugar cookies for all tables For the table of Her Majesty the Queen: a fountain of perfumes Tartlets for all tables For the table of Her Majesty the Queen: chestnuts in syrup and a chessboard for playing Nevole [Neapolitan fried-pastry rosettes] and spiced wine; the first table to be cleared Dragées and scented water for washing hands

— Giuliano Passero: Storie in forma di Giornali, Napoli: Vincenzo Orsino, 1785, p. 252–253, own translation *) There is some debate as to what kind of soup is meant here. Perhaps it’s a “golden soup” with slices of bread fried in beaten egg. In primis pignolata in quattro, con natte, & attonnata. Insalata d’herbe, jelatina. Lo bollito, & bianco mangnare con mostarda con l’ordine suo. Li coppi di picciuni. Lo arrusto ordinario con mirrausto, et salza de vino agro. Le pizze sfogliate. Lo bollito salvaggio con putaggio ungaresco, & preparata. Li pasticci de carne. Li pagoni con sua salza. Le pizze fiorentine. Lo arrusto salvaggio, & strangolapreiti. Le pastidelle de carne. La zuppa nauma. Lo arrusto de fasani. Almongiavare. Li capuni copierti. Le pizze bianche. Et appresso gelatine ingotti. Conigli con suo sapore. Li guanti. Le starne con lemoncelle sane. Li pasticci de cotogne. Le pizze pagonazze. Le pastitelle de zuccaro per tutte le tavole &c. Alla tavola della Signora Regina fo fontana de adure. Le tartette per tutte le tavole. Alla tavola della signora Regina con detto misso cadague de zuccaro con lo scacchiero. Le nevole, & procassa. Levaro la prima tavola. Confietti. & l’acqua a mano di buono odore. Original text: In primis pignolata in quattro, con natte, & attonnata. Insalata d’herbe, jelatina. Lo bollito, & bianco mangnare con mostarda con l’ordine suo. Li coppi di picciuni. Lo arrusto ordinario con mirrausto, et salza de vino agro. Le pizze sfogliate. Lo bollito salvaggio con putaggio ungaresco, & preparata. Li pasticci de carne. Li pagoni con sua salza. Le pizze fiorentine. Lo arrusto salvaggio, & strangolapreiti. Le pastidelle de carne. La zuppa nauma. Lo arrusto de fasani. Almongiavare. Li capuni copierti. Le pizze bianche. Et appresso gelatine ingotti. Conigli con suo sapore. Li guanti. Le starne con lemoncelle sane. Li pasticci de cotogne. Le pizze pagonazze. Le pastitelle de zuccaro per tutte le tavole &c. Alla tavola della Signora Regina fo fontana de adure. Le tartette per tutte le tavole. Alla tavola della signora Regina con detto misso cadague de zuccaro con lo scacchiero. Le nevole, & procassa. Levaro la prima tavola. Confietti. & l’acqua a mano di buono odore.

It wasn’t until the spring of the following year that Bona arrived in Cracow to take up residence at the Royal Wawel^🔊 Castle, whose lengthy renovation in the fashionable Renaissance style – carried out by architects and craftsmen brought specially from Italy – was just nearing completion.

Dishes from Bona’s wedding feast as reconstructed in 2022 by middle-and-high-school students in Bari

Royal envoys had already reported to Sigismund from Naples that his new bride was distinguished not only by her beauty, charm and dancing skills but also by her education and eloquence, to the extent that “in conversation, learning and speech, she was not as one would expect of her sex, but truly astonishing,” and that “she spoke nothing that lacked a certain refinement, whether in metaphor or in the most ornate expression.” In Cracow, to the considerable alarm of the Polish nobility – and likely the king himself – it turned out that the beautiful and deeply décolleté Bona also had a head for politics and a knack for business. A royal consort who didn’t stop at producing heirs, but also interfered in matters of state, caused far more astonishment in conservative Poland than in Italy, where she’d been actually taught that she was born to rule over men. Bona even managed to secure the unprecedented and unconstitutional coronation of her only son, Sigismund Augustus, as king at the age of nine – while his father was still alive and well – in what was, supposedly, an elective monarchy.

All this, in time, contributed to the emergence of Bona’s black legend, according to which the queen was “good” only in name, but in reality was pathologically ambitious, greedy, prone to Machiavellian machinations, financial malfeasance and – as befitted a Renaissance Italian – to the use of poison as a tool of statecraft. She was suspected of having poisoned her first two daughters-in-law (Elisabeth Habsburg and Barbara Radziwiłł^🔊), as well as the last two dukes of Masovia (Stanislav and John III). It was in Masovia – swiftly annexed by Poland – where Bona, estranged from her son, lived for eight years before eventually returning to Italy. There, the Polish queen dowager was herself poisoned – probably on the orders of King Philip II of Spain, who owed her too much money to leave her alive.

Right then – but what about those vegetables? We’ll come to that in a moment. First, however, let’s take a closer look at another famous Italian-born queen whose life followed a path quite similar to Bona’s.

Catherine of Florence

Caterina de’ Medici (1519–1589), Queen of France
By Germain Le Mannier.

So Bona was a girl from a prominent Italian family who was married off to the king of a powerful state north of the Alps, where she is remembered, on the one hand, as a ruthless, power-hungry woman, and on the other, as someone who enriched the cuisine of her adopted homeland with Italian flair. If all of this sounds familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it, then let me help: you’re probably thinking of Catherine de’ Medici.^🔊

Catherine (Caterina de’ Medici) was born in Florence one year after Bona had become Queen of Poland. Just as the Sforzas ruled Milan, so the Medici – originally a family of modest merchants – had already held sway over Florence for more than three hundred years. She was barely a month old when she was orphaned, so her upbringing fell to her uncles. First, she came under the protective wing of Giovanni de’ Medici, better known as Pope Leo X. Following his death, custody of Catherine passed to Giulio de’ Medici, or Pope Clement VII.

By that time, the Habsburgs had seized control of Naples and Spain (along with its colonial empire). France found itself surrounded by Habsburg holdings from all sides, which escalated the Italian Wars into an open confrontation between the Habsburgs and the Valois. Among those who sided with the latter were the Papal States. In order to cement this Papal–French alliance, Clement VII arranged for the fourteen-year-old Catherine to wed the French dauphin Henry. Fourteen years later, in 1547, Henry inherited the French crown upon his brother’s death – becoming the second king of his name – with Catherine as his queen consort.

Possessive, shrewd and merciless, the Medici queen – active during France’s bloody Wars of Religion – earned a reputation even darker than Bona’s. Some of it may have been warranted, yet many of her true faults were exaggerated by contemporary pamphleteers and by later novelists – most notably by Alexandre Dumas, who in La Reine Margot cast Catherine as the mastermind behind the Saint Bartholomew’s Eve massacre of the Huguenots and – naturally – branded her a diabolical poisoner.

Catherine would also earn a far richer culinary legacy than Bona. If we are to believe the many versions of her legend, the Medici queen brought to the banks of the Seine an impressive array of delights: artichokes and green peas, broccoli and tomatoes, melons and madeleines, ice creams and sorbets, mousses and jams, ratafias and béchamel sauce, macaroni and macaroons… One of her Italian chefs, Giovanni Pastilla, introduced stuffed pastries into the French repertoire. Another, Cesare Frangipani, was the inventor of almond cream. Monsieur Popelini popularized sweet doughnuts made from choux pastry, while Berini revived long-forgotten French sauces…

But did they?

For many years, the legend of Catherine de’ Medici’s influence on French cuisine – like countless other culinary anecdotes – was taken at face value. It was only in the late 1970s that historians began subjecting it to scholarly scrutiny. And they found no historical sources to confirm that Italian chefs had ever descended upon the French court. Names like Pastilla, Frangipani, Popelini and Berini were shown to be entirely fictional. Frangipani, for instance, depending on which version one reads, was either part of Catherine’s entourage or that of Henry III, bore the title of either count or marquis, bore the given name of either Cesare or Pompeo, and hailed either from Florence or Rome. In truth, these figures did not invent culinary novelties later named in their honour; rather, their Italian-sounding surnames were retroactively derived from the existing names of French desserts: “Frangipani” from “frangipane”^🔊 (almond cream), “Pastilla” from “pastille”^🔊 (a flavoured biscuit), “Popelini” from “poupelin”^🔊 (a choux-pastry doughnut).

Leonardo da Vinci’s blueprint for a smoke-powered roasting spit (Codex Atlanticus, folio 21)

Historians also began to question the extent to which a fourteen-year-old girl could realistically shape the habits of the French royal court. Especially given that, for years, Catherine struggled to provide a legitimate heir to her husband, who preferred to share his bed with the alluring Diane de Poitiers. Catherine’s position only strengthened after Henry II’s death in a jousting tournament, when the French crown passed in turn to their sons: Francis II, Charles IX and finally Henry III. It was then that the Queen Mother began to immerse herself in the political life of the realm, cultivating aristocratic support through lavish banquets, among other means. Yet there is no evidence that the dishes served at these feasts bore any particular affinity to Italian cuisine.

Modern scholars maintain that the Renaissance fare of the French remained largely unchanged from the medieval period and that Catherine’s arrival in Paris did not usher in any culinary revolution. The evolution of French cuisine was gradual – its Italianization driven more by mass contact, whether through French soldiers occupying Italy or Italian migrants moving into the realm of their conquerors, than by the presence of a single Florentine-born consort.

One of the Italians who relocated to France after the outbreak of the Italian Wars was none other than Leonardo da Vinci. In 1516, following the French occupation of Milan, Leonardo – who had previously worked at the court of Ludovico Sforza (and where he’d painted the famed portrait of Sforza’s mistress holding an ermine, now the most valuable work of art in Poland) – moved to the banks of the Loire to serve the King of France. Among the commissions given to him by his new patron was the design of a royal palace at Romorantin, whose kitchens Leonardo planned to equip with some of his ingenious inventions, including spits rotated by chimney-mounted fans.

But Catherine, at the time, had only just been born. So how did the myth arise that it was the Medici queen who imported Italian culinary traditions to France? Initially, this claim was merely a culinary footnote to her broader negative legend. Enlightenment thinkers, long after Catherine’s death, helped solidify her image as a villainous figure in French history, often highlighting her moral corruption and indulgence – including excesses in food and drink. According to their narrative, the queen’s personal example had tainted the previously restrained Parisian court. The earliest known reference to this idea appears in the 1739 cookbook, The Gifts of Comus, or The Delights of the Table (Les dons de Comus, ou Les délices de la table; in classical mythology, Comus was the god of feasting, son of Dionysus / Bacchus). It was first suggested in the book’s historical preface that Catherine had brought to France an entire army of Italian chefs – a move said to have permanently transformed French cuisine into something more refined.

Cibrèo, a Florentine dish of rooster combs and testicles, as recreated by Ms. Emiko Davies in 2021 (left: chief ingredients; right: complete dish)

There is one reference historians have managed to uncover which supports the claims of the queen’s supposed gluttony:

The Queen Mother ate so excessively she nearly burst and, in addition, came down with a bout of the runs. It was said she had overindulged in artichoke bottoms, along with rooster combs and testicles, of which she was especially fond.

— Pierre de L’Estoile: Registre-Journal du règne de Henri III, ed. M. Lazard, G. Schrenck, vol. I, Genève: Droz, 1992, p. 171–172, quoted in: Loïc Bienassis, Antonella Campanini: La reine à la fourchette et autres histoires : Ce que la table française emprunta à l’Italie : analyse crytique d’un mythe, in: Pascal Brioist, Florent Quellier: La table de la Renaissance: Le mythe italien, Presses Universitaires de Rennes, Presses Universitaires François-Rabelais, 2018, p. 32, own translation La Roine Mere mangea tant qu’elle cuida crever, et fust malade au double de son desvoiement. On disoit que c’estoit d’avoir trop mangé de culs d’artichaux et de crestes et rongnons de coq, dont elle estoit fort friande. Original text: La Roine Mere mangea tant qu’elle cuida crever, et fust malade au double de son desvoiement. On disoit que c’estoit d’avoir trop mangé de culs d’artichaux et de crestes et rongnons de coq, dont elle estoit fort friande.

That quote, however, came from a source openly hostile to Catherine. The anecdote carried distinctly erotic and political undertones, to boot. Picture this: an Italian-born queen gorging herself on the testicles of a castrated rooster – an animal long celebrated as the symbol of France.

This notion of Catherine’s corrosive effect on French civilization was later echoed by the Encyclopedists. According to the Encyclopédie's article on “Cuisine”, it was during Catherine’s queenship that the hitherto modest and unpretentious French cooking became distorted by noxious Italian influence.

Cibrèo, a Florentine dish of rooster combs and testicles, as recreated by Ms. Emiko Davies in 2021 (left: chief ingredients; right: complete dish)

The Italians first inherited the remains of Roman cuisine. It is they who introduced the French to fine dining, whose excesses several of our kings tried to repress through edicts, but in the end it triumphed over the law during the reign of Henri II. So the ultramontane cooks came to establish themselves in France, and it is one of our least debts to this throng of corrupt Italians who served at the court of Catherine de Médicis.

— Louis de Jaucourt: Cuisine, in: Denis Diderot, Jean le Rond D’Alembert: Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, transl. Sean Takats, Ann Arbor: Michigan Publishing, University of Michigan Library, 2005 Les Italiens ont hérité les premiers des débris de la cuisine romaine ; ce sont eux qui ont fait connoître aux François la bonne chère, dont plusieurs de nos rois tentèrent de réprimer l’excès par des édits ; mais enfin elle triompha des lois sous le règne d’Henri II ; alors les cuisiniers de de-là les monts vinrent s’établir en France, et c’est une des moindres obligations que nous ayons à cette foule d’Italiens corrompus qui servirent à la cour de Catherine de Médicis. — Louis de Jaucourt: Cuisine, in: Denis Diderot, Jean le Rond D’Alembert: Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. IV, Paris: Briasson/David/Le Breton/Durand, 1754, p. 538; cyt. w: Bienassis, Campanini, op. cit., p. 48 Original text: Les Italiens ont hérité les premiers des débris de la cuisine romaine ; ce sont eux qui ont fait connoître aux François la bonne chère, dont plusieurs de nos rois tentèrent de réprimer l’excès par des édits ; mais enfin elle triompha des lois sous le règne d’Henri II ; alors les cuisiniers de de-là les monts vinrent s’établir en France, et c’est une des moindres obligations que nous ayons à cette foule d’Italiens corrompus qui servirent à la cour de Catherine de Médicis. — Louis de Jaucourt: Cuisine, in: Denis Diderot, Jean le Rond D’Alembert: Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. IV, Paris: Briasson/David/Le Breton/Durand, 1754, p. 538; cyt. w: Bienassis, Campanini, op. cit., p. 48

Only in the 19th century did Catherine de’ Medici’s association with culinary innovation shed its negative connotations. French gourmets, led by Alexandre Grimod de la Reynière,^🔊 began to elevate her as the one who gave rise to modern French cuisine by enriching it with Italian influence. In the Journal of the Gourmets (Journal des gourmands), founded by Grimod de la Reynière himself, the entry from the Encyclopédie was paraphrased as follows:

The Italians first recovered the remains of Roman cuisine, just as they did with literature and the arts. It was they who introduced us to that discipline dubbed the “science of the gullet” by Montaigne, “gastrology” by Lamotte-le-Vayer, and “culinary science” by modern chemists. At first, this new science met with obstacles and outright persecution: several of our kings tried to stem its advance through edicts, but in time it triumphed over the law during the reign of Henri II. And so, following in the steps of Catherine de’ Medici, the ultramontane cooks came to establish themselves in France. It is not the smallest of debts which we owe that illustrious queen. […]

— Gasterman: Introduction à l’histoire de la gourmandise, in: Journal des gourmands et des belles ou l’Épicurien français, May 1807, p. 118, quoted in: Bienassis, Campanini, op. cit., p. 56; own translation Les Italien recueillirent les premiers les débris de la cuisine romaine, comme ceux des belles-lettres et de tous les arts; ce sont les Italiens qui nous ont fait connaître cette science, appelée par Montaigne […] science de gueule ; par Lamotte-le-Vayer, gastrologie, et par la chimie moderne science culinaire. Elle éprouva d’abord des obstacles et des persécutions ; plusieurs de nos rois tentèrent d’empêcher sa propagation par des édits : enfin elle triompha des lois sous Henri II, et sur les pas de Catherine de Médicis les cuisiniers de delà les monts vinrent s’établir en France. Ce n’est pas une des moindres obligations que nous ayions à cette illustre reine […] Original text: Les Italien recueillirent les premiers les débris de la cuisine romaine, comme ceux des belles-lettres et de tous les arts; ce sont les Italiens qui nous ont fait connaître cette science, appelée par Montaigne […] science de gueule ; par Lamotte-le-Vayer, gastrologie, et par la chimie moderne science culinaire. Elle éprouva d’abord des obstacles et des persécutions ; plusieurs de nos rois tentèrent d’empêcher sa propagation par des édits : enfin elle triompha des lois sous Henri II, et sur les pas de Catherine de Médicis les cuisiniers de delà les monts vinrent s’établir en France. Ce n’est pas une des moindres obligations que nous ayions à cette illustre reine […]

The Italian Roots of Polish Vegetables

Feasts at the court of King Sigismund I might have looked something like this.
Fragment of the ceiling frieze in the Envoys’ Hall at Wawel Castle, painted by Dionizy Stuba (1540).

Let us return to Bona. Could it be that she held a greater sway over Polish foodways than her younger compatriot did in France? Well, it seems unlikely that she was able to shape even the dietary habits of the king himself or his immediate circle. In Poland, the king and queen customarily maintained separate courts and – aside from grand banquets held on special occasions – dined separately, each in the company of their own retinues. The queen also had her own kitchen and her own pantry.

While no names of individual chefs at Catherine de’ Medici’s court appear in historical records – and those we do know are fictitious – Bona’s case is better documented. Her master chef in Cracow was Cola Maria de Charis, a Neapolitan nobleman who, as a true man of the Renaissance, also served the queen as a court musician and a diplomat. In 1525, he was knighted and “indigenized”, or naturalized as a member of Polish nobility, by the king. We also know that not only de Charis but also Bona’s steward – who was in charge of her pantry – along with the cooks and kitchen boys, were all of Italian origin.

Queen Bona seated next to the standing King Sigismund I
By Jan Matejko (1874).

The situation grew more complicated when Bona’s only son, Sigismund Augustus, married for the first time. From that point onward, Wawel had to accommodate no fewer than four separate royal courts: those of King Sigismund the Old, Queen Bona, the young King Sigismund Augustus, and his consort, Queen Elizabeth Habsburg. Since Bona – morbidly possessive of her son – harboured no affection for her daughter-in-law, the arrangement was anything but harmonious. On one occasion, a heated row erupted when Elizabeth’s head chef was supplied with a wheel of parmesan by Bona’s steward. As soon as Bona learned of this, she publicly forbade her daughter-in-law from being served anything from her personal pantry. It seems, then, that Bona indeed imported not only Italian kitchen staff for her private household but also Italian food products – though not necessarily vegetables – but she wasn’t inclined to share them, let alone encourage others to partake in her own stock of Mediterranean provisions.

But if it wasn’t Bona who introduced vegetables to Poland, then where did all those cultivated plants with unmistakably Italian-sounding names come to the banks of the Vistula from? And did Poles eat any veggies at all before the arrival of these southern imports?

Of course, it’s not as if vegetables were entirely absent from medieval Polish diets. On the contrary, a wide variety were consumed, though many of them were later forgotten or displaced by new crops from the south of Europe. In earlier times, Polish people commonly ate the roots of such native plants as parsnip (Pastinaca sativa, now largely replaced by the parsley root), skirret (Sium sisarum) and wild carrot (Daucus carota, smaller and paler than the carrot we know today), as well as the aerial parts of alexanders (Smyrnium olustratum), hogweed (Heracleum sphondylium), goosefoot (Chenopodium album), orache (Atriplex hortensis), nipplewort (Lapsana communis), and the seeds of a marsh herb known as mannagrass (Glyceria fluitans, unrelated to the biblical manna). All these plants still grow in the wild and are occasionally foraged by survivalists and ethnobotany enthusiasts. But on most Polish tables, they’ve long since been swapped out for vegetables originating in the Mediterranean climate.

When exactly this swap took place isn’t entirely clear. It was certainly a gradual process and not all of the new vegetables appeared in Poland at the same time. One way to search for some clues could be to take a look at linguistic data: when did Italian-derived names for individual vegetables first show up in Polish-language written sources?

The earliest to settle into the Polish language – and, one might suspect, onto Polish tables as well — was sałata,^🔊 or lettuce. The word “sałata” comes from the Italian “insalata”,^🔊 which literally means “salted”. That’s because Italians had long served this vegetable seasoned with salt, vinegar and olive oil. Just like its Italian counterpart, the Polish word initially referred to both lettuce as such and a salad made of this and other vegetables (modern Polish distinguishes the two by referring to a salad by the diminutive “sałatka”^🔊). The oldest known Polish text in which “sałata” appears — and in both senses, no less – is a herbal by Stefan Falimirz^🔊 published in 1534 under the title On Herbs and Their Potency (O ziołach i mocy ich).

Lettuce in an illustration from S. Falimirz’s herbal (1534)

Sałata [Polish for lettuce], or lactuca [Latin for the same], comes in two varieties: domestic and wild. The complexion of domestic lettuce is cold and moist in a moderate degree.*

— Stefan Falimirz: O ziołach i mocy ich, [Cracow]: Florian Ungler, 1534, p. 73v, own translation *) Description according to humoral medicine. See: Good Humour, Good Health. Sałata albo laktuka jest dwojaka, jedna jest domowa, a druga leśna. Moc tej laktuki domowej jest zimna i wilka miernym obyczajem. Original text: Sałata albo laktuka jest dwojaka, jedna jest domowa, a druga leśna. Moc tej laktuki domowej jest zimna i wilka miernym obyczajem.

Sałata [Old Polish for salad] made from parsley, fennel, watercress, borage and lettuce, seasoned with vinegar, olive oil and a little salt, is good against hot diseases and for strengthening one’s heart.

— Ibid., p. 98, own translation Sałata uczyniona z pietruszki, z włoskiego kopru, z wodną rzeżuchą, z boragiem, z laktuką, a tak z tych ziół z octem a z oliwą sałatę przyprawić osoliwszy trochę, albowiem ta sałata jest dobra w gorących niemocach, serce posila. Original text: Sałata uczyniona z pietruszki, z włoskiego kopru, z wodną rzeżuchą, z boragiem, z laktuką, a tak z tych ziół z octem a z oliwą sałatę przyprawić osoliwszy trochę, albowiem ta sałata jest dobra w gorących niemocach, serce posila.

The next source, chronologically, in which Italian-derived vegetable names appear for the first time is the 1549 Polish translation of Books on Husbandry (Ruralia Commoda) by Pietro de’ Crescenzi. This is where we first encounter the word “por”^🔊 (from Italian “porro”^🔊), which eventually displaced the native Polish “łuk”^🔊 as the term for “leek”. Another notable example is “faseol” (from Italian “fagioli”^🔊, “beans”), a word that gradually evolved in Polish into “fazoły”, and ultimately into “fasola”.^🔊 Beans were the first vegetable from the New World – discovered by Europeans only half a century earlier – to reach Poland, and they did so via Italy.

A beanstalk in an illustration from P. de Crescenzi’s handbook (1549)

Fresh por [Polish for leek] or łuk [Old Polish for the same], when applied to the site of a snake bite, draws the venom out. Boiled, however, and dressed with almond oil, it stimulates erection and carnal desire.

— Piotr Crescentyn: Księgi o gospodarstwie i o opatrzeniu rozmnożenia rozlicznych pożytków każdemu stanowi potrzebne, Kraków: Helena Unglerowa, 1549, p. 215, own translation Sam też por albo łuk świeży, gdy bywa przykładan na miejsce, gdzie wąż ukąsi, jad on wyciąga; warzony lepak a migdałowym omaszczony olejem pobudza wzwód a żądzę cielesną. Original text: Sam też por albo łuk świeży, gdy bywa przykładan na miejsce, gdzie wąż ukąsi, jad on wyciąga; warzony lepak a migdałowym omaszczony olejem pobudza wzwód a żądzę cielesną.

Faseol [Old Polish for beans] is a type of small, white peas, though on one side they are speckled with black spots. They are common in Italy and of little weight; some are also slightly red.

— Ibid., p. 176, own translation Faseol jest rodzaj grochu drobny a biały, ale na jednej stronie trochę nakropiony czarnymi kroplami, we włoskiej ziemi jest pospolity, a małej wagi; bywa też niektóry trochę czerwony. Original text: Faseol jest rodzaj grochu drobny a biały, ale na jednej stronie trochę nakropiony czarnymi kroplami, we włoskiej ziemi jest pospolity, a małej wagi; bywa też niektóry trochę czerwony.

The word “garczoffy” – an old Polish term for artichokes (“karczochy”^🔊 in modern Polish) – first appeared in Marcin Siennik’s Herbarz (Herbal), published in 1568, which was already twelve years after Queen Bona’s departure from Poland. It stems from the Italian “carciofi”,^🔊 itself borrowed from the Arabic “al-ḵuršūf”.^🔊 The English word shares the same origin, though it retained the definite article “al-”, which was later altered to “ar-”.

This concludes the 16th century. The next wave of vegetable borrowings from Italian came much later. The earliest attested use of “szparag”^🔊 (asparagus, from the archaic Italian “sparago”^🔊) appears in a dictionary from 1605; “seler”^🔊 (celery, from the dialectal Italian “sellero”^🔊) is found in a 1656 epigram by Wacław Potocki; “kaulifior” (modern Polish: “kalafior”,^🔊 cauliflower, from Italian “cavolfiore”,^🔊 literally “cabbage flower”) is recorded in a dictionary from 1680; while “brochuł” (modern Polish: “brokuł”,^🔊 broccoli, from Italian “broccolo”^🔊) and “kaulerapa” (modern Polish: “kalarepa”,^🔊 kohlrabi, from Italian “cavolo rapa”,^🔊 literally “cabbage turnip”) feature in Stanisław Czerniecki’s^🔊 Compendium Ferculorum from 1682. As for the Polish term for tomato – “pomidor”^🔊 – it didn’t spread into Polish until the 19th century.

Bundles of włoszczyzna (literally, “Italian stuff”), or soup vegetables, as they are commonly sold in Poland, including: carrots, parsley (root and leaves), celeriac (celery root) and leek.

It would seem, then, that if any vegetables became widespread in Poland during Queen Bona’s time, they may have included lettuce, leeks, beans and possibly artichokes. Of these, only the leek forms part of the standard Polish set of soup vegetables – known collectively as włoszczyzna. Yet in this case, it was only the name that was imported from Italy, supplanting an older Slavic term for a vegetable that was already familiar in Poland.

In any case, the mere fact that certain vegetables began to be cultivated and consumed in Poland around Bona’s time does not necessarily mean that their arrival on the banks of the Vistula was due to her personal influence. Polish-Italian ties had existed long before Bona and would continue after her return to Bari. Her arrival in Cracow may well have been, at least in part, a reflection of the broader vogue for Italian culture. Sigismund I already had Italian garments, Italian furniture, Italian court artists and musicians, a palace in the Italian style – so it was only natural that he should also take an Italian wife.

Where, then, does the legend of Queen Bona introducing Mediterranean vegetables to Poland come from? Most likely, it arose as a Polish counterpart to a similar French legend about Catherine de’ Medici. If the French believed that the culinary riches of Italy had been brought to their country by a Renaissance queen from the peninsula, it must have seemed logical that a similar role could be attributed to Bona Sforza in Poland. We now know that the French version of this legend emerged during the Enlightenment. The Polish version, then, may well have its roots in the same era.

The earliest suggestion I’ve found that it was Bona who brought the Mediterranean veggies to Poland comes from the novel John of Tenczyn (Jan z Tęczyna) by Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz,^🔊 first published in 1824. Niemcewicz – a distinguished figure of the Polish Enlightenment, co-author of the nation’s first constitution, personal secretary to the Polish and American hero Tadeusz Kościuszko,^🔊 and the first Pole to receive U.S. citizenship – was also the author of Poland’s first historical novel. It is a fictionalized account of the true story of Jan Baptysta Tęczyński,^🔊 a promising young aristocrat who fell in love with the Swedish princess Cecilia Vasa (and she with him) but tragically died in Danish captivity in 1563, before he could marry her. And it’s in the opening chapter of this Walter-Scottian romantic tale that we find the following passage:

A kitchen garden from the time of Queen Bona, as reconstruncted on the Wawel Hill

Teodorowa had already put the chickens in the pot and she was now holding leeks and celeriacs in her hand. “Back in my childhood,” she said, “we didn’t know any of this Italian stuff. Queen Bona brought it to us from those – what do you call them? – lands overseas. From the royal gardens it spread throughout the Cracow region and even farther, because the old queen loves her gardens and she lays them out and tends them everywhere. They say she even planted grape vines in Czersk and her other estates.”

— Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz: Jan z Tęczyna: powieść historyczna, vol. 1, Warszawa: N. Glücksberg, 1825, p. 9–10, own translation Już Teodorowa włożyła kurczęta w garnek, a trzymając pory i selery w ręku, „za mego dzieciństwa,” rzekła, „nie znaliśmy tej włoszczyzny. Królowa Bona przywiozła nam je z swoich tam, jak się zowią? zamorskich krajów. Z ogrodów królewskich rozeszły się po całych okolicach Krakowa i dalej jeszcze, bo stara królowa j[ej]m[oś]ć lubi ogrody, wszędzie je sadzi i szczepi, mówią że w Czersku i innych imionach swoich pozasadzała winną macicę.” Original text: Już Teodorowa włożyła kurczęta w garnek, a trzymając pory i selery w ręku, „za mego dzieciństwa,” rzekła, „nie znaliśmy tej włoszczyzny. Królowa Bona przywiozła nam je z swoich tam, jak się zowią? zamorskich krajów. Z ogrodów królewskich rozeszły się po całych okolicach Krakowa i dalej jeszcze, bo stara królowa j[ej]m[oś]ć lubi ogrody, wszędzie je sadzi i szczepi, mówią że w Czersku i innych imionach swoich pozasadzała winną macicę.”

John of Tenczyn was, throughout most of the 19th century, the best-selling historical novel in Poland. It was only in the 1880s that it was supplanted by Henryk Sienkiewicz’s^🔊 trilogy. It’s no surprise, then, that the association Niemcewicz established between Queen Bona and Italian veggies soon came to be regarded as an obvious and unquestioned truth.

Bibliography

• Anna Bochnakowa: Terminy kulinarne romańskiego pochodzenia w języku polskim do końca XVIII w., Kraków: Uniwersytet Jagielloński, 1984
• Maria Bogucka: Bona Sforza, Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1989
• Pascal Brioist, Florent Quellier: La table de la Renaissance: Le mythe italien, Presses Universitaires de Rennes, Presses Universitaires François-Rabelais, 2018
  • Loïc Bienassis, Antonella Campanini: La reine à la fourchette et autres histoires : Ce que la table française emprunta à l’Italie : analyse crytique d’un mythe, in: La table de la Renaissance…, p. 29–88
  • Pascal Brioist, Florent Quellier: Introduction : Une mythologie de table, objet d’histoire(s), in: La table de la Renaissance…, p. 9–25
  • Pascal Brioist: Léonard et la cuisine, de la Toscane à la France, in: La table de la Renaissance…, p. 89–102
  • Deborah L. Krohn: Le livre de cuisine de la reine : un exemplaire de l’Opera de Scappi dans la collection de Catherine de Médicis, in: La table de la Renaissance…, p. 151–163
  • Florent Quellier: L’engouement pour les légumes dans la France de la Renaissance : un goût d’Italie ?, in: La table de la Renaissance…, p. 211–229
• Antonella Campanini: The Illusive Story Of Catherine de’ Medici: A Gastronomic Myth, in: The New Gastronome, Università degli studi di Scienze Gastronomiche di Pollenzo
• Maria Dembińska: Food and Drink in Medieval Poland: Rediscovering a Cuisine of the Past, tłum. Magdalena Thomas, red. William Woys Weaver, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999
• Darius von Güttner-Sporzyński: Contextualising the marriage of Bona Sforza to Sigismund I of Poland: Maximilian I’s diplomacy in Italy and Central Europe, in: Folia Historica Cracoviensia, 27/2, Kraków: Wydział Historii i Dziedzictwa Kulturowego Uniwersytetu Papieskiego Jana Pawła II, 2021, p. 63–90
• Joanna Kamper-Warejko: Historia polskich nazw roślin występujących w poradniku P. Krescencjusza, in: Linguistica Copernicana, 11, Toruń: Instytut Języka Polskiego, Uniwersytet Mikołaja Kopernika, 2014, p. 142–158
• Barbara Ketcham Wheaton: Savoring the Past: The French Kitchen and Table from 1300 to 1789, Simon and Schuster, 2011
• Łukasz Łuczaj: Dzika kuchnia, Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Nasza Księgarnia, 2013
• Słownik polszczyzny XVI wieku, Instytut Badań Literackich Polskiej Akademii Nauk

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