(with one honourable mention who can bring the wine)
Inviting Romans to dinner sounds glamorous until you remember they invented both indoor plumbing and crucifixion. As someone who enjoys a modest table, a working digestive system, and guests who don’t start philosophical brawls over dessert, I’ve drawn up a handy list of ancient personalities I’d rather not pass the olives to.
1. Caligula (Reigned 37–41 CE)
You knew he’d be first. A man who declared war on the sea and appointed his horse to the Senate probably isn’t great at small talk. Worse, he might murder a fellow guest mid-meal just to spice things up. Add to that the lingering possibility he’d bring his sister as a plus-one and I’d rather eat in the dark with the cat.
2. Lucius Cornelius Sulla (Dictator, 82–79 BCE)
Ah, Sulla. He “reformed” the Republic by publishing kill lists (proscriptions), seizing estates, and throwing banquets so lavish the wine bills could bankrupt Sicily. He’s the kind of guest who’d arrive early, rearrange the seating plan for “strategic advantage,” and poison the soup to make a point. Polite company? Not unless you would like an ironic death!
3. Cicero (Statesman, Philosopher, Earache)
Cicero was brilliant, verbose, and utterly exhausting. A dinner party with him would become an extempore symposium on your parsley placement. He’d correct your grammar between courses, quote himself in Latin, and insult your cutlery’s patina. By dessert, he’d have written three treatises about why you’re morally inferior for liking cheesecake.
4. Messalina (Empress and Professional Scandal Generator)
Claudius’s third wife was known less for polite conversation and more for sleeping with half of Rome before breakfast. One minute she’s complimenting your wine, the next she’s challenging a professional courtesan to a stamina contest in the atrium. Invite her and everyone goes home with gossip—and possibly a rash.
5. Seneca the Younger (Stoic Philosopher, Wealth Collector)
A moralist who urged others to shun riches while hoarding them himself, Seneca would passive-aggressively judge your side dishes. He’d mutter aphorisms like, “We suffer more in imagination than in reality,” while eyeing your cheese board with existential despair. Also, he was Nero’s tutor—so you know his party recommendations are suspect.
Honourable Mention: Pliny the Elder
Would I seat him next to the carving dish? Absolutely not. But this curious naturalist wrote an encyclopaedia that includes instructions for making wine with seawater, and any guest who can confidently recommend a vintage from Pompeii’s volcanic slopes deserves a place near the fire. He’d bring wine, trivia, and possibly a live badger, but he’d mean well, and that’s more than we can say for the others.
So there you have it: five Romans who won’t be receiving an invitation to my humble villa soirée. History is full of fascinating personalities—but that doesn’t mean you want them handling the fondue.