‘Apples from Tibur are not so well flavoured as those
From Picenum: but they look nicer. Venuculan grapes
Are best when preserved: Alban are better smoked.
You’ll find I was first to lay them out with apples,
The first to serve caviar and wine-lees, black salt
And white pepper too, sifted, on plain little dishes.
It’s a great sin to spend a fortune on market fish
And then force the sprawling things onto narrow salvers.
It turns a delicate stomach when the boy hands you
A cup with fingers greasy from eating the pickings,
Or offensive rime clings to an antique mixing bowl.
How trivial the cost of a broom, sawdust, napkins,
But how enormous the error if they’re forgotten!
Fancy sweeping mosaic floors with a dirty brush
Of palm leaves, or putting filthy covers on Tyrian
Damask, forgetting the less trouble and cost involved
The more the blame’s justified than in neglecting things
That only the tables of the rich can aspire to.’
Wise Catius, I pray by our friendship and the gods,
Whenever you go to a lecture remember to take
Me along. However trustworthy your memory,
Repeating it all, as interpreter, can’t deliver
As much delight. And there’s his face and presence, you
Having seen him think little of: but I’ve no small longing
To approach that distant fountain, and there be allowed
To imbibe the precepts for living a happy life.