Pylimitics

The analysis of last week’s barmecidal meals is just a subcategory in a science that is — or at least should be — producing any number of treatises and research programs this time of year: aristology. In spite of the way it sounds, aristology doesn’t have anything to do with Aristotle. It’s the science (or possibly the art) of dining. It was introduced by Thomas Walker in his own publication The Original in the August 12, 1835 issue. Walker was not quite right about the root word; “ariston” actually means breakfast or lunch but not dinner in Greek. But since the meal actually called “dinner” varies quite a bit between cultures and from one era to another, “aristologists” (Walker also coined that one) probably give the question the benefit of the doubt.

Walker apparently considered himself an aristologist, and quite possibly the leader of his field. He set down some pretty specific guidelines: “As contentment ought to be an accompaniment to every meal, punctuality is essential, and the diner and the dinner should be ready at the same time.” Not only time was involved, aristologically speaking: “A chief maxim in dining with comfort is to have what you want when you want it.”

He wasn’t one to advocate overeating, though, pointing out: “upon the due regulation of the appetite assuredly depends our physical well-being.” 

“Aristology” is not widely used in English, but it has appeared in a series of contemporary crime novels by Rex Stout. His protagonist is a portly detective named Nero Wolfe, who has occasional encounters with an organization of gourmets called the Ten for Aristology.”

Walker’s concern for enjoyment during dinner would probably agree that aristology is nicely complemented by at least one deipnosophist. “Deipnosophist” also has Greek roots: “deipnon” means the chief meal (Walker apparently missed it) and “sophistes,” a master of a craft or a wise man. The word first appeared, as far as anyone knows, in around the year 228 CE in a work by Athenaeus titled Deipnosophistai. It’s fifteen volumes long, and describes a conversation (also very long) among group of learned men at a fancy dinner. It has a lot to say about classical Greek food and cooking, as well as quite a number of other subjects (did I mention it’s fifteen volumes long?) Athenaeus might have intended “deipnosophistai” to refer more to the meal than the conversation but in more recent centuries the word — when it’s used at all — has come to focus on chewing the fat rather than chewing the rest of the food. It’s probably lucky that Thomas Walker never encountered “deipnosophist;” if he had we wouldn’t have “arstologist” to toss around!