Today we associate it with relaxation and refinement, ritual and religion, even industry and investment. And the varied uses of wine are nothing new. After grapes arrived in Egypt, over 5,000 years ago, wine made major, lasting – and often surprising – impacts on its society and culture. The earliest vineyard remains in Egypt date from the fourth millennium BC. The oldest wine jar yet discovered was made c3000 BC – and jars continue to be found.

Following the introduction of grape cultivation from the Levant sometime before 3000 BC, grapes became the main ingredient fermented to make irep (wine), which was typically red. For lengthy periods, wine made from the fruit (dates) or sap of palm trees was more affordable, and other fruits such as figs and pomegranates were also fermented with sugar to make wine.

Wine was both a staple and a valuable commodity to be bought and sold. Vineyards were largely owned by nobles who could also enjoy wine on an everyday basis, while ordinary people typically drank it only during festivals, or might receive it as a work bonus.

Scenes of the grape harvest appear in several tombs, the earliest from the Old Kingdom in the third millennium BC. Some tomb depictions show the whole winemaking process from harvesting, treading and pressing to fermentation. In these illustrations, wine is most often presented in a small round cup.

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Over time, Egyptian wine began to be exported, particularly after Alexandria, founded in the fourth century BC by Alexander the Great, became a global trading hub. Recently discovered wine amphorae – bottles with two small looped handles – demonstrate that wine from around Lake Mareotis (or Mariout), lying immediately south of Alexandria, reached destinations on the Strait of Sicily and as far as the coast of what’s now southern France near Marseille. Several classical writers, including the Roman poets Horace and Virgil, mentioned Mareotic wine; the Greek writer Athenaeus described it as “pleasant [and] fragrant”. Cleopatra is said to have carried Mareotic wine on her fleet.

God of wine

Wine wasn’t just a pleasant drink in ancient Egypt – it was linked to significant episodes in foundational mythology.

In a pivotal tale, green-faced Osiris (below) – one of the most significant gods in the ancient Egyptian pantheon – was murdered by his jealous brother, Set, who locked him in a coffin and threw it into the Nile. Osiris’s blood infused the river with rich minerals, and caused the annual flooding that underpins the Egyptian soil’s fertility – an event that, to the ancient population, was nothing short of divine.

According to Greek and Roman historians, excess soil washed into the Nile turned the river a reddish colour. In the ancient myth, though, it was Osiris’s blood that was not only turning the waters red but also irrigating and nourishing crops.

In the story, Osiris’s remains were found by his wife, Isis, who carefully put his body parts back together. He returned to life, and impregnated her with the god Horus. Naturally, Osiris’s death and resurrection led him to become associated with rejuvenation, paralleling the cycle of the land from one harvest to the next – including the renewing grapevine.

In the Temple of Edfu, built 237–57 BC on the site of an earlier monument between Luxor and Aswan, one inscription reveals how the local “vineyard flourishes” when the “inundation” of the Nile takes place and the land “bears fruit with more grapes than [the sand of] the riverbanks”. Because wine production depended on the annual flooding, Osiris became closely connected with the drink – especially red wine, which closely resembles soil and blood.

In the Pyramid Texts – the oldest funerary texts, dating to the third millennium BC – Osiris, earlier venerated as the god of agriculture and resurrection, is described as the “lord of wine in flood”. He was regarded by Egyptians as the originator and teacher of viticulture and winemaking.

Drunken deities

Considered the blood of the gods, red wine was a common offering in temples. Osiris, in particular, was honoured through annual offerings of grain and wine. Because red wine wasn’t always affordable, barley wine (essentially a kind of beer) was often substituted.

In everyday life, Egyptians referred to wine as the ‘eye of Horus’, the divine child of Osiris and Isis. One ritual involved pouring wine into a depression on the temple altar, also called the Eye of Horus – a reference to the injury he sustained during the battle with his uncle Set, god of violence. In that episode, Horus’s eye lost its blood, so filling the altar depression with wine represented rejuvenation.

In another myth, when the rule of sun god Ra was coming to an end, he sent his daughter Hathor – in the form of Sekhmet, a lion-headed warrior – to destroy the mortals who’d conspired against him. Sekhmet got carried away, and looked set to destroy all of humanity, so Ra and the other gods devised a strategy to stop her. They poured red-dyed beer, or wine, to create lakes throughout the land. Believing that these pools were filled with blood, Sekhmet quaffed them, became intoxicated and fell asleep. In another version of the tale, her wrath was quelled using the power of music, dance and wine.

Recalling this story, at a new year Festival of Drunkenness people celebrated and re-enacted the god’s plan that saved humanity, while also being sure to appease the wrathful goddess.

Other deities were honoured with wine, not least Shesmu, god of the wine press. Texts from the third millennium BC record a feast during which grapes were pressed as the people sang that god’s name. Because red wine looked similar to blood, Shesmu came to be associated with punishment for serious crimes. In coffin texts and one discovered papyrus, Shesmu fills his wine press not with grapes but with the heads of criminals, then squeezes them into agonising oblivion for their unforgivable sins.

Pharaoh's finest

In ancient Egyptian texts, the pharaoh is variously described as a “winegrower” and “brewer”, as well as the “cupbearer” to the gods. And around 400 scenes depicting wine offerings are found in temples from the Greco-Roman period, especially near wine-producing locations. These show pharaohs using wine to get closer to the gods and to bless the lands.

For example, in the Temple of Dendera, on the Nile north of Luxor, an illustration alongside the inscription “good wine, I pour it on the ground” shows a cup being tilted downwards, its liquid flowing out in zigzags. And the Temple of Abydos to the west features a clear depiction of Pharaoh Seti I making an offering to Osiris.

The grapevine – which grows fresh leaves and appears renewed each year – was an important item in funerary rituals, too, increasing a deceased person’s chances of resurrection. When a pharaoh was laid to rest, their tomb was filled with enough wine to take into the afterlife, either in real jars or in the form of wall paintings. Wine was placed in tombs as early as the fourth millennium BC – for example, in the resting place of Scorpion I (c3250 BC).

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Among the 5,398 items found in the tomb of Tutankhamun were jars of wine inscribed with the winemaker’s name and the year of production, indicating a sophisticated wine culture. These included eight jars of the most exclusive variety, shedeh.

Analysis of the residues in these vessels revealed that they’d contained both red and white wines. Some wines, oils and foods were stored in the annex but, notably, two wine jars were placed alongside Tutankhamun’s body in the burial chamber. The red wine was placed to the west of his remains, while the white wine was set to the east, suggesting that this placement was an essential part of the burial ritual and held huge symbolic value, representing regeneration and rebirth.

Doctoring drinks

Wine was an ingredient in medicinal recipes from the fourth millennium BC. Evidence from papyri reveals that its uses varied widely: in treating infections, as an anaesthetic, applied to wounds as an antiseptic, mixed with herbs to create a sedative. As Greek influence in Egypt increased, the theories of Hippocrates (c460–c375 BC) spread – including that wine was a useful cooling agent for fevers, and that it could be used to nourish the body, purge sadness and help urine flow.

Wine jars retaining residues of herbs and balms have been discovered. Medicinal plants were added to create infused wines, or elixirs: fenugreek to treat fevers and indigestion, honey to make an antibiotic, mandrake as a narcotic and, under the instruction of a priest, opium as a sedative.

Coriander-infused wine was consumed by women to ease menstrual pain. Wine was mixed with water to make cleansing vaginal douches, with myrrh sometimes added as an antiseptic. It was even used in a kind of pregnancy test referenced in a papyrus dating from 1550 BC, which explains how a doctor should mix a urine sample with wine. A reaction between the fermented liquid and the urine’s chemical compounds would indicate that a baby was on the way.

Wine also became a key component of the embalming process, which was believed to guarantee a better afterlife. After most internal organs had been scooped out of a cadaver in preparation for mummification, it was cleansed thoroughly with a mixture of water and wine. The retained organs – stomach, intestines, liver and lungs – were also washed with wine ready for dehydration. This inhibited bacterial growth, slowing decomposition.

Wine-powered wonders

After the Ptolemies moved Egypt’s capital to Alexandria in the late fourth century BC, the state began organising grandiose festivals – demonstrations of power and wealth. These aimed to deter potential invaders and boosted the economy, with traders travelling to the city from far and wide during festival season.

We have a fascinating first-hand account by Callixenus of Rhodes, who likely lived in the second or third century BC and whose original writing – now lost – was quoted by the Greek writer Athenaeus a few centuries later. He described a magnificent and highly choreographed festival featuring performances by sileni, the drunken followers of Dionysus, Greek god of wine. An incredible float pulled by 300 men carried a wine press measuring 11 by 7 metres, dispensing local wine to the cheering crowds.

Such mechanical innovations were possible thanks to scholars at the city’s Great Library. Third-century BC inventor Ctesibius of Alexandria even devised singing statues. One of these, which depicted Arsinoë II (who co-ruled Egypt with her brother and husband Ptolemy II) as the goddess Aphrodite, played music as wine flowed out. He may also have created a hydraulic pump to transfer wine.

Working in the first or second century AD, Heron (or Hero) of Alexandria produced more such innovations; his Pneumatica contained no fewer than 16 wine-related inventions. He created the first vending machine, which dispensed measured amounts of liquid when a coin was inserted, and a self-filling wine bowl. He also invented a vessel with multiple spouts that alternately poured water and wine, or a mixture. So in Alexandria, water could indeed be turned into wine.

This article was first published in the May 2025 issue of BBC History Magazine

But the Tudor period also experienced great want. Poor harvests were common, landowners closed off pasture to peasants, and the growing population put pressure on dwindling food supplies.

In the 1590s, a huge rise in the cost of grain caused hunger and sparked riots. To help people through the shortages, in 1596 the inventor and agricultural writer Sir Hugh Platt published a special recipe book, Sundrie New and Artificiall Remedies Against Famine. One recipe for “sweete and delicate cakes made without spice, or sugar” caught my eye, not least because we are always on the lookout for non-sugary versions of our favourite treats today.

In Platt’s recipe, dried and beaten parsnip replaces sugar and imported spices such as cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg, which were among the most expensive ingredients of the era. Although parsnip might at first seem an odd addition, we are accustomed to root vegetables in our desserts, carrot cake being a particular favourite.

In times of scarcity, creative cooks have often come up with thrifty ways of substituting ingredients and using up available foods. Root vegetables are cheap, naturally sweet and easy to grow. During the shortages of the Second World War, the British Ministry of Food similarly recommended using carrots to sweeten Christmas pudding.

Carrots or turnips work as well as parsnips, according to Platt, who experimented with different versions of the basic recipe."I haue eaten of these cakes diuers times in mine owne house,” he wrote, promising that “you shal find them to tast very daintily."

Platt’s instructions are very limited: he instructs readers to add parsnip to flour at a ratio of one to two, and to “make some cakes thereof”. It could be that Platt intended his parsnip cake to be a type of ship’s biscuit. Such biscuits were ordinarily made of flour and water, not using anything that might spoil so that they would remain edible during long sea voyages – but they were also, therefore, lacking in flavour.

Following Platt’s policy of substitution, I’ve added butter and a dash of milk to the flour and parsnip to make something that resembles shortbread.

Though parsnip does not fully provide the sweetness of sugar that we’re used to, the biscuits do go down well with an (anachronistic) cup of tea. You could also experiment by adding currants for extra sweetness, using carrots in place of parsnips, or making a risen bread/cake mixture instead.

As you might suspect, this type of ketchup is a relatively modern invention. Although tomatoes were first domesticated in what is now Mexico and transported to Europe following Spanish colonisation in the 1500s, they took a few hundred years to be fully incorporated into local cuisines. In fact, tomato ketchup wasn’t sold commercially until the mid-19th century, with the famous Heinz brand only launching in Pennsylvania in 1876. 

The original ‘ketchup’ actually hails from south-east Asia, where it started life as a salty, fermented, fish sauce. Variously known as ‘catsup’, ‘catchup’ or ‘kitchup’, the name most likely comes from the Chinese word kôe-chiap, which was used to refer to the brine of pickled fish as far back as the sixth century AD. The first English-language recipes date from the 17th century, when British travellers and sailors encountered the sauce in the far east and were inspired to create their own versions back at home. 

The earliest British ketchups were typically made using anchovies, walnuts, oysters or mushrooms spiced with ginger, cloves and pepper in a salty, vinegary or alcoholic brine. By the Victorian era, the mushroom version was especially popular: mushrooms grew abundantly in Britain, making it an easy, flavourful and long-lasting sauce to add to meats and gravies. More salty than sugary – and a lot thinner than the modern-day ketchups – it was more akin to Worcestershire sauce. 

To create mushroom ketchup, the mushrooms were first salted to extract some of the moisture (and act as a preservative), before being squeezed and heated to draw out the remaining liquor. Once that was done, the liquid was then boiled with spices and strained into bottles. 

This is essentially the method in the mushroom ketchup recipe I have included on the right, which is based on a recipe from a 1747 book by the English cookery writer Hannah Glasse. According to Glasse, the sauce could “keep two years” – although, to be on the safe side, I wouldn’t keep it for longer than a couple of months!

Interestingly, there is a recipe for another type of ketchup (or ‘catchup’) in the same cookbook that could supposedly be stored for up to 20 years, as it was intended for the captains of ships travelling on long voyages overseas. Indeed, the existence of ketchup is evidence of the globalisation and colonisation that marked the early modern period – historical processes that continue to shape our modern-day food system and societies around the world.

Our dessert is a dish from the period called crumb fudge, which was put forward by the British Ministry of Food as a means of reusing stale breadcrumbs. Crunchy, choco- latey and surprisingly indulgent, the recipe was a special treat that people would have saved up their sugar and butter rations to make. It’s an incredibly easy dish to put together, and great fun for kids to get in- volved with, too.

More in this series:

• Budget broccoli soup
• Victorian beef fritters

The world of food was shrinking in the Victorian period, however, as the tin can – invented in the 1810s – moved food across continents without the need for salt, sugar or fermentation, while experiments in refrigera- tion meant that by 1900, half of all the lamb and mutton eaten in Britain was imported in huge, refrigerated ships all the way from Australia and New Zealand.

Our feast’s main course, Victorian beef fritters, was partly a reaction to those 19th-century changes. Adapted from a recipe found in Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management (1861), the dish was aimed at urban middle-class housewives who had become distanced from traditional cooking and preservation techniques, and who – in the eyes of the book’s author, Isabella Beeton – needed to know about the benefits of saving food and simpler, rural lifestyles. Even today, more than 160 years on, the fritters are a delicious way to use up the remains of roast beef, and the batter works well for any leftover vegetables, too.

More in this series

• Budget broccoli soup
• Ww2 crumb fudge

This starter – budget broccoli soup – is inspired by one of the campaign’s early recipes, and utilises broccoli stalks left over from other dishes. The fluffy florets are a regular feature in our kitchens, but the thick stems often needlessly end up in the bin. It’s a shame, as they impart a lovely woody flavour that’s worth adding to your culinary repertoire.

Today, our supermarket shelves heave with packaged abundance, while our favourite meals can be delivered ready-to-eat to our doors in just a few clicks. Reimagining leftovers as new recipes and returning to the thrifty habits of our ancestors not only reminds us of the true value of good food, but serves as a fun and creative way of connecting to our past while protecting our future.

More in this series

• Victorian beef fritters
• WW2 crumb fudge