IN SEARCH OF KING SOLOMON’S PANTRY

he walls of the Paradesi Synagogue in Kochi, India, are adorned with the history of the country’s Jews. On a recent trip there, I read an inscription suggesting that Jewish traders might have reached India from Judea, crossing the ocean during the reign of King Solomon — a journey of thousands of kilometres.

Unable to jump into a time machine, I did the next best thing: I visited Chendamangalam, a village about 30km north of Kochi resplendent with coconut, mango and cinnamon trees. As I walked towards the Periyar River, I imagined ancient Hebrew adventurers and traders arriving on the shores and marvelling at the lushness of the terrain. Although there is little evidence as to the exact date, they may have travelled to this area in southwest India in search of spices, precious stones, timber and ivory tusks as early as the 10th century BC, around the time the Bible tells us Solomon was seeking treasures to build his temple.

Little is known about King Solomon — and some scholars even doubt his existence — but his story offers an image of a ruler presiding over a diversity of cultures, with an abundance of food. Solomon is said to have ruled for 40 years, amassing enormous wealth. With a ravenous appetite for all aspects of life, he had 700 wives and 300-some mistresses.

The biblical Book of Kings tells us that some of his wives came from Egypt, Moab, Ammon, Edom (present-day Jordan), Sidon (Lebanon) and Anatolia (Turkey); these women would most likely have brought with them pomegranates, dates, olives and a variety of other foods and methods for preparing them. According to tradition, the 12 tribes of Israel brought even more; each tribe presented the king and his family with jewels, minerals, exotic materials and new foods and spices.

I became fascinated with Solomon, travelling to many parts of the globe to track the legends of the king. I also sought to discover what makes Jewish cooking unique. It is unlike the cuisines of empires, influenced by the cultures they vanquish, or national cuisines that have a homeland or stable centre with defined boundaries. As a wandering people, Jews have influenced many cuisines as they carried their foods to new lands while fleeing prejudice or migrating in search of opportunities.

Yet regional and global influences on the food that Jews ate remained circumscribed by allegiance (no matter how strict) to the laws of kashrut and by the rituals for Passover and other holidays. These traditions have held Jews together for more than 2,000 years as they have journeyed throughout the world.

Take haroseth, the sweet blend of fruits and nuts symbolising the mortar used to construct buildings when the Jews were slaves in Egypt. Served at Passover Seders since Roman times, if not earlier, the dish bears footprints from distant lands. I’ve encountered haroseth from Maine made with blueberries; one with cashews, dates and other fruits from Brazil; and, a favourite of mine, a version from Italy with chestnuts, pine nuts, raisins and pears.

Or consider a Babylonian chicken dish with eggplant and Swiss chard. Jews started using hens as the main course at Passover around the first century, often flavoured with garlic, cubeb (similar to allspice), turmeric and dried lime.

Recipes varied and moved with voyagers, mostly merchants. I came across a 13th-century shopping list for a holiday chicken with eggplant and Swiss chard in the Cairo Geniza, a trove of religious documents found in a synagogue there. Later, this dish was prepared with spinach in Jewish homes in Spain. After the expulsion, the recipe crossed the ocean to the Americas and spread throughout the Mediterranean world to countries that would receive Jewish immigrants. I like the idea of serving it at Passover because it reminds me of the Jewish community in Egypt.

Or think of mandelbrot, a variation on biscotti, the twice-baked cookie that originated in the late Middle Ages. Adapted by the Jewish communities in Italy, it travelled to Germany and then to Eastern Europe, taking on its Yiddish name, which means almond bread. Immigrants fleeing the pogroms took their versions to America.

I imagine that King Solomon’s springtime feast, the ancestor of today’s Passover, included some kind of unleavened bread; bitter new greens like mallow and chard; roast lamb and goat seasoned with wild thyme; perhaps a blend of dried apricots, raisins, prunes and almonds dunked in wine and flavoured with cinnamon and cardamom; and other delicacies that the king’s emissaries found in the ancient world. His love of food and spices lives on for his descendants.

* This article is excerpted from King Solomon’s Table: A Culinary Exploration of Jewish Cooking From Around the World by Joan Nathan (Knopf, 2017).