At the Roman tables the birds, the squirrels, (45) or the fish, which appear of an uncommon size are contemplated with curious attention; a pair of scales is accurately applied to ascertain their real weight and, while the more rational guests are disgusted by the vain and tedious repetition, notaries are summoned to attest by an authentic record the truth of such a marvellous event.
Note 045 The want of an English name obliges me to refer to the common genus of squirrels, the Latin glis, the French loir; a little animal who inhabits the woods and remains torpid in cold weather (see Plin. Hist. Natur. viii. 82; Buffon, Hist. Naturelle tom. viii. 158; Pennant's Synopsis of Quadrupeds p. 289). The art of rearing and fattening great numbers of glires was practised in Roman villas as a profitable article of rural economy (Varro, de Re Rustica, iii. 15). The excessive demand of them for luxurious tables was increased by the foolish prohibitions of the censors; and it is reported that they are still esteemed in modern Rome, and are frequently sent as presents by the Colonna princes (see Brotier, the last editor of Pliny, tom. ii. p. 458 apud Barbou, 1779).
(I have changed the ccel 'gliers' to the correct plural 'glires', used in the Penguin edition.)
This animal does now have an English name, in fact it has two: edible dormouse or fat dormouse. In the eighteenth century, however, even biologists were unsure about the animal the Romans called glis. The FAQ page from The Dormouse Hollow informs us:
"Linnaeus, the father of modern biological nomenclature, named [the Edible dormouse] Sciurus glis in 1766, believing it to be a kind of squirrel. Living in Sweden, Linnaeus had never seen one of these animals himself and his description was based on information sent to him by G.A. Scopoli, a correspondent in Slovenia. Scopoli's original letter is still in the Linnean library in London. So, Linnaeus himself was unfamiliar with the animal and was puzzled by the references to 'Glis' in the writings of ancient Greeks and Romans. Linnaeus thought this might refer to some sort of marmot or hamster.
Meanwhile, the creature had been called Glis glis by Brisson in 1762, a name that has since been in regular use in the scientific literature for 200 years. However, owing to a rather muddled history of naming, and the fact that Brisson did not always follow the accepted rules of nomenclature, the validity of using the name Glis has now been challenged and substituion of the next oldest generic name has been urged. If this proposal is accepted, the animal's official name will be Myoxus glis. However, if this generic name is now adopted, the entire family of dormice will have to be renamed Myoxidae instead of Gliridae." (Pat Morris: The Edible Dormouse, p. 5) The International Commission for Zoological Nomenclature has since decided in favour of Glis glis. The other names should no longer be used.
Dormice sprinkled with poppy-seed and honey were served on little bridges soldered fast to the platter, and hot sausages on a silver gridiron, underneath which were damson plums and pomegranate seeds. (translated by W. C. Firebaugh)
Nor does it have Apicius' recipe:
Is stuffed with a forcemeat of pork and small pieces of dormouse meat trimmings, all pounded with pepper, nuts, laser, broth. Put the dormouse thus stuffed in an earthen casserole, roast it in the oven, or boil it in the stock pot. (last recipe on the page, translated by Vehling (apparently not very well)).
In her review of the BBC-HBO TV series, Rome, Mary Beard does sound a cautionary note:
But what of the dormouse test? Did the Romans themselves pass it? Did they actually eat them? There is here an uncomfortable historical truth for many a modern film director. Unsuccessful and temporary as the ruling almost certainly was, the Roman senate banned the eating of dormice in 115 BC.
Heather Strait from Iowa gives an account of her attempt to re-create the dish using (shades of Gibbon!) squirrel.