Sam Kean’s “Dinner with King Tut: True Tales of Food, Drink, and History” represents a bold departure from conventional historical narrative, blending the rigor of archaeological research with the visceral thrill of hands-on experimentation. As the New York Times bestselling author of “The Disappearing Spoon” and “Caesar’s Last Breath,” Kean has carved a unique niche in popular science writing, but this latest work ventures into uncharted territory—quite literally getting his hands dirty in the pursuit of historical truth.
The book’s central premise is both simple and revolutionary: to understand our ancestors, we must experience their world through all our senses, not merely observe their artifacts through museum glass. Kean introduces readers to the emerging field of experimental archaeology, where researchers don’t just theorize about ancient life—they live it, taste it, and sometimes suffer through it.
The Structure: Fiction Meets Rigorous Research
Unlike Kean’s previous works, “Dinner with King Tut” employs a dual narrative structure that proves both ambitious and largely successful. Each of the eleven chapters alternates between meticulously researched historical fiction and first-person journalistic accounts of Kean’s adventures with contemporary experimental archaeologists.
The fictional sections follow various characters across time and geography—from a San hunter in Africa 75,000 years ago to an Aztec warrior facing Spanish conquistadors in 1500s Mexico. These vignettes, while invented, are built upon solid archaeological evidence. Kean takes pains to ensure that every detail—what people ate, how they slept, what they smelled—reflects genuine research findings.
The nonfiction portions chronicle Kean’s globe-trotting quest to experience ancient life firsthand. He fires medieval catapults, performs primitive neurosurgery (trepanation), brews Viking beer, and even makes his own mummy. These personal experiments, conducted alongside leading researchers, provide the sensory details that traditional archaeology often neglects.
Strengths: When History Becomes Visceral
Kean’s greatest achievement lies in making the abstract concrete. When he describes the “spongy and chewy” texture of ancient Egyptian bread with its “scrumptious sourdough tang,” or the “crab-like odor of a deer hide” during tanning, readers gain insights that no amount of theoretical discussion could provide. His collaboration with “gastro-Egyptologist” Seamus Blackley, who uses ancient yeast to recreate pharaonic bread, exemplifies the book’s strength in revealing the sophisticated palates of our ancestors.
The author’s self-deprecating humor prevents the material from becoming either preachy or intimidatingly academic. His admission that he “would have starved to death in about half an hour” if transported to any historical era creates an endearing vulnerability that draws readers into his journey of discovery.
Perhaps most compelling is Kean’s ability to challenge preconceptions about ancient civilizations. His exploration of Roman cuisine through chef Sally Grainger demolishes the persistent myth that ancient food was universally terrible. The revelation that Roman fish sauce (garum) resembles modern umami-rich condiments, or that Vikings performed remarkably successful neurosurgery, forces readers to reconsider their assumptions about historical “primitiveness.”
The Sensory Revolution in Historical Understanding
Kean excels at demonstrating how experimental archaeology fills crucial gaps in our understanding. Traditional archaeological methods might tell us that ancient Egyptians consumed beer daily, but only through brewing it himself does Kean discover its “Kombucha-like” taste and function as a practical thirst-quencher in desert conditions. These sensory revelations often prove more illuminating than volumes of theoretical analysis.
The book’s exploration of trepanation—ancient skull surgery—showcases this approach at its finest. Rather than simply describing the procedure, Kean performs it on animal skulls, revealing both the surprising feasibility of the operation and the psychological barriers early surgeons had to overcome. His discovery that traditional trepanations often outperformed 19th-century European surgery provides a humbling perspective on technological progress.
Critical Weaknesses: Where Ambition Exceeds Execution
Despite its many strengths, “Dinner with King Tut” suffers from structural inconsistencies that occasionally undermine its impact. The alternating fiction/nonfiction format, while innovative, creates jarring transitions that can disrupt narrative flow. Some fictional sections, particularly the earlier chapters set in prehistoric Africa, feel less compelling than Kean’s reported adventures with contemporary researchers.
The book’s scope, spanning 75,000 years across multiple continents, sometimes prevents deeper exploration of individual topics. While Kean’s breadth is impressive, readers seeking detailed analysis of specific periods or practices may find themselves wanting more depth. The chapter on Polynesian navigation, for instance, touches on fascinating wayfinding techniques but barely scratches the surface of this remarkable maritime culture.
Kean’s writing occasionally lapses into sensationalism, particularly when describing violent historical practices. His detailed account of Aztec human sacrifice, while historically accurate, sometimes reads more like pulp fiction than serious historical analysis. These moments threaten to overshadow the book’s more substantive contributions to historical understanding.
The Author’s Evolution and Scientific Credibility
Coming from Kean’s previous works—”The Disappearing Spoon” (chemistry), “The Violinist’s Thumb” (genetics), and “The Icepick Surgeon” (science history)—this book represents a natural evolution toward increasingly hands-on exploration. His background in science writing serves him well in evaluating experimental methodology and presenting complex archaeological theories accessibly.
However, Kean’s enthusiasm for his subject occasionally overwhelms his critical faculties. While he acknowledges controversies within experimental archaeology, he sometimes glosses over significant limitations of the field. Critics argue that experimental archaeology can never truly replicate ancient conditions, and that modern practitioners inevitably bring contemporary biases to their interpretations. Kean addresses these concerns but perhaps not with sufficient rigor.
Contemporary Relevance and Cultural Implications
Beyond its entertainment value, “Dinner with King Tut” raises important questions about modern disconnection from traditional skills and knowledge. Kean argues persuasively that our increasingly “sanitized world” has severed crucial connections to the material foundations of human culture. His observation that “we live in a way that would feel alien to virtually every ancestor we have” resonates particularly strongly in our digital age.
The book’s emphasis on preserving indigenous knowledge traditions proves especially timely. Kean’s collaboration with Native American groups recreating traditional crafts and foods highlights how experimental archaeology can serve cultural preservation alongside academic inquiry. This application transforms the field from academic curiosity into vital cultural work.
Literary Style and Accessibility
Kean’s prose remains engaging throughout, balancing scientific precision with narrative accessibility. His ability to explain complex archaeological concepts without condescension serves both specialist and general audiences well. The book’s numerous photographs and illustrations enhance understanding, though more detailed diagrams of experimental setups would strengthen the scientific credibility.
The author’s voice occasionally becomes too casual for the serious subject matter. While humor generally enhances readability, moments of irreverence risk trivializing the cultural significance of the practices he describes. His joking reference to ancient bread shapes that “would kill on The Great British Bake Off” exemplifies this tendency toward unnecessary frivolity.
Comparison with Similar Works
“Dinner with King Tut” occupies a unique position in popular archaeology writing. While books like Charles C. Mann’s “1491” provide comprehensive historical analysis and Yuval Noah Harari’s “Sapiens” offers broad theoretical frameworks, Kean’s focus on experiential learning sets his work apart. His approach more closely resembles Bill Bryson’s travel writing than traditional historical scholarship, though with significantly more scientific rigor.
The book shares DNA with experimental archaeology classics like John Coles’s “Archaeology by Experiment,” but Kean’s emphasis on sensory experience and personal narrative makes complex archaeological concepts more accessible to general readers.
Recommendations for Similar Reading
Readers captivated by Kean’s approach should explore:
- “The Inheritors” by William Golding – A fictional reconstruction of Neanderthal life
- “1491” by Charles C. Mann – Comprehensive examination of pre-Columbian Americas
- “The Horse, the Wheel, and Language” by David W. Anthony – Archaeological reconstruction of ancient Indo-European cultures
- “Sapiens” by Yuval Noah Harari – Broad perspective on human cultural evolution
- “The Dawn of Everything” by David Graeber and David Wengrow – Challenging reassessment of human social development
Final Verdict: A Flawed but Fascinating Journey
“Dinner with King Tut” succeeds admirably in its primary mission: making ancient history viscerally compelling for contemporary readers. Despite structural weaknesses and occasional lapses in critical analysis, Kean’s enthusiasm proves infectious, and his sensory approach to historical understanding offers genuinely fresh insights.
The book works best when Kean allows his subjects—both ancient and modern—to speak for themselves. His encounter with Polynesian navigators, his collaboration with Roman food historians, and his attempts at ancient crafts all demonstrate the power of experiential learning to illuminate the past.
While not without flaws, “Dinner with King Tut” represents an important contribution to popular historical writing. It successfully demonstrates that understanding our ancestors requires more than analyzing their artifacts—it demands experiencing their world. For readers willing to embrace Kean’s unconventional approach, the book offers a uniquely immersive journey through human history, complete with all its tastes, textures, sounds, and smells.
The book ultimately argues that experimental archaeology isn’t merely academic exercise but a form of cultural preservation—a way of maintaining connections to the material foundations that have sustained human civilization for millennia. In our increasingly abstract digital world, this message resonates with particular urgency. Kean may not have written a perfect book, but he has crafted an important one that challenges readers to engage with history through all their senses, not merely their intellect.
