Breaking bread, across the centuries

Historian Noel Buttigieg, a teacher at the Verdala International School in Pembroke, is visibly enthusiastic about his PhD research into bread, and I don’t even have to ask an introductory question for him to begin rattling off potential offshoot subjects for our feature. We could talk about bread as a marker of identity, he suggests. Or how food “communicates things”, or even his involvement in the local branch of the ‘slow food’ movement, whose tenets he’s trying to pass on to his young students through practical exercises in which they plant their own food…

He also comes across as resoundingly jolly, at least when he’s prompted to talk about his pet subject. But as we sit in the playground of the Verdala International School – a preserved colonial structure surrounded by healthy greenery in spring, allowing for a pleasant breeze to weave its way through – it’s hard to imagine his workdays being particularly painful… and it puts paid to MEP Marlene Farrugia’s suggestion to locate the proposed ‘American University’ on a similar site, rather than unspoilt agricultural land in Zonqor Point.

For brevity’s sake, I suggest that we focus our conversation on his immediate research – the production and distribution of bread in 18th century Malta, and how this impacted the social make-up of the country at the time. Immediately shifting to storyteller-historian mode, Buttigieg sets about painting an exciting backdrop for this most domestic of foods: spinning a yarn of smugglers, irate Grandmasters and chocolate-chasing bounty hunters. 

Attack of the grain pirates

“There’s an interesting document that dates back to the 16th century. Its writer suggests that fruits and vegetables were great in Malta at the time. We may not have had large quantities, but the little that we had was great. However, the document also states that, had it not been for Sicily, people wouldn’t be living in Malta,” Buttigieg says, the reason being the Malta depended on imports – in this case the importation of grain from Sicily. 

“And we’re still at it today – we import practically everything, we have to. But grain was such an important resource, and so many factors come in when we’re dealing with it.”

One of these factors a simple matter of security. Once the ships carrying grain would dock into Malta at night, thieves will be inclined to steal them. Stressing that each stage of the ‘grain-bread cycle’ is important – bringing it in, storing it, taking it to the miller before it eventually ends up on the consumer’s table – is key, and recounts a particular episode from 1742 to illustrate this.

“Grain trafficking was a serious matter back then – it was practically an organised cartel. So after Grandmaster Pinto was informed that… listen, stuff was leaking from the grain warehouses, he took some decisive steps…”

One of these steps was to hire people deemed skilled enough, practically just off the streets, to pursue the suspected grain traffickers. An added twist, according to Buttigieg, was that these ‘bounty hunters’ were paid in chocolate – a very “elitist thing” at the time. 

“You have to remember that chocolate – which was then consumed as a drink – was very expensive, and often reserved for visiting royalty and other dignitaries. So the fact that Pinto opted to pay these people in chocolate says a lot about how seriously he was taking the issue of grain trafficking.”

Them’s the (market) rules

Further evidence of this is Pinto’s instatement of strict regulations on weighing and baking of bread. With the rise of the ‘professional baker’ also happening in Malta in the 18th century, the Grandmaster also saw it fit to officialise the process. Prior to that development, Buttigieg explains, the baker simply “offered the service of the oven – you would take the grain to him and he would bake it for you, that’s it”. But once the production of bread in larger quantities became the norm in Malta – with Qormi historically taking the lead, following on from other cities across Europe – the role was made more complex, and delegated to other people.

“So we now see bakers specialising in kneading, or milling, and the grandmaster starts to impose permits for each role. Bread now had to conform to particular weight specifications, and a person was appointed to test the bread and – literally – give it the stamp of approval. So Pinto here was effectively creating a kind of ‘consumer protection’ unit. On top of that, bakers also had to guarantee they had a replacement ready to hand in case they got sick or something happened to them… they couldn’t just go, ‘sorry guys, no bread today!’”

Buttigieg also explains how the increased availability of ‘ready made bread’ also contributed to the changing cultural landscape of the time, even impacting gender roles, as for example women would now spend less time baking bread at home when they could just buy it from the baker. 

“So you see women moving on from baking bread, and onto other things – like weaving cotton. You have to remember that this was a proto-industrial society in many ways,” Buttigieg says, adding that the production of bread also played a part in the rise of taverns and inns of the area, which would also cater to the new demand for ready-made bread. 

Bread of memory

Despite its many permutations – both in Malta and otherwise – bread retains a symbolic power, and Buttigieg reminds me how both language and religion collude to give bread this additional dimension. 

“For example, in Maltese we have expressions like ‘dan x’hobz jiekol?’, and even prayer is directly linked to bread: whenever you say the Our Father, you’re reminded of ‘our daily bread’…” 

Buttigieg points out how this had a literal meaning back in the day, when it would be entirely normal to go hungry for a day, even days on end. “Nowadays of course the meaning has become symbolic: ‘daily bread’ could mean a better job, a nicer car, or whatever…”

Regardless, Buttigieg still believes that these linguistic links are important, since bread – perhaps more so than any other food – plays a big part in our collective memory. However, with mass production becoming the order of the day, Buttigieg fears that our ability to associate food with important personal memories may be on the wane. 

“If I were to ask you to recall the food your grandmother used to prepare for you, for example, I’m sure you would be able to call up any number of memories, and episodes from your childhood. And if we’re going to talk about the Maltese hobza in particular, I have very vivid memories of the bread truck pulling up in front of our house, and my mother asking me to go pick up the bread, and picking at the crust as I walked back up the stairs…”

Buttigieg however fears that food is becoming less of a personal and communal matter, and more of a ‘utilitarian’ thing. 

“People are eating in front of their television sets, and swiping away at smartphones and iPads in restaurants.”