Moretum

Peel the garlic and drop it into a heavy mortar with the coarse salt. The salt is both seasoning and abrasive: its crystals tear the garlic cells open and stop the cloves from skidding under the pestle. Pound with a firm circular grind — not a stamp — until the garlic breaks down to a wet, smooth, ivory paste with no visible chunks. The poem's Simylus weeps at the fumes; expect a sharp sting in the nose.

Add the celery leaf and coriander, then just a few leaves of rue — it is intensely bitter and the poem warns to hold back its 'biting power.' Pound them into the garlic, grinding the leaves against the grit until they bruise, darken, and release their oils, streaking the paste a deep mottled green. Work them in fully so no whole leaf survives. A safety note: rue is potent — use only a few leaves, and avoid it entirely if pregnant or trying to conceive, as it can act as a uterine stimulant; skin contact with the fresh plant in sunlight can also cause photosensitivity.

Add the grated aged cheese a large handful at a time, pounding and folding it into the green paste. As Virgil's poem describes, the mass will resist and crumble at first, then suddenly catch and pull together — the cheese's fat and protein binding the herbs and garlic into one body. Keep working until it forms a single rough ball that lifts cleanly from the mortar in one piece.

Sprinkle in the wine vinegar and pour in the olive oil, then grind and stir them through until the stiff ball loosens into a thick, spreadable paste. Taste and balance: it should be loud and assertive — sharply garlicky, salty from the cheese, sour from the vinegar, with a bitter green undertone. Scrape it out and roll into a rough mound. Serve at room temperature smeared thickly on coarse, warm country bread.