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For over 750 years, the world's most mysterious dining room has not been a Michelin-starred restaurant or a palace banquet hall — it's the Vatican's conclave. In a ritual shrouded in secrecy and tradition, the Catholic Church's cardinals gather not only to elect a new pope but also to eat under the tightest surveillance on Earth. Cardinals will find themselves completely secluded in the Vatican's Sistine Chapel, without phones, letters, or even messages hidden in ravioli.
Historically, food has posed an unexpected security threat. There are strict rules about what cardinals can eat, a tradition born from medieval suspicions that secret messages could be smuggled inside stuffed poultry or passed in napkins. These aren't just paranoid fables — in a place where communication is forbidden, even a breadstick could be suspect.
Cardinals make the most of their last free meals before sequestration. In 2013, just before the last papal election, many of them dined at Al Passetto di Borgo, a cozy family-run restaurant just steps from Saint Peter's Basilica. Cardinal Donald Wuerl was fond of the lasagna, while Francesco Coccopalmerio preferred grilled squid. But once the conclave begins, culinary choices are reduced to carefully monitored communal meals.
The conclave is about more than smoke signals. While the world watches for the iconic white plume that announces a new pope, inside, meals become the rare social moments. There's no formal debate during voting, but whispers over soup and dessert may shape the Church's future. Pop culture has caught on to this. The 2024 film Conclave depicted much of the plotting not in the chapel, but at the cafeteria table, dramatizing the very real idea that food is both nourishment and negotiation.
This secrecy is not new. Pope Gregory X instituted conclave isolation in 1274 after his own election dragged on for three years. Desperate citizens of Viterbo once locked the cardinals in and limited their food to bread and water, hoping hunger would hurry their decision. It worked. Gregory formalized the practice, including food rationing rules that, while softened over centuries, still influence today's conclaves.
Bartolomeo Scappi, the Renaissance's most renowned chef, fed conclaves under Popes Pius IV and V and documented the entire process in a 1570 cookbook. His detailed observations confirm that even centuries ago, conclave food came with layers of supervision. While the recipes may have changed, the message remains clear: in the Vatican, what you eat — and how — is a matter of divine discretion.
