If you walk through the produce section of your local grocery store and stop and think about it, it’s pretty amazing that we have access to such a variety of fruits and vegetables. A few hundred years ago, that was not the case and when a new exotic fruit showed up in the courts of Europe, the response could be a bit over-the-top. In this episode, a replay from season 2, I tell the story of how the upper classes in England and beyond went crazy over pineapples in the 16 and 1700s. Enjoy.
It’s August 14, 1668. You are dressed in your finest as you step from your coach and through the gates of Whitehall Palace. To be a guest at this banquet is a profound honor. You know the evening will be full of finery, rich foods, and lavish displays of wealth. The feast is hosted by none other than King Charles II himself and he is in a mood to impress, but a surprise waits for you that you have not begun to imagine.
The most notable guest this evening, Jean-Baptiste Colbert, is the French ambassador to England and the British king wants to be sure that Colbert will have some worthy tales to relay to King Louis back in France. After all, what are kings for if not to show off to one another?
When the French ambassador arrives, he makes quite a splash. You hear stifled gasps as his coach approaches. It is certainly far finer, far more expensive than the coach that dropped you off. Colbert smiles. He has made the desired impression.
But King Charles has a surprise up his sleeve that will far outshine the ambassador’s showy entrance.
As you enter the banqueting hall, you marvel at the gilded ceiling high above you with its magnificent paintings. You gracefully take your seat and the meal begins. The king has outdone himself. Each course seems richer and more elaborate than the last and piles of uneaten food are cleared from the table after every course.
Then, as one of the final courses is served, an item is brought to the king that stops you with your spoon half-raised. You gaze in awe, not believing your eyes. There, on the platter, surrounded by exotic fruits of all kinds and colors, is an object like none you have ever seen. Its surface is scaly, almost reptilian, and rising from its head is a magnificent, many-tiered crown of sharp, green leaves.
You crane your neck, half-standing to try to get a closer look. You cannot believe your good fortune. You are one of the few in all of England who have laid eyes on this fabled tropical fruit. Maybe—you hardly dare hope it—maybe you will get a taste of this legendary delicacy. Either way, this is truly a night to remember. You have seen it—the king of fruits—the pineapple.
Hard as it may be for us to believe, in 17th century Britain or France, there was hardly a status symbol that could speak more of one’s wealth and elite social standing than a pineapple. But why did this fruit, common in the West Indies, become such a coveted item in Europe?
It all began with Christopher Columbus. In 1496, when Columbus returned from his second voyage to the new world, he brought with him a sampling of curiosities from the lands he had claimed for the Spanish crown. Among them, he brought a pineapple. He actually brought several, but only one was still edible by the time he returned to Spain. The honor of consuming the fruit was reserved for the Spanish King Ferdinand himself.
Upon tasting it, Ferdinand exclaimed that it’s flavor “excels all other fruits”. This sensational declaration led to pineapple mania that would eventually spread across the continent.
Very few fresh pineapples made it across the Atlantic without rotting, but the fact that pineapples were a scarce product only drove up demand. Early attempts to grow the tropical plants on European soil proved fruitless. The pineapple quickly became known as the king of fruits, both because of its distinctive crown of leaves and because seemingly the only ones lucky enough to taste it were royalty.
Finally, in 1687, a Dutch woman managed to successfully cultivate a pineapple and soon specially-designed hothouses began to spring up, with the French and British just behind the Dutch, eager to pioneer pineapple cultivation. The hothouses, or “pineries” as they became known, were exorbitantly expensive to build and they required constant upkeep. Gardeners fussed over the pineapple plants, giving them the finest care they could possibly lavish, keeping their surroundings heated to tropical levels at all times. Throughout the 18th century, anyone vying for prominence and status among the elite tried their hand at pineapple cultivation.
It became an obsession, prompting pineapple sculpture, pineapple decor, even figures of speech around the pineapple. Smitten with pineapple fever, the rich cared nothing for the fortunes they spent on growing pineapples, caring only for the opportunity it afforded them to signal their prominence to guests and neighbors. It has been estimated that the cost for successfully growing a single pineapple in the early 1700s was 80 pounds, equivalent to thousands—even tens of thousands—today.
As pineapple cultivation continued to develop, a broader and broader demographic began to crave access to the coveted fruit leading to a truly odd feature of Georgian-era England—the pineapple rental market. Customers too poor to own a pineapple of their own, but eager to impress, could rent a pineapple for their gathering. If a shrewd businessman timed it right, he could furnish a number of dinner parties with a single pineapple before it grew too rotten and had to be discarded.
What began as a tropical oddity had grown to be an unrivaled commodity—a culinary treasure reserved for the elite.
Looking back, it’s all a bit hard to believe.
One man, John Evelyn, who was at that lavish banquet hosted by King Charles II said that after the king cut up the fruit, he offered John a piece. John took it gratefully, expecting a life-changing culinary experience. As he bit into the fruit, he found himself… disappointed. Later, telling of the experience, he says it fell short of the reports he had heard. “but possibly it might,” he concedes, “or certainly was, much impaired in coming so far.”
There’s nothing like a hard day’s work outside to make you ravenously hungry. Esau has been toiling in the field and he’s pushed himself a bit too hard. He stumbles home, barely able to keep himself upright, feeling like he is on the very brink of dropping dead from hunger and exhaustion.
Then, he smells it. He believes that he’s never smelled anything so good in his life. It’s rich and savory and seasoned to perfection. And he must have some. In fact, in that moment, he is quite sure that if he doesn’t get some of whatever it is he smells cooking, he will perish on the spot.
He stumbles closer and sees his brother Jacob stirring a gently bubbling pot of soup. Esau calls out to Jacob.
“…Feed me, I pray thee, with that same red pottage; for I am faint…” (Genesis 25:30)
Shrewd Jacob responds matter-of-factly, “…Sell me this day thy birthright.” (Genesis 25:31)
As the firstborn, Esau is in line to become the leader of the family when his father Isaac dies. To give Jacob his birthright would mean that Esau is surrendering his position of prominence and his larger inheritance to his younger brother. There is no question that this is an exorbitant price to pay for a simple bowl of lentil soup.
But Esau eyes the soup once again, unable to give up the prospect of the satisfaction it would bring to his aching body.
“…Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit shall this birthright do to me?” (Genesis 25:32)
A wry smile crosses Jacob’s face as his brother greedily devours his bowl of soup. What a fool Esau has been.
It’s hard not to feel bad for Esau as we watch his brother manipulate his hunger for his own means. But still… how could Esau give up something of so much value for something so mundane? Hebrews 11 calls Esau a “profane” man. In other words, he was so focused on what his body wanted that he traded away something of true value for something of very little worth. Sadly, that’s the power of obsession.
This moment of foolishness defined Esau’s life from that point forward. Esau earned himself a nickname that day. Forever after, his descendants would be know as “Edom”. It’s a Hebrew word that means “red” and Genesis 25 tells us the nickname is derived from the red stew that Esau wanted so badly that he sold away his future.
An unhealthy obsession can come to define a life. For Esau, it was soup.
In the book of Judges, we learn that Samson’s obsession with women led to his forever being associated with being duped by the beautiful Delilah.
Life is full of good things. Food, sex, belongings, relationships—they are all gifts from a good God and God delights in us enjoying His gifts. But any one of those gifts can become an unhealthy obsession and thus be transformed into something sinful and destructive.
It’s a bit too easy to see how this time of year so clearly illustrates the misuse of God’s good gifts. We have Thanksgiving and its undisguised gluttony. We have Christmas and its undisguised materialism. We have New Year’s Eve and its undisguised indulgence.
For the Christian, there is a compelling alternative. In James chapter 1, James warns us that sin begins with our desires. We all have desires and many of them are legitimate desires, but when those desires take control of our lives, they lead us into sin and sin, James tells us, leads to death.
After laying out this pathway of sin, James warns us, “Do not err, my beloved brethren.” (James 1:16) Then, he shares the antidote for this obsessive lifestyle. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” (James 1:17)
The key to a balanced appreciation of the enjoyments God has built into life is never losing sight of their source. If we see God as the source of every good and perfect gift, we will always be driven to use those gifts as He intended instead of abusing them for our own desires.
We will also be guarded from the temptation to trade something that is truly valuable for something that is of little worth. When we see God as the great Giver we are free to enjoy His gifts without letting them become idols.
A couple of weeks ago, I picked up a pineapple at the grocery store. As it sat on my kitchen counter, I had to concede that it is a striking fruit. The bumpy skin and spiky green crown really do set it apart.
I cut into it and tried a piece. It was… good—juicy, sweet, a little acidic—something undeniably unique. Pineapple isn’t my favorite fruit, but it was well worth the $2 I paid for it.
Learn More
The Diary of John Evelyn
“How Pineapples Became the Gucci Purse of 1700s Europe” by Claudia Geib (Eater)
Pineapple: a Global History by Kaori O’Connor
“The rise, fall, and rise of the status pineapple” by Bethan Bell (BBC)
Exempla 