In the ruins of an old Roman city on the Spanish island of Mallorca, a team of archaeologists uncovered an unexpected glimpse into ancient eating habits. Buried in a garbage pit behind what used to be a food stall were dozens of tiny bird bones, mostly from thrushes. These weren’t fancy leftovers from an aristocrat’s dinner. They were tossed-out scraps from everyday street food.

The new study suggests that 2,000 years ago, small birds like thrushes weren’t just for the rich. They were fried, sold, and eaten by regular people grabbing a quick bite in the bustling city of Pollentia.

Roman fried trushes

Alejandro Valenzuela, an archaeologist with the Mediterranean Institute for Advanced Studies, led the analysis of the animal bones recovered from a latrine connected to a Roman food stall in Pollentia, a port city founded after Rome’s conquest of the Balearic Islands in 123 BCE.

The study, published in the International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, analyzed the contents of a cesspit about 4 meters (13 feet) deep. Located just outside a small commercial building—identified by embedded amphorae and a drain beneath its threshold—the pit once collected waste from what Valenzuela believes was a thriving food and drink counter.

Inside, he found fragments of mammal, fish, and bird bones, most notably from the song thrush (Turdus philomelos), a speckled migratory bird that still winters in Mallorca today.

In total, Valenzuela identified 165 thrush bones in the pit—more than from any other bird species. Most were not from the meaty parts of the body. Instead, they were primarily skulls, sterna (breastbones), and the distal ends of limbs, which suggests the fleshy parts had been stripped away before disposal.

Ancient Street Food

Historical sources (including the Roman gourmand Apicius and the philosopher Plutarch) describe thrushes as delicacies fattened on figs and served at decadent banquets. They appear in price edicts and in the writings of Pliny the Elder, always as luxury fare. But the bones from Pollentia paint a humbler picture.

There were very few humeri or femora, the meatiest bones. This anatomical pattern strongly suggests a preparation process in which the birds were flattened—likely by removing the sternum—before being fried whole.

That method of preparation still exists today in parts of the Mediterranean. “Based on local culinary traditions here in Mallorca, I can say from personal experience that their flavor is more akin to small game birds like quail than to chicken,” Valenzuela told Live Science.

The sterna were broken in a way that suggests they were torn out during cooking, not later damaged by time or pressure. And there were no cut or burn marks, ruling out roasting. The preparation method was optimized for rapid frying.

The Roman Urban Diet Reconsidered

This reimagining of Roman thrush consumption fits within a growing body of archaeological research that challenges elite-centric narratives. The evidence from Pollentia offers a rare glimpse into the street food culture of Roman cities, which, until recently, was very poorly understood.

The birds likely arrived in city markets during the winter, when migratory flocks reached the Balearics. Hunters caught them with nets or birdlime—methods still known today—and sold them by the dozen. While the rich enjoyed plump thrushes year-round—often raised in captivity for out-of-season consumption—street vendors likely sold wild ones only in winter, when they were abundant and cheap.

Even visual art supports this dual role: mosaics from Roman villas and frescoes from Pompeii depict thrushes hanging alongside eggs and grapes, both as symbols of refinement and items of common fare.

A Taberna, Not a Villa

The birds would have been soled at a taberna, a type of shop or stall in Ancient Rome. The taberna in Pollentia, dubbed “Room Z” by archaeologists, was a modest affair—not an aristocratic kitchen. Excavated in the 1990s, it featured a bar with six amphorae embedded in its counter, and a drain beneath its entrance that channeled waste into the cesspit.

In particular, this taberna would have been a thermopolia, a commercial establishment where it was possible to purchase ready-to-eat food (literally “a place where something hot is sold”). Similar thermopolia have been found across the Roman world, most famously in Pompeii, where food bars served busy laborers and travelers. The findings from Pollentia suggest that thrushes joined rabbit, chicken, fish, and shellfish on the quick-service menu.

And while we may never know exactly how they were presented—on plates, skewers, or simply wrapped in leaves—one thing is clear: thrushes were not just for the Roman rich.

Fast Food, Then and Now

Thrushes were never a mainstay of the Roman diet—pig bones outnumber them ten to one in the Pollentia cesspit. But their presence here is significant. It suggests a savvy urban economy that adapted to seasonal availability, offered variety, and blurred the lines between rich and poor. The Romans liked to eat varied foods, just like we do.

“Ultimately, this research highlights the need to move beyond elite-centric narratives and consider the diverse ways in which food practices shaped the lived experiences of ancient urban communities,” Valenzuela concluded.

In a way, it’s not so different from modern life. Today’s street vendors turn seasonal ingredients into quick, affordable bites. Two millennia ago, a Roman passerby in Pollentia could grab a thrush hot off the pan. Just another flavor in the Mediterranean hum of a city on the move.