Just Before the Cardinals Locked Themselves Away in Conclave, They Did One Last Thing in the Vatican: They Ate

The conclave leading the cardinals to elect the new pope could go on indefinitely. As you’ll see below, history offers plenty of examples to show what can happen once those doors close. For instance, the meeting that ended with the announcement of Gregory X took nearly three years—so long that they even removed the roof to encourage a decision. In this context, the lunch menu can be hefty.

What future popes eat. For more than 750 years, the meals served during papal conclaves have followed strict rules designed to preserve the confidentiality of the electoral process. What may seem like a minor logistical detail—feeding 135 cardinals for days, weeks or even years—is actually a deeply ritualized and guarded part of the Catholic Church’s most secret event.

Food, like words, can communicate. It’s this potential that has led to an almost obsessive system of controls that prevents, for example, closed pastries, whole chickens or drinks in opaque containers from being served. In the past, a pastry could conceal a coded message, or a soiled napkin could carry messages to the outside world. Today, concerns focus more on electronic devices, but the logic of surveillance remains intact. What cardinals eat, how they eat it, and with whom they eat, all remain part of a complex symbolic and practical web that protects the secret of the white smoke.

A millennial tradition. According to the BBC, the origin of these restrictions dates back to 1274, when Pope Gregory X—after enduring the longest conclave in history (1268–1271)—imposed strict rules to avoid deadlock: absolute isolation and progressive rationing. If no consensus was reached after three days, the cardinals would receive only one meal a day. After eight days, only bread and water. Although these rules were relaxed in the 14th century, with Clement VI allowing three-course meals, the essence of control remained.

Food ceased to be a privilege and became part of the ritual of enclosure. During the Renaissance, the famous chef Bartolomeo Scappi—considered the first celebrity chef in history—described in detail the culinary protocol of the conclave that elected Pope Julius III: meals were transported by lot, checked by tasters, delivered through a ruota (a kind of wall turnstile that prevented visual contact between cooks and cardinals), and supervised by Swiss and Italian guards. Nothing was left to chance. The food was plentiful but simple, and the napkins were inspected individually.

Austere meals. In contrast to the Renaissance refinement described by Scappi—salads, fruit, charcuterie, wine, and freshwater, all served in private cells decorated with silk—today’s Church has embraced a message of sobriety, in line with Pope Francis’ style. For the conclave, which begins May 7, the nuns of the Domus Sanctae Marthae will prepare simple dishes from the cuisine of Lazio and Abruzzo: minestrone, spaghetti, arrosticini, and boiled vegetables.

More from Xataka On

People Used to Believe Coffee Was a Drink of the Devil. The Pope ‘Baptized’ It so They Could Enjoy It Guilt-Free

Despite the change in preparation, the intention remains the same: nothing enters or leaves unattended. The kitchen remains a potential risk, and its surveillance a ritual necessity. Some of this has already been seen in the film Conclave, where the kitchen is dramatized as the real center of intrigue—where human interaction continues even when everything else falls silent. Of course, the movie shouldn’t be taken as an accurate reflection of reality, but it gets one point right: In these events, where speech is limited, everyday gestures—such as sharing a dish or raising a glass—take on extraordinary significance.

From luxury to duty. For all these reasons, before entering seclusion, many cardinals enjoy a last meal at their favorite Roman restaurants, such as Al Passetto di Borgo, just a few meters from St. Peter’s Basilica. Some have already placed famous orders: lasagna for Donald Wuerl and grilled calamari for Francesco Coccopalmerio.

These dinners are charged with a sense of possible future nostalgia—the last free meal before plunging into the ritual atmosphere of the conclave, where every bite is observed and every spoonful measured. This contrast between freedom and control, between the bustle of a Roman dining room and the silence of the papal refectory, not only defines the transition to isolation but also highlights the symbolic weight of the meal as a threshold between the outside world and sacred enclosure.

Vigilance that endures. Although poison is no longer feared as it was in the Renaissance, and the priority is no longer to prevent a popular uprising over a deadlocked election, the idea of total isolation persists. Even with modern means, food control maintains the original philosophy: prevent interference, protect secrecy, and preserve the sanctity of the process.

The fact that a cardinal leaves the refectory and enters the Sistine Chapel with a full stomach, but a mind focused only on his vows is no accident. Food must not distract or become a vehicle for outside influence. So even though stuffed chickens are no longer checked for secret messages, the Vatican still searches for microphones and hidden devices.

A metaphor for the Church. Food surveillance isn’t just a matter of security—it’s an expression of the Church’s identity. In a time of transition, when the future spiritual leadership of 1.4 billion Catholics is at stake, every gesture becomes ritualized. From this perspective, eating ceases to be a biological necessity and becomes a liturgical act of restraint, discipline, and communion.

Therefore, the conclave table is a place of nourishment and secrecy. And as the cardinals prepare to elect a successor, their excellencies may also remember one last detail: that final plate of lasagna in Rome.

Image | Catholic Church England and Wales | sunorwind (Unsplash)

Related | We’ve Reached a Point Where People Are Taking Selfies With Pope Francis’ Dead Body