When Caravaggio Threw a Plate at a Waiter in Rome

A quarrel over eight artichokes reveals the painter’s volatile temper in early 17th-century Rome.

If tortelli appear in Buonarroti's household accounts, artichokes enter Caravaggio's story through the back door of a police report.

On April 24, 1604, they became the cause of yet another of his many run-ins with Roman authorities.

The incident occurred at the Osteria del Moro, located on Via della Maddalena, near the Pantheon, in Rome's Campo Marzio district. Pietro da Fusaccia, a waiter at the tavern, served eight cooked artichokes to the artist and his two companions.

Caravaggio asked which had been prepared with butter and which with oil. The waiter's response (too vague? too indifferent?) sparked his fury.

Blas de Ledesma, Bodegón de espárragos, alcachofas, limones y cerezas (1602)

The waiter's own testimony, preserved in the police files of the Archivio di Stato, recounts the scene with bureaucratic precision:

Circa le 17 hore stando detto querelato assieme a doi altri a magnare nell'hosteria del Moro, alla Maddalena, dove io sto per garzone et havendoli portato otto carcioffi cotti cioè quattro nel buturo e quattro con olio, detto querelato mi ha dimandato quali erano quelli al buturo et quelli all'olio. Io li ho risposto: che li odorasse, che facilmente haverebbe conosciuto quali erano cotti nel buturo et quelli che erano all'olio. Lui allora è montato in collera e senza dirmi altro ha preso un piatto di terra et me l'ha tirato alla volta del mostaccio, che me ha colto in questa guancia manca dove sono restato un poco ferito. Et poi si è dirizzato et ha dato di mano alla spada di un suo compagno che stava su la tavola con animo forse di darmi con ella, ma io me gli sono levato dinanzi et sono venuto qua all'officio a darne querela…"

At about half past twelve while the accused was eating with two others at the Osteria del Moro in Maddalena, where I work as a waiter, having brought him eight cooked artichokes, that is four in butter and four with oil, the accused asked me which were the ones with butter and which with oil. I answered him: smell them, that he would easily have known which were cooked in butter and which were with oil. He then became angry and without saying anything else took a clay dish and threw it at my face, hitting me on this left cheek where I remained slightly wounded. And then he straightened up and reached for his companion's sword that was on the table, perhaps intending to strike me with it, but I got away from him and came here to the office to file a complaint...

By April 1604, Caravaggio moved through Rome with the particular volatility of a man caught between triumph and catastrophe. His paintings commanded the most prestigious commissions: the Contarelli Chapel at San Luigi dei Francesi had established his reputation, the Cerasi Chapel at Santa Maria del Popolo had confirmed his genius. Cardinals competed for his work. The Marchese Vincenzo Giustiniani collected his canvases with obsessive devotion, accumulating fifteen works.

Yet police records show a pattern of complaints, unpaid rents, and violent encounters. He was first reported in 1598 for carrying weapons without a permit and was repeatedly detained for brawls, threats, and public insults. The precarious foundation of his success was already evident.

Another witness, Pietro Antonio del Madii, reported the painter's exact words:

Era a pranzo all'hostaria del Moro ove da altra banda ci era Michelangelo da Caravaggio pittore. Intesi dimandare da lui se i carcioffi erano all'olio o al burro, essendo tutti in un piatto. Il garzone disse: Non lo so; et ne pigliò uno et se lo mise al naso. Il che havendo hauto a male Michelangelo si levò in piedi in collera et gli disse: 'Se ben mi pare, becco fottuto, ti credi di servire qualche barone.' Et prese quel piatto con dentro i carciofori e lo tirò al garzone nel viso. Non vidi Michelangiolo cacciar mano alla spasa contro lo stesso.

He was dining at the Osteria del Moro where on the other side was Michelangelo da Caravaggio the painter. I heard him ask if the artichokes were with oil or butter, all being on one plate. The waiter said: I don't know; and took one and put it to his nose. Taking offense at this, Michelangelo stood up in anger and said to him: 'It seems to me, you fucking cuckold, you think you're serving some baron.' And he took that plate with the artichokes inside and threw it at the waiter's face. I did not see Michelangelo draw his sword against him.

In Roman idiom, barone could carry a touch of irony — less a nobleman than someone merely playing the part. Caravaggio's outburst wasn't about being mistaken for one, but about being treated as if he weren't worth the seriousness owed to a real client.

For a painter who had risen to prominence and moved with the confidence of a recognized master, yet by most accounts remained acutely sensitive to the traces of his low-born origins, the waiter's offhand manner must have felt like a denial of earned respect.

Even the food on the table subtly reflected this tension. The choice of preparation methods carried its own significance: butter marked northern cooking, the taste of Caravaggio’s Lombard origins; oil belonged to Roman tradition, cheaper and more durable in the southern climate. That the osteria served both suggests a clientele navigating between regional habits, northerners like Caravaggio adapting to Roman life while retaining traces of home.

The legal aftermath proved brief. Cardinal Francesco Maria del Monte, Caravaggio's protector and sometime host at Palazzo Madama, likely intervened. The case was dismissed from court records without a conviction.

Pietro returned to his duties, while the painter continued his twin careers of artistic brilliance and public violence. Between October and November 1604, he was arrested twice more: once for throwing stones at police officers, once for insulting an official who dared check his weapons permit.

Two years later, in the same Campo Marzio district, another moment of violence would end with Ranuccio Tomassoni dead and Caravaggio fleeing Rome forever.

More than two centuries later, the defense of honor returned… not in a Roman tavern, but outside Paris, and led by a far less likely figure: Marcel Proust.

Proust's Duel