Sam Kean has built a reputation for making science accessible and entertaining, from The Disappearing Spoon’s chemical adventures to The Bastard Brigade’s wartime scientific espionage. With Dinner with King Tut, he ventures into uncharted territory, blending experimental archaeology with immersive storytelling to create something entirely unprecedented in popular history writing. This ambitious work doesn’t just tell us about the past—it invites us to taste, smell, and feel our way through 75,000 years of human experience.
The book’s central premise is both simple and radical: to truly understand our ancestors, we must stop merely looking at their artifacts and start experiencing their world. Kean introduces readers to the growing field of experimental archaeology, where researchers don’t just excavate pottery shards—they fire medieval catapults, brew Viking beer using ancient yeast, and yes, even make mummies using historically accurate techniques.
The Structure: Fiction Meets Scientific Rigor
Kean’s most daring choice is his dual narrative structure. Each chapter alternates between meticulously researched historical fiction and first-person accounts of his own experimental archaeology adventures. We follow fictional characters like Kayate, a 75,000-year-old African hunter, and Amon, an Egyptian baker during pyramid construction, while simultaneously joining Kean as he learns to make acorn bread with California natives or samples authentic Roman fish sauce that would make modern gourmands weep with envy.
This hybrid approach proves remarkably effective. The fictional segments, while invented, are grounded in archaeological evidence so thoroughly that they feel more like historical reconstruction than creative writing. When Kean describes Kayate fashioning poisoned arrows or Amon supervising the massive bakeries that fed pyramid workers, every detail—from the texture of tanned hide to the factory-like organization of ancient bread production—emerges from real research.
The non-fiction portions crackle with Kean’s signature wit and enthusiasm. His description of eating beetle grubs found in acorns (“It popped between my teeth, and squirted juice like a tiny berry”) or his admission that he’d “starve to death in about half an hour” if transported to any historical period showcase his self-deprecating humor while highlighting the genuine skills our ancestors possessed.
Sensory History: Beyond the Visual
Where Dinner with King Tut truly shines is in its commitment to multisensory history. Traditional archaeology, as Kean notes with characteristic honesty, can feel “godawfully tedious”—endless pot shard analysis that tells us what the past looked like but little about how it felt to live there. Experimental archaeology fills this gap by engaging all five senses.
Through Kean’s experiences, we learn that ancient Egyptian bread possessed a “scrumptious sourdough tang” that would “draw raves in any New York or Paris bistro.” We discover that Roman fish sauce, despite its unappetizing description, actually enhances flavors in surprising ways. Most memorably, we follow him as he creates a DIY mummy, experiencing firsthand the months-long process that transforms flesh into the leathery artifacts we see in museums.
The sensory details prove revelatory. When Kean describes the “crab-like odor of a deer hide as you tan it” or the “bone-wearying fatigue of spending several hours grinding your own grain into flour,” he’s not just adding flavor to his narrative—he’s providing crucial insights into daily life that no amount of traditional archaeological analysis could reveal.
The Experimental Archaeology Movement
One of the book’s greatest strengths lies in its introduction of experimental archaeology’s diverse practitioners. Kean introduces us to “hardcore lab geeks,” “grouchy, live-off-the-land survivalists,” and “screwball enthusiasts” who share a commitment to hands-on historical recreation. These aren’t amateur history buffs playing dress-up; they’re serious researchers using rigorous scientific methods to test hypotheses about the past.
Take Seamus Blackley, the Xbox inventor turned “gastro-Egyptologist” who spent a year perfecting ancient Egyptian bread recipes. His work involved collecting yeast from ancient pottery using sterile microbiology equipment, creating replica clay molds, and building pharaonic-era firepits in his backyard. The result? Bread so authentic and delicious that it illuminates why ancient Egyptians considered it sacred enough to serve as both currency and sustenance for pyramid builders.
Similarly, Lyn Wadley’s recreation of 200,000-year-old beds from South African caves involved not just archaeological excavation but actual experimentation—recruiting volunteers to sleep on ash-and-grass mattresses in the original cave, discovering firsthand their comfort level and insect-repelling properties.
Cultural Connections and Indigenous Knowledge
Kean demonstrates particular sensitivity when discussing how experimental archaeology serves indigenous communities seeking to reconnect with nearly extinct cultural traditions. The work goes beyond academic curiosity; it becomes a form of cultural preservation and restoration. His collaboration with California tribal members to perfect acorn bread preparation illustrates how hands-on experimentation can bridge generational knowledge gaps caused by colonization and cultural disruption.
This aspect of the book proves especially valuable, countering critics who dismiss experimental archaeology as mere “theater” or the result of “character deficiencies.” When indigenous groups use these techniques to revive traditional crafts, foods, and technologies, the work becomes an act of cultural reclamation rather than academic indulgence.
Areas for Improvement
Despite its many strengths, Dinner with King Tut isn’t without flaws. The ambitious scope occasionally works against narrative coherence. Jumping from African hunter-gatherers to Egyptian pyramid builders to Polynesian navigators requires readers to constantly reset their temporal and geographical bearings. While each chapter offers fascinating insights, the broad sweep sometimes prevents deeper exploration of specific cultures or techniques.
The fictional character segments, while generally effective, occasionally feel more functional than compelling. Characters like Kayate and Amon serve their purpose as historical vehicles, but they rarely develop the psychological complexity that would make them memorable in their own right. Kean’s non-fiction voice proves far more engaging than his attempts at historical fiction.
Additionally, some readers may find the book’s episodic structure frustrating. Each chapter essentially functions as a self-contained essay, which creates a somewhat fragmented reading experience. The lack of stronger thematic connections between chapters makes the book feel more like a collection of related articles than a unified argument about experimental archaeology’s value.
Scientific Rigor Meets Accessible Writing
Kean navigates the challenging balance between scientific accuracy and popular accessibility with considerable skill. His extensive bibliography and detailed acknowledgments reveal the serious research underlying even his most lighthearted observations. When he describes the biochemical effects of castration on Chinese eunuchs or explains the microbiology behind ancient Egyptian beer fermentation, he grounds humorous anecdotes in solid science.
The book successfully demonstrates that experimental archaeology deserves recognition as a legitimate scientific discipline rather than historical cosplay. By showing how hands-on experimentation can reveal insights invisible to traditional archaeological methods, Kean makes a compelling case for the field’s academic value.
Writing Style and Accessibility
Kean’s prose maintains the conversational tone and infectious enthusiasm that made his previous books bestsellers. He has a gift for finding the perfect detail to illuminate larger points—describing Egyptian beer as “alcoholic porridge” or noting that pyramid workers consumed 231 million gallons of beer during construction. These memorable specifics make complex historical information stick.
His self-deprecating humor keeps the tone light without undermining the serious research. When he admits to eating beetle grubs “after a few beers one night during the pandemic,” he acknowledges the absurdity of his quest while demonstrating genuine commitment to understanding ancestral experiences.
Contemporary Relevance
Beyond its historical insights, Dinner with King Tut offers subtle commentary on modern life’s increasing abstraction from material reality. Kean argues that we live in a world of “flickering images, information abstracted to bits,” increasingly disconnected from the physical processes that sustain us. Experimental archaeology offers a “welcome corrective” by reconnecting us with the tangible skills and sensory experiences that defined human existence for millennia.
This theme resonates particularly strongly in our digital age. When Kean describes the satisfaction of baking bread with grain you’ve personally ground or crafting tools with your own hands, he’s advocating for a more direct relationship with the material world—something many contemporary readers will find appealing.
Comparison to Similar Works
Dinner with King Tut occupies unique territory in popular history writing. While books like Bill Bryson’s At Home explore the historical development of domestic life, and Mark Kurlansky’s Salt traces single commodities through time, Kean’s work is more experiential and participatory. It shares DNA with Barbara Ehrenreich’s immersive journalism in Nickel and Dimed, but applies that approach to historical rather than contemporary subjects.
The book’s closest relatives might be the BBC’s experimental archaeology television programs or books like The Year 1000 by Valerie Hansen, but none combine Kean’s scientific background, humor, and hands-on approach quite so effectively.
Final Assessment
Dinner with King Tut succeeds admirably in its primary goal: making experimental archaeology accessible to general readers while demonstrating its scientific and cultural value. Kean’s enthusiasm proves infectious, and his willingness to embarrass himself in pursuit of historical understanding generates both laughs and insights.
The book works best when read as an introduction to experimental archaeology’s possibilities rather than a comprehensive survey of human history. Individual chapters sparkle with fascinating details and memorable experiments, even if the overall structure lacks perfect cohesion.
Most importantly, Kean achieves his larger objective of humanizing our ancestors. By experiencing echoes of their daily struggles and pleasures, we gain a visceral understanding that artifacts alone cannot provide. When he writes that ancient peoples “were just people, no different than us,” the sentiment feels earned rather than trite because he’s invested the time and effort to make those connections tangible.
Dinner with King Tut won’t satisfy readers seeking comprehensive historical analysis or those preferring more traditional narrative structures. But for readers curious about the past and willing to embrace an unconventional approach to understanding it, Kean has created something genuinely innovative—a book that doesn’t just inform but transforms how we think about our relationship to history.
Similar Books to Explore
- The Icepick Surgeon by Sam Kean – Kean’s exploration of science’s moral complexities
- Caesar’s Last Breath by Sam Kean – Atmospheric history of gases and their human impact
- The Year 1000 by Valerie Hansen – Global connections in medieval times
- At Home by Bill Bryson – The surprising history of domestic life
- The Knowledge by Lewis Dartnell – How to rebuild civilization from scratch
- 1177 B.C. by Eric Cline – Bronze Age collapse through archaeological evidence
- Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari – Human development from anthropological perspective
- The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan – Human-plant relationships through history
In an era when history often feels distant and abstract, Dinner with King Tut offers a refreshing reminder that the past was lived by real people with real bodies who solved real problems. By getting his hands dirty—sometimes literally—Kean has created both an entertaining read and a valuable contribution to public understanding of archaeological science.