Not a dinner list. A short table of dishes documented all the way down: exact metric amounts, steps in order, and the compounds that make each one taste the way it does.
The heart of the table is Levantine and Palestinian: sayadiya the Gazan way, mansaf without jameed, molokhiya, and harak osbao. The rest follows curiosity, from a Roman carbonara to a Japanese curry built on its own spice blend.
Each dish names its chemistry in the open: the pyrazines in a browned onion, the glutamates that make a broth taste like more, the allicin in crushed garlic. Real molecules, never invented.
Most of the EPA and DHA in a fish was built by microalgae and climbed the food chain to it, and people turn only a little of the plant omega-3 in flax and chia into either. The Danish doctors who made fish oil famous measured Greenlanders' blood rather than their hearts, and the largest trials of ordinary capsules missed their main targets.
An American ethnographer watching Palestinian villagers in 1921 wrote down the dish and the reason for its name in one sentence. What the record actually holds before that, what is folklore, and the starch, oil and browning that let a pot of rice stand up on a platter.
Japan's first written mention of curry is an entry in an 1860 phrasebook; the first Japanese man on record to meet it called it filthy. A century and a half later the country eats it more than once a week. The path runs through a British spice tin, a navy cookbook and a bar of roux.