The word ‘spaghetti’ comes from Italian ‘spaghetto’, meaning ‘little cord’. Its ancestor, Late Latin ‘spacus’, referred to a thread or strip. Arab influence in medieval Sicily shaped the early pasta strands called ‘itriyah’, which evolved into the spaghetti we know today.

From Roman salt cellars to Italian delicatessens, the word salami has always meant ‘a salted thing’.

‘Pizza’ first appears in a 997 AD Latin charter from Gaeta. Its name may come from Greek ‘pitta’ meaning ‘cake’ or from the Lombardic ‘pizzo’ meaning ‘bite’. In Italian, it once meant any tart or flatbread. The Neapolitan dish of the eighteenth century turned it into the food we recognise today.

Ricotta comes from Latin recōcta ‘recooked’, describing whey heated a second time to form a fresh curd. This word card traces its path from Roman dairies to modern English.

The Italian word ‘mozzarella’ means ‘a little cut piece’, from ‘mozzare’, ‘to cut off’. Its root goes back to Latin ‘mutilus’, shared with English ‘mutilate’. From papal kitchens to modern pizza, the name still recalls the motion of a cheesemaker’s hand shaping fresh curd.

The cucumber’s name grew from Sanskrit and Latin roots, spreading through French and Greek into Europe’s many languages.

English alone calls it the ‘strawberry’. Others call it the ‘earth berry’ or the ‘fragrant fruit’. New research traces our word not to straw mulch but to an old European habit: threading wild berries onto a straw of grass.

A short exploration of the word ‘shine’, from Old English ‘scinan’ to the Hebrew forms behind Isaiah’s ‘arise, shine’. This study traces how English, Hebrew and European translations express radiance, brightness and becoming light.

A short exploration of the word ‘dream’, from its Old English meaning of joy to its role in Matthew’s Gospel as ‘onar’, a dream sent from God.

Luke 2:11 names Jesus as both Saviour and Messiah. This post explores how the word ‘saviour’ travelled from Latin and Greek into English, and how its earlier uses for ancient rulers are reshaped in the New Testament to describe Christ alone. Image taken on the cliffs of Anglesey.

A brief look at how English ‘star’ traces back to the ancient Indo-European root meaning ‘to scatter’. Greek ‘astēr’, Latin ‘stella’, and Germanic ‘steorra’ all reflect the same image: points of light spread across the sky, guiding travellers long before the Magi followed the rising star.

A short look at the word ‘worship’, from Old English ‘worth-ship’ to the Greek ‘proskyneo’. Across Europe the word carries ideas of worth, direction and bowing low.

Explores the deep history of ‘thanks’, from Germanic thought to Greek grace, anchored in Luke 2:36 to 38.

A short exploration of the word ‘light’ from Old English ‘leoht’ to the Greek φῶς (phōs) of Luke 2:32. This piece traces how languages across Europe speak of brightness, clarity, and revelation, and how these ideas have shaped English over time.

A short exploration of the word ‘praise’, from Latin worth to Greek celebration and Hebrew shining joy, grounded in Luke 2:20.

A short exploration of the word ‘heart’, tracing its path from ancient Indo-European roots through Greek kardía to modern English. The post reflects on Luke 2:19 and shows how languages have long used the heart to express the inner life.

A short exploration of the word ‘shepherd’, from Old English ‘sceaphierde’ to Greek ‘ποιμήν’ and Latin ‘pastor’. With a photo taken at Cuckmere Haven, this piece follows how a simple pastoral term grew into a rich metaphor across European languages and Bible translations.

A short exploration of the word ‘peace’, from Latin pax and Greek eirēnē to Hebrew shalom, tracing how English came to hold meanings of harmony, safety, and wholeness.

A short exploration of the word ‘glory’, tracing its path from Latin ‘glōria’ and Old English ‘wuldor’ to the brightness and honour found in Luke’s nativity. Featuring a beach morning glory from La Trinité-sur-Mer.

Luke 2:11 names Jesus as both Saviour and Messiah. This post explores how the word ‘saviour’ travelled from Latin and Greek into English, and how its earlier uses for ancient rulers are reshaped in the New Testament to describe Christ alone. Image taken on the cliffs of Anglesey.