Category: …and everything else
Mostly everything else in a brain-academic way.
Current Philly-Area Forecast
Currently, the weather is Sad Cloud with Evil Sun. Later today, Evil Sun is anticipated to go Deadly, but will be cloudblocked, preventing most Instantaneous Death. Unfortunately, Death Sun will kill all the clouds tomorrow, and then work on killing all the humans.
Friday, relief is seen with Spider Thunderclouds. Unless you’re arachnophobic, in which case RUN OH MY GOD RUN THE SPIDERS ARE COMING FOR YOU!
Food is Complex
Food is complex.
That’s really the only conclusion I can draw after reading Francis Lam’s NYTimes article Cuisines Mastered as Acquired Tastes, and the following back and forth Lam had with his friend Eddie Huang over at Gilt Taste, Is it Fair for Chefs to Cook Other Cultures’ Food?
Because of paywalls and irritating things like “flaky commute wifi access,” I actually read the second article, Lam and Huang’s back-and-forth, first. This was probably a mistake, since it made me cranky in a sort of ineffable way. I knew I disagreed with the piece, but putting my finger on a single reason why was elusive.
Lam’s original NYTimes piece actually addressed some of the things that I think bothered me about the subsequent give-and-take. He did talk about how it’s difficult to start your own restaurant, and that non-immigrants may have a leg up there, not just because they may have the financial capital not accessible to new immigrants, but because they have the innate cultural knowledge necessary to start a business, especially one as volatile as a restaurant. Pulling back to my education, and piggybacking on what Chefs Bayless and Ricker, as well as Dr. Ray, said in Lam’s article, there is a bilingualism in cooking food from another culture that allows these chefs to be liminal people – they become translators understanding both cultures.
Anyone who has learned another language in a formal setting will come across the word “gloss.” It’s a translation or interpretation of a word. There are linear glosses: champignons versus mushrooms, for example. But then you have interlinear glosses, when you have to understand not only the words but the structure of the language itself. The interlinear gloss I’m most familiar with is that of American Sign Language, given that it’s my second language. Here’s an example, via Wikipedia:
“I don’t like garlic.”
Now, picky linguistics people will note that this also contains prosody – telling you the emotional inflection of what’s being signed. (The signs are in brackets, the prosody in superscript, and the interlinear gloss would be the structure shown in the written text, and how you’re getting “I don’t like garlic” from that series of signs.)
So what does linguistics have to do with cooking and food? Well, I think that what we’re seeing with these “bilingual” chefs is the ability to do what is functionally an interlinear gloss, “explaining” food from other countries in a way that is comprehensible to people who are missing the cultural connection that typically comes with food.
Which means that I pretty much agree with Lam’s basic NYTimes article. What, then, was my issue with the followup in Gilt Taste?
I think what bothered me, ultimately, was the lack of focus on the things Lam did bring up in his article: access, culture, and perhaps even desire. (For example, one of the best restaurants I’ve ever eaten at is the pub around the corner from my house. It’s Irish American food, it’s a pub, and they have no desire to be noticed by Beard. Does this mean that they’re not good food, or that I wouldn’t cheerfully put them up against some of the best “fine dining” I’ve eaten? No. It just means that getting the notice of a Beard award isn’t something that happens if you run a pub. Or food cart. Etc. Just like there are fine writers out there who will never receive any of the numerous writing awards: Pulitzer, Booker, Nobel, etc.)
What the Lam and Huang article did focus on was ideas of access and appropriation, with Huang apparently taking the position of gatekeeper: keep those damned whities out if they don’t have permission to be cooking the food.
Well, who gives that permission?
But perhaps worse, or at least beyond that, is this idea that Americans should cook American food. What is American food? Is it Native American food? You can’t really say “yo white person! Just cook things that the Mashpee Wampanoag or Powhatan ate,” because well – that’s not “white American food.”
There is no white American food. There are European foods – French and Spanish and Italian and German and so on for each country, each of which have been horribly butchered and beautifully elevated by American chefs and cooks. But none of them “belong” to American chefs any more than Powhatan recipes do.
Does a chef have to do a complex genealogy before being able to open a restaurant?
And then what in the world do you do with fusion chefs, like Morimoto, who come from another country and infuse local mishmashed American cuisine with Japanese standards, to amazing effect? Is he doing appropriation, or is it okay because he’s not white?
See what I mean? Food is complex, and this isn’t even getting into deeper cultural resonance tied to food and eating and social expectation and experience.
Ultimately, I think that my friend Lisa summed it up best: there are a lot of perspectives in this issue, and it’s illuminating to see that there is anger over this issue.
From my own perspective, discussions of authenticity shouldn’t be limited to the “lesser” or “non-French-based” cuisines. We should always be discussing authenticity, provenance, history and skill – and culture should be as much a part of that discussion as education.
Beauty and the Beast – Broadway Show (Review)
I saw the current touring version of Beauty and the Beast tonight – first time I’ve actually seen it, which is kind of strange given that it’s my favourite of the modern, pre-Pixar Disney movies. I was just literally never in the right city at the right time until now.
Unfortunately, this staging had some problems – primarily a literal stage issue, as they covered a full 1/4 of the top of the stage with scrollwork, making it impossible for people in the higher levels of seating to see anything in the back of the stage, including the majority of the Beast’s interactions with his rose. Those aside, they made a few directoral decisions that didn’t sit terribly right with any of us (us being my sister, her roommate, and one of Greta’s coworkers). First, they turned up the creep factor on Lumière quite a bit, to the point that it wasn’t flirting, it was harassment – and with several of the characters. None of us talked about it as it was happening, but all came to that conclusion on our own.
Secondly, and more disturbingly? They really upped Beast’s violence – and they did so in ways that crossed the perpetual problem that Beauty and the Beast has: how closely can they toe the domestic violence line without going so far as to make Beast completely unsympathetic.
Unfortunately, for this production, they not so much crossed the line as they got it in sight and then took a flying leap over it. Beast throws Belle around, he grabs her head and chin several times, pins her against railings, etc – and that’s just the physical stuff. When coupled with the bad temper and the language, and it is just All Around Bad.
I know I’m not remembering the movie with particular rosy glasses – it definitely toed that same line, which has been a problem with the story since forever. I think the major difference is that in the movie, we see time pass, and Belle has a chance to learn why the Beast is so damaged. Yes, this falls into another problematic area: girl saving a wounded man with the power of her love, but the movie manages to skirt it – not, perhaps, well, but it at least suggests that they knew what they were doing and what they were trying to avoid.
Unfortunately, losing the seasonal moments and the sense of time passing, along with the more gradual softening of Beast, makes the domestic violence allegory already stand out. When you then add in the physicality of this interpretation of the story, it becomes significantly disturbing on a level that seems very anti-Disney.
And yet, after all that? They black out the stage when Gaston dies. Because apparently we can show young girls being beaten by the man they’ll marry, but we can’t show a man falling to his death. Yeah, that’s healthy.
Ultimately, I think the story suffers in stage version. That said, I did really enjoy the new songs added for the play, and the young lady playing Belle was fantastic – it was like the animated Belle stepped off the screen and on to the stage. Several of the ensemble characters stood out, as well – unfortunately, the other weakness in the play was again Beast, who rarely used his full voice when singing, and the music suffered from that.
Overall, I’d say that it’s worth seeing for a slightly different interpretation, but if you take children, view it as an opportunity to discuss appropriate relationships and boundaries with them, rather than expecting the more cheerful movie version of the story.