I recently sided with Lucy Kellaway on the importance of traditional social conventions and rituals in relation to eating and drinking, and mentioned in passing that I had reverted to drinking ordinary tea made in a pot rather than tea-bag tea.
That piece may have given a slightly misleading picture of my views because, though I certainly do feel – and no doubt will continue to feel – an emotional attachment to the rituals of eating and drinking, I must confess that my basic approach to food is more utilitarian than aesthetic.
I certainly share Kellaway's view that food itself, no matter how good, is "curiously forgettable" and that most of the real pleasure comes from the anticipation and the ritual.
Furthermore I see the current cultural obsession with food and the taste of food as being symptomatic of real cultural decline.
But my personal approach to food is in practice more closely linked to hypochondriacal tendencies than to conservative ones. When I was in my twenties a doctor asked me if I had read Three Men in a Boat. He was thinking of the (once) well-known passage describing how one of the characters leafs through a medical dictionary and finds he has symptoms that match virtually every disease in the book.
My usual way of dealing with perceived symptoms is to tweak my diet and hope they go away. I'll resist the temptation to give details of my current symptoms beyond saying that they are not painful or debilitating, just vaguely suggestive (as my symptoms invariably are) of very dark possibilities.
Of course, dark possibilities crystallize into dark realities for all of us in time; the trick (and it is a trick) is to keep that inevitable reckoning out of sight (and so out of mind) for as long as possible.
Part of this is psychological game-playing but the most important part relates to real choices impinging on general health.
And food choices, along with decisions relating to sleep and exercise, etc., give us – within the limits set by our respective genomes and other factors beyond our control – the ability to maximize (or minimize) our chances of longevity and well-being. We can alter the odds considerably, in fact. And this, to my mind at least, is hugely significant.
Maintaining traditional habits and patterns of eating and drinking is all very well. But the simple truth is that any such habits and customs – however appealing – will get short shrift from me if they stand in the way of my latest dietary prescriptions.*
* Just to give a sense of where I am at the moment... No alcohol, no sugar, no white flour, minimal caffeine (and no caffeine late in the day). Staples include: anchovies; lettuce mix; various fruits and vegetables; yogurt; heavy grainy bread; cheese; tahini; peanut butter; yeast extract; brewer's yeast; pea soup (with ham) and other types of soup. That's the bare bones of the 'what'; I may elaborate on the 'why' – on my rationale – another time. (The concept of glycemic load is important; and recently I decided to increase my intake of purines...)
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Monday, March 3, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Rules for eating
Financial Times columnist Lucy Kellaway recently wrote a piece on how she has stopped snacking at her desk at work, and is now an enthusiastic convert to restaurant reviewer A.A. Gill's rules of eating which run as follows:
1. Don't eat anything which can't be eaten with a knife and fork.
2. Eat at a table with a set place, preferably facing someone else who is also eating.
3. Never eat because you are hungry: always eat because it is lunchtime.
4. Never eat standing up.
5. Never eat anything with, or off, plastic or cardboard.
6. Never eat with a screen in the same room.
7. All meals must have at least two courses, except breakfast.
I don't know about all the specifics of these rules, but some such rules are definitely desirable. Like the rule once drummed into schoolchildren about not eating while walking in the street.
Of course, the focus shouldn't be on negative rules so much as on the social and psychological dimensions of eating (and not eating). On the ritual of food and drink.
As Kellaway points out, "food itself is curiously forgettable; what is not forgettable is the anticipation and the ritual."
Making tea is a paradigm case, and early last year I went back to making and drinking proper tea made in a pot. For me, tea bags were just a temporary (albeit decades long!) aberration.
As is generally the case with issues relating to manners and customs, all this is less trivial than it seems and is ultimately more about deep values than arbitrary preferences.
For rituals of eating and drinking not only contribute to defining our social and cultural environment but also, when they are functioning well, help to give us a sense of security, satisfaction and self-mastery.
Eating when you're hungry is just a little bit limp and boring, don't you think? Just a little bit ho-hum.
1. Don't eat anything which can't be eaten with a knife and fork.
2. Eat at a table with a set place, preferably facing someone else who is also eating.
3. Never eat because you are hungry: always eat because it is lunchtime.
4. Never eat standing up.
5. Never eat anything with, or off, plastic or cardboard.
6. Never eat with a screen in the same room.
7. All meals must have at least two courses, except breakfast.
I don't know about all the specifics of these rules, but some such rules are definitely desirable. Like the rule once drummed into schoolchildren about not eating while walking in the street.
Of course, the focus shouldn't be on negative rules so much as on the social and psychological dimensions of eating (and not eating). On the ritual of food and drink.
As Kellaway points out, "food itself is curiously forgettable; what is not forgettable is the anticipation and the ritual."
Making tea is a paradigm case, and early last year I went back to making and drinking proper tea made in a pot. For me, tea bags were just a temporary (albeit decades long!) aberration.
As is generally the case with issues relating to manners and customs, all this is less trivial than it seems and is ultimately more about deep values than arbitrary preferences.
For rituals of eating and drinking not only contribute to defining our social and cultural environment but also, when they are functioning well, help to give us a sense of security, satisfaction and self-mastery.
Eating when you're hungry is just a little bit limp and boring, don't you think? Just a little bit ho-hum.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The cult of food
There are two broadly distinct ways of dealing with food as a cultural phenomenon; and, you guessed it, one is good and one is bad.
One of these food cultures is eclectic and multicultural and puts food into the foreground. Food becomes a constant topic of conversation, as there is a constant need to choose, constant pressure to assess, to compare tastes and textures. Food becomes something of a cult object, an obsession even. This is the bad food culture (and, increasingly, the dominant one).
A good food culture (in my admittedly conservative opinion) puts food into the background, as is the case in any community which maintains the traditions of its national or regional cuisine. There is a limited repertoire, a pattern or cycle to go with most of the time, and no need continually to make choices and assessments and judgements, no need to talk about food much at all.
There is the health side of things of course. We know a lot more now about how particular diets can have dramatic effects on one's health and longevity, but, interestingly, traditional diets do pretty well on this front, certainly when compared to the sorts of diets encouraged by the proliferation and ready availability of convenience foods and confectionery. Eating used to be more restricted to certain times and places, healthily constrained by certain rituals.
But these rituals also had a civilizing function. Only when such traditional practices are functioning - and the focus is not primarily on the taste experience - can food and eating play their social and civilizing role.
Food talk is fine - to a point. But it is well to bear in mind that food is one of those dangerous topics which tend to expand exponentially to fill mental and conversational voids.*
* Like some forms of gossip. Or talk amongst older people about ailments. Or talk about the achievements of one's children. Or - worst of all, and worse than food talk by far - accounts of plans for the renovation of one's home and the implementation and progress thereof.
One of these food cultures is eclectic and multicultural and puts food into the foreground. Food becomes a constant topic of conversation, as there is a constant need to choose, constant pressure to assess, to compare tastes and textures. Food becomes something of a cult object, an obsession even. This is the bad food culture (and, increasingly, the dominant one).
A good food culture (in my admittedly conservative opinion) puts food into the background, as is the case in any community which maintains the traditions of its national or regional cuisine. There is a limited repertoire, a pattern or cycle to go with most of the time, and no need continually to make choices and assessments and judgements, no need to talk about food much at all.
There is the health side of things of course. We know a lot more now about how particular diets can have dramatic effects on one's health and longevity, but, interestingly, traditional diets do pretty well on this front, certainly when compared to the sorts of diets encouraged by the proliferation and ready availability of convenience foods and confectionery. Eating used to be more restricted to certain times and places, healthily constrained by certain rituals.
But these rituals also had a civilizing function. Only when such traditional practices are functioning - and the focus is not primarily on the taste experience - can food and eating play their social and civilizing role.
Food talk is fine - to a point. But it is well to bear in mind that food is one of those dangerous topics which tend to expand exponentially to fill mental and conversational voids.*
* Like some forms of gossip. Or talk amongst older people about ailments. Or talk about the achievements of one's children. Or - worst of all, and worse than food talk by far - accounts of plans for the renovation of one's home and the implementation and progress thereof.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Rhubarb to you
As I have been immersed for a while now in deep and serious topics (to say nothing of a brief exchange on another site on the use of explosive rhetoric in the discussion and analysis of contentious issues of global politics), I feel the need to rebalance and recalibrate. And nothing assists the recalibration of one's reality sensors more effectively than the mundane and the superficial.
A friend recently baked what she called a 'cottage pie' (potato topped mince-meat pie); my family calls it a 'shepherd's pie'. What do you call it?
In my mother's family it was a Monday-night dish made with left-over meat from Sunday's roast lamb. My maternal grandmother - not a stickler for accurate nomenclature - rather unhelpfully called it 'potato pie'.
Which reminds me of something in Willard Van Orman Quine's account of his childhood. He referred to 'pie plant' growing in the garden - "rhubarb to you," he wrote.
A friend recently baked what she called a 'cottage pie' (potato topped mince-meat pie); my family calls it a 'shepherd's pie'. What do you call it?
In my mother's family it was a Monday-night dish made with left-over meat from Sunday's roast lamb. My maternal grandmother - not a stickler for accurate nomenclature - rather unhelpfully called it 'potato pie'.
Which reminds me of something in Willard Van Orman Quine's account of his childhood. He referred to 'pie plant' growing in the garden - "rhubarb to you," he wrote.
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