Fabio Parasecoli

The Show With Vinnie: Eating and Talking, Staten Island Style

2013-05-08T11:51:03-04:00

There is something endearing about The Show with Vinnie, the purposefully trashy and low-tech MTV talk show, the most recent spin-off of the Jersey Shore reality TV hit. Hosted by Vinny Guadagnino, a former protagonist of the now defunct Jersey Shore series, each episode is taped in Vinny's Staten Island family home or in the surrounding area.

The show's opening title runs on the cheesy soundtrack from Febbre da Cavallo (Horse Fever), an iconic Italian comedy from the 1970s. In the movie, virtually unknown outside of Italy, a band of losers from the Roman lower classes tries to make it to the big time by betting on horse races. They are low brow and crass, but relatable and funny. A subtle hint of what's to come?

Besides Mr. Guadagnino and the celebrities he entertains in his bedroom, living room, and garage-turned-man cave (which he joyously defines as "really ghetto"), family and food play a crucial role, providing entertaining but stereotyped vignettes of a particular strand of Italian-American culture, Staten Island style. The interviews, mostly shot in very close and cluttered spaces, give viewers the impression they are peeking into the private life of the protagonists. We are introduced to Vinny's overbearing but affectionate mom Paula, his sisters Antonella and Mariann, and his uncle Nino -- Nino's shirt open with no undershirt and a big golden chain with a cross on his chest.

Not surprisingly, food plays an important role in the way Vinny's family members communicate and express themselves. This theme previously emerged in the Jersey Shore series, where the roommates made a point of cooking and eating their Sunday dinners together. They often consumed dishes brought over by Vinny's mother, Paula (whose use of chicken parm and fried delights as an umbilical cord replacement to tether her son was far from discrete). Paula's first on-camera scene in the new series comes when she is busy preparing for the visit of their first guest, rapper Lil Wayne. While she places what looks like Sicilian style rice arancini in aluminum trays, she reminds Vinny that the food needs to be microwaved for two minutes. Her priorities could not be any clearer.

When the celebrity arrives, everybody sits in the living room around a low table full of food. Paula needs to make sure that everybody eats, including the crew. Her children make fun of her desire to be everybody's mother, but they clearly appreciate her culinary concerns, both as a form of emotional nourishment and an expression of their culture. They proudly introduce Lil Wayne to mozzarella, broccoli rabe, and antipasti, making for a hilarious exchange.

Vinny: Have you ever eaten Italian food before or not?

Lil Wayne: My fiancée is Italian.

Paula: What part of Italy? Like Sicilian? Neapolitan?

Lil Wayne (with a glazed look on his face): Arizona.

When uncle Nino appears, he offers a wine bottle from his own production to the celebrity. Vinnie hints that the uncle pushes his wine on anyone he meets. This may be an attempt at product placement, but the fact that uncle Nino makes wine harks back to countryside life in Italy, where in the past, farmers who could afford it bought grapes to make their own wine, of which they were extremely proud. Il vino del contadino (the farmer's wine) enjoys an almost mythical place in Italian traditions as the nostalgic symbol of a genuine and simple approach to food--even if everybody is quite ready to admit that those wines were often badly made and tasted horrible.

When Lil Wayne leaves, all Mom can think of is to prepare doggie bags with sausage and pepper, for which the rapper reportedly expressed appreciation. She packs the food and literally runs after Vinnie's car to give it to the rapper and his slightly embarrassed son, all packed with forks and cookies.

Only the first episode has aired. From the previews of the following segments, it does not seem that the presence of food is just a fluke. MTV producers are bent on squeezing the typecast to the last drop, banking on the interest of viewers in the Jersey Shore excessive version of Italian-American culture. This time, however, they have moved their focus from self-proclaimed guidos and guidettes to "authentic" Staten Island life. In the MTV world, every Sicilian mother gets to share her broccoli rabe with international celebrities.

General Tso Chicken: An Immigrant Life Saga

2013-04-12T08:00:00-04:00

Click here to read an original op-ed from the TED speaker who inspired this post and watch the TEDTalk below.

When I was studying Asian languages in Italy, back in the 1980s, the few Chinese restaurants open in my native city of Rome only served two kinds of desserts: fried fruit and fried ice cream -- the unlikely creation that Jennifer 8. Lee singles out in her TEDTalk about Chinese American food. When I moved to Beijing to pursue my studies, I soon discovered that these crunchy treats are unheard of in China. Chinese cooks in Italy likely came up with the concoctions to meet the expectations of Italian customers.

Fried ice cream, just like the General Tso's Chicken that Lee explores in her presentation, highlight the role of immigrants in facilitating the global circulation of culinary traditions, and in shaping the food of their host communities. These two examples show how moving populations have practiced the adaptation, assimilation, and appropriation of foreign or unfamiliar flavors, dishes, techniques, and behaviors all around the world. Culinary exchanges have been taking place for a very long time in the most remote corners of the globe, and they were not always peaceful and enjoyable. Lee reminds us of that when speaks of nineteenth century Asian immigrants to the U.S. who were disparaged for eating rice, instead of more civilized fare. Sicilian cuisine still echoes the food traditions of the Islamic communities that once ruled the Mediterranean island in the Middle Ages. Roti became a common dish in many Caribbean locations after farmers were brought from India to work in the sugarcane plantations after the abolition of slavery.

We need to acknowledge immigrants as actors, not only as victims. As Jennifer 8. Lee observes, their cultural influence, their business acumen, and their ingenuity have played a crucial role in the ways food is -- and has been -- produced, processed, and consumed. -- Fabio Parasecoli

Proximity is complicated and can generate tensions. In her book, The Human Condition, Hannah Arendt wrote: "To live together in the world means essentially that a world of things is between those who have it in common, as a table is located between those who sit around it; the world, like every in-between, relates and separates at the same time." Meals unite and divide. They connect those who share them, confirm the eaters' identities as individuals or as part of a collective. At the same time, meals exclude those who do not participate in them, marking them as outsiders. Participants in the same culinary culture acknowledge each other by the way they eat, by what they eat, and by what their diets exclude.

When foreign immigrants congregate in their new home countries, besides sharing experiences, memories, fears, and hopes with their fellow community, they are also likely to partake in meals. Ingredients and dishes that remind them of home often become culinary symbols for a besieged cultural identity. Of course, slowly but inevitably, immigrant cuisines mutate to adapt to new environments, mostly through uncoordinated adjustments. Sometimes, however, they are shaped by the conscious decisions of entrepreneurial individuals who decide to use their community's food traditions as a stepping stone towards financial independence and, hopefully, success. Those who introduce dishes and innovations are not easy to identify. As Lee points out, tracking the origin of a specialty may require some investigative research. Restaurant owners and chefs in "ethnic" restaurants -- as embattled as that category may be -- are not interested in getting credit for their contributions.

Other immigrants are present in all sectors of the food industry without being able to contribute anything from their own culinary knowledge. They grow vegetables and pick fruit; they slaughter animals in often inhumane conditions; they cook and wash dishes in the back of innumerable restaurants. In many cities, they sell coffee and snacks at street corners and deliver meals by riding their bicycles at neck breaking speed. They make the whole food system function, but they remain invisible, often exploited.

As the country embarks on the debate about immigration reform, it is crucial to bring these issues to the attention of policy makers and the general public. Academia can also play a constructive role in facilitating these conversations. At the Food Studies program at The New School, we have a course on food and migrations, and our online literary food journal, The Inquisitive Eater, often features articles and visuals on this theme. Together with The New School Center for Public Scholarship, we are also organizing a conference on Food and Immigrant Life, which will take place on April 18th and 19th at The New School, in New York City.

We need to acknowledge immigrants as actors, not only as victims. As Jennifer 8. Lee observes, their cultural influence, their business acumen, and their ingenuity have played a crucial role in the ways food is -- and has been -- produced, processed, and consumed all over the world. Although fantasies of ethnic purity are still haunting contemporary societies, it is not possible to keep change at bay. The way we eat is just another point in case.

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Dining & Design: It's Not all About Looks

2013-04-09T08:43:53-04:00

Today, many argue that the culinary world, and in particular the restaurant industry, is developing two opposing trends. On one hand, chefs are embracing farm-to-table dining; they highlight the provenance of their ingredients -- emphasizing in particular local and organic ones -- and stress the artisanal aspect of their craft. On the other hand, many culinary professionals are paying more and more attention to the physical and chemical properties of food, in the style sometimes called "molecular gastronomy." Chefs are creating kitchen and dining room implements to accommodate their new and daring dishes. And they're exploring the intricate links between memory, emotions and the senses.

In my opinion, this is a false dichotomy. There is no battle opposing wholesome to gimmicky, vernacular to high concept, traditional to modernist, humanist to technological. Successful chefs can and do move across the different realms of cuisine, according to their curiosity, their interests, and last but not least, their entrepreneurial priorities. Whatever they do, chefs aim to distinguish themselves in their increasingly competitive profession, and hope to ensure the financial viability of their businesses. The key to achieving these goals is to create a pleasurable and memorable experience for one's patrons. Each individual chef does it differently, but what they all share is a sensibility to design, the research for the best solutions to the conceptual and practical issues connected with the restaurant activity and its physical setting, as well as its relationship to clients, purveyors, the media and the environment.

From this point of view, design is key in understanding many aspects of the restaurant industry and the food system at large, from the shape of a fork and the ways in which kitchens can minimize environmental impact, to the visual elements of a dining room and the sustainable organization of food purveyor networks. Design goes beyond creating objects: it envisions experiences, systems and connections. In his books The Design of Everyday Things and Emotional Design: Why we Love (or Hate) Everyday Things, scientist Donald Norman observed that appealing objects, able to elicit intense and positive emotions, actually work better than those that challenge and frustrates users, and that the goal of design is to identify those traits that allow for pleasurable experiences. He often uses kitchen design objects as examples, but the same approach can be applied to food packaging, the interaction between customer and vendor at a food truck, or the flow within the back and the front of the room in any restaurant.

Arguing for the influence of emotional components, Norman identifies three different aspects of design, each of them responding to a different brain dynamic: the visceral, concerning appearances and related to immediate, almost mechanical reactions; the behavioral, connected with enjoyment and usability that correspond to routine performances and learned skills; and the reflective, which regards intellectual and rational aspects. The three levels also differ in their relations to time: while the first two are all about the present, about "now," the third level is about the long run, the memories that objects solicit, and the future satisfaction derived from their possession. At this level, self-esteem and identification processes play a key role, as do customer service and interpersonal interactions.

Research in this field is quickly expanding, stimulating interest among scholars, professionals and the general public. The critical relationship between a restaurant's culinary concepts and its physical design will be the focus of "Dining + Design: Conversations with Chefs and Architects on Creating the Ideal Dining Experience," a new series of panel discussions launched by the Food Studies Program at The New School and the James Beard Foundation. The first panel, on April 22nd, will feature chef Dan Barber with the architect Peter Guzy, followed by chef Andrew Carmellini with architects Robin Standefer and Stephen Alesch on May 20th, and chef David Chang with architect Anwar Mekhayech on June 10th. The conversations will explore not only the increasingly integral alliance between aesthetics and cuisine, but also collaborative creative process that goes into producing an exceptional dining experience.

We hope these panels will foster a debate among food experts and culinary professionals to acknowledge the relevance of design beyond aesthetics and consumer culture, as an important tool for social and political change in the food system.

In God's Hammock: Cuisine and Water Filters in the Dominican Republic

2013-03-27T17:13:17-04:00

Innovate or die. This has turned into a mantra for today's globalized food scene to the chagrin of those that would rather see traditions survive and thrive. Food manufacturers constantly introduce novelties and then spend huge amounts of money convincing consumers to embrace them. Chefs embrace new technologies and approaches to make a name for themselves. Many consider ongoing change as fundamental for economic success, but what happens when, for various and relevant reasons, innovation is hard to envision, let alone implement? And what if innovation needs to overcome deeply rooted social and economic divides? The food sector in the Dominican Republic provides a good example of these kinds of predicaments.

Lisa and Michael Ballantine, as relative newcomers to the island, have experienced the difficulties involved in carrying out projects that somehow clash with the status quo. Their latest project is a well-designed and quite upscale restaurant, Aroma de la Montaña (The Scent of the Mountain), located in the town of Jarabacoa, in a hillside development poetically called Jamaca de Dios (God's Hammock). The Ballantines are dedicated to satisfying their local, mostly upscale and quite discerning clientele, and to do so they have relied on importing organic beef from the United States -- despite the many cattle ranches that dot the island.

This is not unusual in the Dominican Republic, as upscale establishments -- in particular those located in tourist resorts -- often purchase their ingredients from faraway places, often considered superior in quality and prestige. However, the couple is now trying to switch to a local organic cattle farm and to implement a farm-to-table approach. In fact, part of the produce is actually grown on the property and the Ballantines are planning to expand their vegetable cultivations both in terms of quantity and diversity of crops. Moreover, by buying organic coffee, chocolate and vegetables from local farmers, they also hope to contribute to the improvement of the overall sector.

What struck me when I visited the restaurant is how difficult it can be to introduce innovation, which in this case corresponds to highlighting the culinary potential of the surrounding area. Despite the Ballantines' best intentions, few entries on the menu are inspired by local traditions, as well-heeled patrons are not particularly open to dishes that remind them of the daily fare consumed by the majority of the population. Class stratification is clear and hard to avoid if entrepreneurs aim to build viable businesses.

The desire to maintain social distinction impacts the simplest of innovations, such as the diffusion of water filters, as the Ballantines have experienced firsthand. After moving to the Dominican Republic as missionaries in 2000, they soon figured out that the church might not have been their primary call. In 2003, they invested all they had to buy land on the slopes above Jarabacoa to establish a vacation house community. At the same time, they worked to find viable solutions to the urgent problem of drinkable water, which impacts, above all, the poorer segments of the populations.

To that purpose, in 2006 Lisa established a company called FilterPure to develop affordable and practical filters that could easily be installed and used all over the island. After a few attempts, the company designed a simple ceramic filter that adopts a technology based on the chemical properties of silver and coal to purify water. Each filter costs $35 and, placed in a plastic bucket with a faucet, lasts five years. The price is still quite prohibitive for many families, so NGOs stepped in, buying thousands of units (so far around 50,000) not only for the Dominican Republic, but also for nearby Haiti.

Yet, when FilterPure tried to sell the filters to more affluent Dominicans, the product was not successful because it had already been identified as a "poor people's filter." The Ballatines then partnered with local artists to create filter containers that homeowners could proudly boast of as beautiful and costly pieces of art. The School of Design of Altos de Chavon, near La Romana on the southern coast, organized an exhibition of these creations in its art gallery. Purchasers of the top-of-the-line models would automatically finance the delivery of a simple, plastic bucket model to a needy community. Buy one, give one, in other words. The initiative is brand new, and so far few pieces have been sold, but the company hopes that the trendsetters who bought first will entice others to follow their example. The potential is there. The question is how to implement new solutions in a cultural and social environment that -- for very complex reasons -- is often resistant to change.

Sharing the Global Table: Food and Immigrant Life

2013-03-13T14:58:24-04:00

When I first moved to the U.S. back in 1998, my grandmother's sister, who had moved from her village in Abruzzo, Italy, to America in the early 1930s, invited me to a dinner organized by her daughters and many of her descendants in Delaware. Meeting for the first time so many family members I had never met before made for an emotional and unforgettable event. The abundant and tasty food eliminated any distance between my numerous cousins and myself. I soon realized that some of the dishes served had the same names as those I was used to eat in Italy, but they looked and tasted different. Chicken parm, pasta and beans soup, baked ziti--all were somehow familiar, but not quite the same. I had never seen such huge meatballs on spaghetti. It's not like I had never had meatballs with pasta. I remember spending long afternoon hours making meatballs for sauces or to add to the sumptuous timballo for special occasions (similar to the timpano from the Big Night movie). But the meatballs were tiny, the size of a fingertip. I remember my mother rebuking us if my sisters and I tried to get away with making larger ones. The American meatballs were delicious, but at first I did not quite know how to tackle them. Was I supposed to eat them with the pasta? Together? After, maybe?

In fact, the way the meal was served was also new to me: most dishes came to the table at the same time, and there was no trace of the customary course sequence of appetizers (antipasti), primo, secondo, side dishes (contorni) and desserts that set the rhythm of festive meals in Italy. However, the interactions around the table, the body language, the sounds, all reminded me of many similar celebratory occasions back in Italy. Somehow, I was at home. After my first exposure to Italian-American cuisine, puzzlement was replaced by curiosity, leading, over time, to a deep appreciation for a culinary tradition that had its roots in Italy and its branches in America. Living in New York City, I soon realized that the Chinese food was not quite the same as I had gotten used to during the two years I spent in China as a student, and that Mexican fare was quite dissimilar from what I had tasted in Mexico City or Yucatan.

The sensory stimulation soon led 1to more systematic and theoretical questions about the multilayered and complex relationship between immigrants, their own food, and the foodways of the host community. How do culinary traditions in migrant communities develop the way they do? How do new traditions emerge, while others disappear? How come some objects, behaviors, norms, and values from the migrants' places of origin are maintained, while other are transformed or resurface after periods of invisibility? What role do cooking and other food-related practices play as migrant communities negotiate their presence in post-industrial societies where individuals define their identities around lifestyles and consumer goods? These are some of the questions we will address at The New School in a two-day conference on Food and Immigrant Life on April 18 and 19, 2013.

The discussion will not be limited to cultural issues. Speakers will also reflect on how food scarcity and insecurity, which are exacerbated by climate change and spikes in staple prices, force individuals and groups to move to a new country in the first place. Participants will also examine the involvement of the migrant in food production and distribution. The food industry offers migrants an entry point into the U.S. economic system and access to the American dream, while simultaneously confining them to low wages and poor, if not unsafe, work conditions. The keynote speaker Dolores Huerta, the co-founder with César Chávez of United Farm Workers of America, will discuss how agriculture, including the increasingly numerous farmers' markets, heavily depend on migrant labor: those who perform most of the hard physical work, usually out of view of the consumer.

As I have argued in previous posts on restaurant workers and on street vendors, a multicultural and socially diverse workforce provides crucial and plentiful services while remaining largely invisible to the public. The conference at The New School will emphasize important issues that need to take center stage in the public sphere, especially in light of the imminent debate on immigration reform.

The Green Economy and Race: Another Side of Farmers' Markets

2013-02-27T14:51:36-05:00

Farmers' markets, a mainstay in several cities and towns, are meant to provide fresh -- and often local -- organic products, while re-establishing direct connections between communities and the people who produce food. By so doing, the markets are expected to create alternative food systems that prioritize issues of health, sustainability, and justice in addition to traditional market mechanisms. They empower shoppers to express their dissatisfaction with food production as it is now. By "voting with their dollars," customers can put pressure on Corporate America, by taking business away from it. The increasing presence of organic and local products in supermarkets and big box stores seems to indicate that large companies are in fact very sensitive to signals coming from their client base. At the same time, individual consumers who share the same practices and ideals can establish forms of community interaction to achieve their shared goals. Their engagement can range from shopping at farmers markets to participating in volunteer activities, or social and political mobilization.

Farmers' markets focus on products that embody social and environmental values that are supposed to move beyond the mere question of price. From this point of view, they are part of a growing "green economy," a sector including environmental friendly and socially responsible goods and services. However, despite the declared goals, the green economy still operates within a neoliberal approach that envisions the market and its mechanisms as the best way for society to determine its priorities and bring about change. Farmers' markets thrive within the framework of economic structures which require producers to ensure financial viability to their enterprise, expand their potential customers, and operate within legal and administrative systems that are shaped by political and social negotiations at the local, national, and even international levels.

The analysis of these contradictions and the shift of political and social responsibility from citizens to consumers are at the core of Alison Hope Alkon's book, Black, White, and Green: Farmers Markets, Race, and the Green Economy. Alkon conducted research in two markets in the San Francisco Bay area: North Berkeley, predominantly white, and West Oakland, a historically black neighborhood. The two markets have distinct missions and the customers differ in social status and income. As a result, the farmers who sell at the markets have very different approaches to business and community building. Through conversations, interviews, and her own participation in the markets' activities, Alkon points the difference between the two environments. She notes that health, quality, and the environment are the most important motivations for the North Berkeley patrons, who are willing to pay a premium in order to support the merchants and the structure that they believe can advance these goals. On the other hand, those involved with the now closed West Oakland Market embraced sustainability, not necessarily as a goal per se, but rather as a tool to enhance the well-being of the neighborhood where the market was located and the community that patronized it. Furthermore, price was an issue for many of the shoppers and, as a consequence, for farmers that wanted to establish a viable business.

The contrast between the two markets reminds us of the fact that not everybody has the financial means to buy high-quality, local, and organic products. Consequently, price becomes a discriminant in terms of choices and preferences. More attention needs to be paid to issues of social justice, marginalization, and access, which cannot be reduced to the phenomenon of "food deserts," a term resented by many activists who interpret it as reflective of an approach that perpetuates biases and preconceptions against low-income communities. The establishment of alternative food systems is not sufficient if large sections of the population risk to be excluded from them. Also far-reaching political interventions to regulate food business and industrial-style agriculture are necessary, requiring consumers to act as citizens and take advantage of all the instruments of participation available in a democracy.

Alkon ends her book with a few examples of campaigns born out of the green economy that have tried to impact political issues, including recent urban-based Farm Bill advocacy, the growth of green jobs, and the prevention of farm animal cruelty. The author, who will discuss her research at the New School on March 5, 2013, reminds us that things can change -- as long as we keep on asking ourselves who is producing our food, who is selling it, who is able to buy what and, ultimately, who gains.

The Taste on ABC: The Cook vs. the Chef

2013-02-20T15:11:45-05:00

A new cooking show is vying for a slice of the prime time audience on network TV: ABC's The Taste. The title and structure mimic NBC's The Voice, which is supposed to discover new singing talents. In The Taste, four judges use blind tasting to choose a team of contestants, whose looks, personalities and backgrounds remain unknown to them. This first selection is entirely based on what the participants manage to fit on a spoon. Once the judges have formed their teams, the real competition begins. Every week the contestants take on a challenge inspired to a different culinary theme and two of them are eliminated, always based on the judges' blind evaluations of spoon-sized bites.

The premise of both The Voice and The Taste is to limit the impact of the contestants' appearance, to exclusively highlight their skills, an approach that is supposed to go against many deeply engrained show business practices and give a winning chance to anybody. What we get, in the end, is yet another cooking show, a genre whose popularity is still profitable for both network and cable TV. That said, The Taste is quite enjoyable, and presents a few intriguing elements that set it apart from similar competitions.

The judges reflect different approaches to cooking: the French Ludo Lefebvre and the American Brian Malarkey are both professional chefs and restaurant owners, but have two different ways of embracing the role. Ludo is classically trained, proud of his culture, and clearly convinced of the superiority of French culinary traditions. Brian comes across as more pragmatic and open to fusion of ingredients and techniques. Often engaged in loud and testosterone-charged vocal exchanges, both Ludo and Brian are good looking, boisterous and camera ready, just like the third judge, the chef-turned-enfant terrible-turned-author-turned-TV host Anthony Bourdain. He plays the older, more mature character who does not need to assert himself as alpha-male through bantering or posturing. While admitting that he has never been a great chef, he leads an all female team whose members are visibly in awe of him.

And then, there's Nigella Lawson, the domestic goddess herself. Her upper-crust British accent, her classy demeanor and her composed interactions contrast with her sensuality and her obvious passion for eating. "I love stodge, and I love fat," she asserts unabashedly. Never trained as a chef, she is all for home cooking. The show admits both professionals and amateurs, all equally judged on what they can express in a dish. Unlike competitions like Master Chefs, the participants are not held to restaurant standards. What ultimately counts is taste, not gimmicks or originality at all costs, as it challenges the widespread principal that restaurant dishes are intrinsically superior to domestic ones. Home cook contestants are reminded over and over that they do not have to feel less capable and fearsome.

However, judges make their decisions after savoring preparations that are served on a white ceramic spoon with a curved handle, placed on a flat long tray brought by gorgeous women in skimpy black dresses. All in all, not a very homely way to present food. What the show promotes is a sophisticated, visually pleasing and TV-friendly version of everyday cooking, which is not only about feeding families but also creativity and self-expression.

However, the judges reveal ambivalence towards homey fare when they evaluate dishes that contestants describe as part of their personal history and their cultural background, especially of non-white and non-European origin. The experts seem honestly surprised that a seafood stew in coconut milk that they praise as a miracle of refinement is simply considered, by a participant of Pilipino descent, as one of her grandmother's favorites. Talking from their position of authority, they contest the authenticity of an apple pie rendition of an African-American woman and the curried chicken and dumplings of a man of Trinidadian descent. While declaring their openness to all sorts of food, high or low, the judges ultimately seem to favor flavors, textures and techniques from European and Euro-American origin, and a few Asian elements that have acquired global prestige. Despite all the proclamations, The Taste and the culinary approach it promotes stay safely within the mainstream.

Fine Dining and Traditional Food in Santo Domingo

2013-02-01T17:17:02-05:00

Carne & Co. is where gourmets can find good, local meat, great charcuterie, and all sorts of delicious stuff in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. It was the perfect place for me to give a talk about food in movies to a small group of food professionals, from producers to restaurant owners, including the publisher of the beautiful magazine Gastroteca. The talk soon turned into a very animated round table about Dominican food traditions, the Dominican Republic's future, and the cultural and social issues that influence (or limit) the country's development. As a visitor, the conversation gave me a better understanding of a culinary world that is rich, complex, and in transition. Of course, we just got to scratch the surface.

This was my second visit to Santo Domingo. With 34.4 percent of the population under the poverty line, I was stunned by the number of elegant and upscale restaurants. With a population of around three million people (a huge percentage of the over nine millions of Dominicans living in the country), the city has developed an interesting food scene, although many cannot afford its prices and, among those who can, few even consider the cultural aspects of the culinary scene.

The participants in the round table all agreed that most Dominicans of means have no interest in eating traditional Dominican food when they go out. They prefer imported ingredients, refined environments, and international dishes. Everybody at the table had a different opinion on why this is. Some hinted at provincialism within the local elites, who consider everything from abroad as better and more prestigious. A restaurateur even said that, at times, she needs to give English names to the dishes on her menu for patrons to be interested. Others blamed a lack of good ingredients on the local market.

Everybody was fast in underlining that the problem is not insufficient production, but rather the fact that the best fruits and produce are all exported, as the local buyers do not ensure enough volume of trade. Moreover, producers make more money by exporting. This is particularly true when it comes to organic food. For example, the Dominican Republic has become a major producer of organic bananas, but most of the crop is exported, mostly to the European Union and Japan.

The participants were well aware that they are catering to a minority of the population, and that their preferences and taste might be influenced by their exposure to the global trends in world cuisines. They all admitted to feeling an emotional bond with crops and dishes that constitute the core of Dominican culinary traditions. However, those dishes belong to the domestic sphere, and most people have easy access to them at home. So what would be the point to pay more in a restaurant for the same food you could have at home? Unless you play with it, make it sexier, more contemporary and, why not, ironic...

This kind of approach could be particularly interesting in restaurants, hotels, and resorts with large numbers of foreign customers. Many international visitors still prefer to stick to familiar food, which justifies the presence of global mainstays such as pizza and hamburgers -- at times quite bland and non-descript -- in tourist destinations all over the world, from Thailand to Tunisia. (The impact of tourism on food systems and the potential of food to develop forms of sustainable tourism, deserves its own discussion and will be addressed in a future course for the Food Studies program at The New School.) However, a growing segment of high-end tourism is showing interest in food and eating as an essential element of traveling, and more and more visitors want to enjoy local fare as part of their experience. Media has changed the perception of the role food now plays in establishing one's sense of cosmopolitanism and cultural capital.

Of course, revisited traditional food should also be presented in ways that respond to the expectations and standards of high-end travelers. This move would require a lot of rethinking and experimentation, and institutional investments would be necessary to sustain and promote such initiatives. At the same time, this new approach would imply deep changes in social relationships on the islands, so that the foods of the majority of the population -- and not its richest part -- are reevaluated and not just left aside as leftovers of an embarrassing and unglamorous past.

Not Your Usual Restaurant Reviews: 2013 ROC National Diner's Guide to Ethical Eating

2013-01-15T17:51:33-05:00

Stars, points, forks, chef toques... Restaurant ratings have entered the language and the imagination of diners all over the world. The web has allowed anybody to post reviews and comments on the places they visited, often accompanied by pictures of the dishes they consumed. Depending on what reviewers choose as their guiding principles, ratings can reward cuisine, ambiance, price, sustainability, or the use of local ingredients -- really whatever they think is most important to the dining experience. Restaurant goers also check the grades given by the local health inspectors to make sure that the places they patronize respect the necessary hygiene standards. As consumers, whether we follow ratings or not, we want to make sure we are weighing all our options to make the best selection. This same need for information is the catalyst behind the development and success of various seals and value-based labels, from organic to fair trade.

However, we often pay more attention to the aspects of the food system and restaurant industry that receive coverage in the media and in public debates. The impact of celebrity chefs, the conversations around farmers' market and food safety, and the social activities aimed at better local food systems risk to overshadow other crucial elements, including the role of labor.

Restaurant and food workers, often immigrants and at times undocumented, remain invisible. Yet we know that in a city like New York not much would food would be produced without an army of line cooks, dishwashers and busboys. We see deliverymen zipping on bikes to bring us the food we order online or over the phone, but we acknowledge their existence only when we hand them a delivery tip. Their relevance and their contribution to the food system will be the focus of an event at The New School on March 11.

Following their mission to improve wages and working conditions for the nation's restaurant workforce, ROC -- the Restaurant Opportunity Centers -- have launched the ROC National Diner's Guide to Ethical Eating, a yearly publication that puts labor issues at the forefront. The rating criteria include wages, benefits (including health insurance and sick days), and opportunities for professional advance and internal promotions. Best practices are highlighted as part of what is proposed as the "High Road to Profitability."

Of course, ROC realizes how challenging this can be for companies and entrepreneurs. For that reason, ROC has inaugurated Restaurant Industry Roundtables, which provide a forum for workers and labor organizers to connect and collaborate with restaurant owners, government agencies, city officials, media and consumers. As stated in the initiative's webpage, Roundtable members have access to many services, including guidance on how to gain and/or stay in compliance with employment, immigration, health and safety laws; access to low-cost health insurance for employees; and access to advanced training for both front- and back-of-the-house employees.

The 2013 edition of the ROC National Diner's Guide to Ethical Eating -- the second to date -- covers major cities such as Los Angeles, Washington D.C., Chicago and Philadelphia, and smaller urban centers like Ann Arbor and Grand Rapids. The guide is based on information gathered by ROC from Roundtable members through surveys developed under the guidance of researchers at University of California and Georgetown University. The restaurants listed in the guide are among the most profitable establishments that have adopted the "High Road" principles.

Although ROC initiatives target business, consumers have a big role to play. By choosing to dine in a place that works to improve labors relationships, we can indirectly "vote with our dollars," as the saying goes. Of course, this is not enough to tackle complex and enduring issues such as the decrease in workers' wages and the organization of the workplace. Interventions in terms of laws and regulations are necessary, which require our engagement and attentions as citizens and voters. However, being more mindful about the labor practices of the restaurants we go to is a first step, and one that can bring change to the lives of restaurant workers.

Christmas Tables on the Silver Screen

2012-12-20T15:35:11-05:00

As we get closer to Christmas and look forward to enjoying some rest and relaxation, it is time to suggest some movies where food traditions and holidays collide, often producing the perfect setup for family drama.

1. When trying to survive the holidays, many of us have wished for everybody to disappear, at least once. John Hughes's Home Alone (1990) plays out this fantasy with unabashed naughtiness, evoking the pleasures of childhood regression. Who would not like to be in little Kevin McAlister's shoes (played by Macaulay Culkin) and gorge on junk food and pizza with no regard whatsoever for the time of the year?

2. Tomas Bezucha's The Family Stone (2005) spins the usual tale of a newcomer trying to fit in in an unfamiliar environment, this time in liberal white New England. But when tightly knit family members have already embraced variations in sexual orientation, race miscegenation, and disability, it is hard for the new girl (Sarah Jessica Parker) to beat them at the open-minded game. Food is seemingly prepared, consumed, and even dropped on the floor just to make the outsider feel uncomfortable. Oh, the splendor of kinfolk harmony...

3. You don't need to belong to a waspy family on the Eastern seaboard to deal with your share of drama around the holiday table. The events in Alfredo de Villa's Nothing like the Holidays (2008) unfold in a Puerto Rican neighborhood in Chicago, when family members gather from all over the place (one of the protagonists is an Iraq veteran) to vent their frustrations and reveal the tensions in their relationships. Nothing like yelling at each other in front of great food! h

4. Sometimes the yuletide spirit tracks you down even if you try to avoid it by flying to another continent. That is what happens to Georgia Byrd (Queen Latifah) in Wayne Wang's The Last Holiday (2006). Convinced that cancer has left her with only three weeks to live, Georgia goes to the Czech republic to spend New Year's Eve in a luxurious hotel where chef Didier (Gerard Depardieu) bedazzles her with his over-the-top, high-fat, old-school French menu. Nobody can mess with her desperate groove, not even her evil former employer who is using the lavish meals to show off connections and drop names.

5. We could not finish without a foreign movie, for those who do not mind subtitles (the movie is Italian) and can deal with a whole lot of cruel and bitter humor. Definitely this is not everybody's holiday fare. Mario Monicelli's Parenti Serpenti (Dearest Relatives, 1992) is an ironic and wry portrait of a small-town Italian family that gets together for Christmas to rehearse the same fights, the same conversations, and the same gestures around the same festive dishes, year after year. All goes well until the siblings agree that their elderly parents have become a nuisance and decide to leave the gas leaking from the stove while they leave the apartment to celebrate...

6. Ok, that might be too much for some. If you need some sweetness in the end, how about Will Ferrell in the 2003 Elf, where he plays the eponymous character, a magical creature with daddy issues who loves to drown spaghetti and meat sauce with maple syrup?

Supersized Portions on the History Channel

2012-12-10T18:38:04-05:00

Supersized food portions are not news, especially if you live in the U.S. But when I first moved here as the correspondent for the Italian food and wine magazine Gambero Rosso, I was constantly amazed by the difference in food servings with what I was used to in Italy. I am less so now, as I've spent more and more time in the States, but also because Italians have done their part to increase average food consumption, and not always towards healthier choices. The Mediterranean Diet is more of a nostalgic ideal than a reality, as diet-related conditions have become rampant among adults as well as children.

That said, as both a consumer and a food scholar, I am very interested in how how people eat, what people eat, and what they think about it; what sorts of conversations develop around food. With that in mind, you can imagine I was very intrigued when I saw that the History Channel 2 had dedicated an episode of Modern Marvels to supersized food. The show, if you are not familiar, tries to look at contemporary objects, customs, and systems from the point of view of scientific progress. As the title of the series suggests, the show often embraces a triumphant tone when it comes to technological advances and successes, celebrating the achievements of researchers, inventors, and tinkerers, both as individuals and as members of teams.

Modern Marvels adopts a different approach from, say, Man v. Food on the Travel Channel, where host Adam Richman travels around the country to participate in food challenges. Eating competitions get mentioned in the Modern Marvels episode -- and actually we see a Chicago fireman trying to devour a gigantic meat-centered menu in Texas in less than an hour, in front of his adoring family -- but the show focuses more so on what happens backstage to achieve the preparation of a 250-pound burger in a 44-pound bun (and its celebratory consumption by a whole team of young football players -- not really a surprise), seven-pound hot dogs, 54-inch giant pizzas, 4.5 pound steaks, 5-pound gummy bears and so on. Viewers are invited to reflect on what it takes to cook a huge hamburger, what technical challenges present themselves when you need to bake a pizza large enough to feed 30 "hungry pizza lovers," and what sort of ingenuity its makers display.

In the interest of the supposed educational and informative aspects of the series, the excesses showcased with glee and pride by the American entrepreneurs are mitigated by an attempt to reflect on why gargantuan portions and eating contests are so present in American popular culture. The voiceover commentator mentions "supersized appetites, resources, and egos" as essential traits of American culture, where supersized homes, electronics, and vehicles are wildly successful, and where food has become cheaper, more available, and more convenient. The burger maker explains that commercial food needs to be entertaining, and that clients love over-the-top items, while the hot-dog maker suggests a Darwinian strive to show power and strength. The show discreetly seems to share these opinions, as the Mongolian hordes of Genghis Khan are indicated as the first consumers of meat patties. Cornell University's marketing professor Brian Wansink, who has written extensively about eating behaviors, points to the competitive pressure in American culture. To do so, he reports an experiment where young college students are invited to eat as many chicken wings as they can, with and without the presence of cheering spectators. Of course, those performing in front of an audience tended to eat 30 percent more, on average.

Overall, however, the show is less interested in the motivations for exaggerated eating than in its technical aspects. In a way, the fact that Americans tend to consume oversized portions is taken as a given that needs only marginal soul-searching. What's interesting is how brave entrepreneurs are able to read their customers' desires and adapt their production to satisfy them. The patrons' life choices are not their responsibility. Their goal is to increase their clientele and to grow a solid business. Nothing wrong with that, of course, except for the echoes of the political discourse that use the argument of personal responsibility as an excuse to avoid public intervention in health and nutrition issues. What is troublesome is that the cultural and social assumptions behind this approach are accepted as unavoidable facts, rather than as consequence of specific policies and collective choices.

The Flavors of Anxiety: Thanksgiving Food Movies

2012-11-20T15:15:00-05:00

Don't get me wrong -- I love cooking for friends and family. Thanksgiving happens to be my favorite food-related gathering -- followed closely by the Super Bowl party, where I can get creative and come up with new, usually healthier interpretations of traditional game treats. I guess I enjoy those occasions because, as a foreigner, I did not grow up with them. However, I was exposed to the less appealing aspects of family reunions, when you find yourself stuck in the same space with people you may not particularly be fond of, for what seems as an excruciatingly long stretch of time that moves at the speed of a glacier (pre-global warmth, that is) and provides the same amount of fuzzy warmth. We are supposed to buy into the Normal Rockwell wholesome fantasy of smiling families, with the patriarch at the head of table beaming over his faithful minions and cutting that crucial first slice of turkey. But we all also know that those images mostly amount to wishful thinking.

For years, filmmakers all over the world have been digging into the misery behind all kinds of celebrations. As the jolly season approaches and we're getting ready to stuff our faces more than usual, it can be fun to look for memorable holiday meals on the silver screen and, beyond that, to marvel at the power of food to express anxieties, love and all kind of emotions.

Here are some of my favorite Thanksgiving food-related movies:

1. Peter Hedges's Pieces of April (2003) digs into the anxiety many first-time holiday hosts feel by presenting a worst-case scenario. April, played by Katie Holmes, lives in a not-so-glamorous tenement apartment in the East Village with her boyfriend. For the first time, she finds herself facing the scary prospective of having her very proper, but also very dysfunctional, suburban family over for Thanksgiving. The turkey and her uncooperative oven quickly become her scourge; unable to make her own oven work, she turns to the people living in the same building, only to be rebuked by a local, hyper-efficient gay man. Eventually, she finds aid from a middle-aged couple whose bantering allows April to master at least some basic cooking techniques.

2. There are as many versions of the Thanksgiving meal as the countless cultures that thrive side by side in America. In many cases, it is during the holidays that long-upheld traditions clash with the realities lived by the younger generations trying to make it in a confusing and complex society. Gurinder Chadha's What's Cooking is so far the best illustration of these tensions, showing us the preparations and the gatherings in four different families: Jewish, African-American, Latino and Asian.

3. Everybody knows that the Thanksgiving turkey can easily turn into a weapon of humiliations and punishment, as Jodie Foster's Home for the Holidays (1995) flaunts for everybody to see. It is yet another turkey-centered family drama, but Holly Hunter and Robert Downey Jr's performances make it enjoyable and graciously grating.

4. If you feel so removed from festive meals brimming with love that you'd rather ease on down the road with a scarecrow, if toiling in the kitchen and washing dishes feels like working in the sweatshop of Evillene the wicked witch, Sidney Lumet's The Wiz (1978) is the movie for you. The Quincy Jones' hallucinating, mildly psychedelic take on the Wizard of Oz is a gentle antidote for the holiday blues. In the end, though, you might find yourself pining for home and for a brand new day...

5. Although not a holiday movie per se, Ang Lee's The Ice Storm (1997) deserves a special mention thanks to a brief but memorable scene where Christina Ricci, asked to say grace for Thanksgiving, starts a rant about empty material goods, the wastefulness of the celebration and even the massacres of the natives at the hand of the white colonists. Connecticut suburban life at its best.

And there's more coming for Christmas...

Three Stars' Chefs: Global Celebrities, Businessmen and Artisans

2012-11-16T15:45:00-05:00

The release of Lutz Hachmeister's documentary Three Stars confirms what I suggested a few weeks ago on this blog: the love story between media and cooking has found yet another outlet, and one that can claim very respectable origins. After cookbooks, TV shows, the Internet and social media, celebrity chefs are becoming a staple on the silver screen -- and not only as mercurial, intriguing, foulmouthed and unnerving protagonists of fiction movies. Big-name restaurants have acquired enough cachet, and can command large enough audiences, that documentary makers have also turned their cameras on them. We might be witnessing the rise of a new sub-genre in the already popular category of food-centered documentaries, although less politically engaged and polemical.

Three Stars tries to go beyond the glitter and the celebrity factor that seems to dominate much of the media discourse around chefs. Though interviews and footage of famous chefs occupy most of the screen time in Hachmeister's film, his main focus is the industry itself, in its business aspects and its complicated relationship with critics. The entry point for Hachmeister is the Michelin guide system, which since 1932 has reviewed and starred restaurants, first in France and then an ever-growing list of global cities. In the past few years, the release of the out-of-France Michelin guidebooks has unleashed widespread criticism against what many interpret as gastronomic imperialism aimed to impose French haute cuisine standards, principles and priorities to the rest of the world. The expansion of Michelin, still largely perceived as a French institution, may appear anachronistic at a time when other culinary traditions, like those from Japan and Italy, are achieving global recognition as worthy of high-end establishments.

Three Stars tries to unpack what hides behind the Michelin phenomenon by following nine restaurateurs in seven countries. The narrative cannot avoid addressing the tragic death of Bernard Loiseau in 2003, widely reported as a consequence of his losing his third star, but the filmmaker looks beyond this to understand what makes the whole system thrive and why chefs all over the world play along with it. Some of chefs, although critical of the guide system, admit that the Michelin star has an impact on their future and fame, although it does not automatically mean a profitable business. Questions of logistics, labor and ingredient expenses emerge as urgent issues for the restaurant owners, who also discuss their own take on the Michelin system and their personal choices regarding it. René Redzepi from Denmark, considered one of the most innovative and interesting chefs in the world, evaluates his two stars and its impact, while French chef Olivier Roellinger explains why he closed his very successful restaurant after achieving his third star to open a hotel. Other questions are not addressed. For instance, why is there only one woman, the very talented and gentle Nadia Santini from Italy, among the protagonists of the movie?

Although Three Stars features many gorgeous shots of fantastic dishes, luscious produce and intriguing hand, Lutz Hachmeister does not embrace the use of food-porn aesthetics for the food porn's sake. The guidebook system and the chefs that gain or are damaged by it, rather than the plates they prepare, remain the central elements of Hachmeister's curious gaze. This approach makes the documentary very informative, especially for those who are curious about the glitzy world of exclusive restaurants, but are not too familiar with their inner workings.

Overall, the desire to reflect as many points of view as possible from very diverse chefs, across very distinctive establishments in very dissimilar culinary cultures, dilutes the documentary's impact. Furthermore, in an attempt to focus the viewer's attention on the main topic, Hachmeister also interviews Jean Luc Naret, the previous directeur général of the Michelin Guides. Since the filming, Naret has been replaced by Michael Ellis, a manager more closely connected to tire production, conceivably instructed to manage the increasing losses incurred by the books. This change at the helm of the Michelin guides may suggest a revision in the overall strategy of the company, and we wonder how the whole system will develop in the future.

Coffee Life in Japan: The Exotic and the Apparently Familiar

2012-10-09T15:33:13-04:00

Japan occupies an interesting place in Western popular culture: as one of the most developed countries in the world, its presence is warranted among the major players in the global economy and in international politics. Its industrial and technological products are among the most common household names in consumer culture across the globe. Its popular culture, especially when it comes to fashion, design, anime, and manga, has a considerable following outside its borders. The disasters following the recent tsunami have also contributed to a prominent spot for Japan in the global imagination.

Yet, when it comes to food, Japan has lost some of its mystery. Restaurant patrons are conversant with sushi, sashimi, and tempura, and shoppers are less and less surprised to see wasabi, seaweed, green tea, and even mocha in the "international aisles" of their supermarkets. The recent documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi reflects the interest of Western gourmets in a culinary tradition that, until a few decades ago, was shrouded in exoticness. Now we have access to delivery sushi; we can pick sashimi off little conveyor belts; and cookbooks, TV shows, and other media are contributing to make Japanese cuisine accessible and comprehensible. Still, there are still layers and layers that some Western foodies have yet to consider, including the many local traditions that stubbornly survive in parts of the country, the kaiseki dining and cooking style, and the ongoing evolution that has created relatively novel approaches like the Japanese-inflected wafu pasta.

Merry White's new book, Coffee Life in Japan guides us along as we discover a visible yet quite unexplored dimension of Japanese consumer culture. An anthropologist by training and by trade (she teaches at Boston University), the author takes us from coffee house to coffee house, uncovering a whole world that would be hidden from those wrongfully believing Japan is only about tea. As a matter of fact, it is the third largest coffee-importing country in the world, with an internal market shaped by high prices, high quality, and high costs of production. Although the country's love affair with the drink is more recent than Europe's, cafes were thriving long before the arrival of Starbucks.

White proves that the drink has played a significant role in the process of modernization in Japan through its ability to adapt to political earthquakes, changing urban structures, and evolving behaviors. Cafes turn out to be places where people can take a break from social pressure and express one's individuality outside the harmonious consensus that many perceive as a defining trait of Japanese culture. Throughout the book we get to explore wildly different establishments, meeting a curious cast of characters that have dedicated their lives to preparing the best café possible, each embracing quite different standards. Preparations, design, techniques, atmosphere and soundscapes may vary, but all the café owners portrayed in the book seem to take coffee and customer care with the greatest seriousness.

Kodawari, the disciplined dedication and attention to detail that these individuals display, is far from being the stereotyped perfectionism (bordering on the pathological) that many attribute to Japanese culture. As White points out:

"A café in Japan is not a 'global space' -unless one counts the Seattle-based chain stores - nor is it usually a deeply local place, forbidding to newcomers... There is no single model for the café... The very openness of definition, along with the cultural parameters of services and quality that make these places 'Japanese' is the draw and the preservative of the café in Japanese cities... Its cultural logic is strongly Japanese, but the experience of the café can break almost all the usual rules of being Japanese."

White wanders from café to café, from brewing master to coffee merchant, with nonchalant pleasure. At times the book structure seems far from linear, returning to topics and concepts already touched on before, but White's affection for the world she describes is infectious. The narrative often reads like a memoir, and the author is able to transport us to places and situations that are not only described with the eye of the anthropologist, but shared with the passion of a true coffee lover.

Step Up to the Plate: Haute Cuisine, Terroir, and Global Business

2012-09-20T16:21:06-04:00

A few months after the US release of Jiro Dreams of Sushi, another documentary about chefs reaches the American screens: Step Up to the Plate. The new movie shares a few core themes with Jiro, namely the fascination with the world of haute cuisine and the extraordinary abilities of great chefs. The two films, together with others such as A Matter of Taste: Serving Up Paul Liebrandt and El Bulli: Cooking in Progress, might well suggest the beginning of a subgenre in food documentaries, marked by a shift of focus from systemic issues like sustainability, GMOs, and obesity to the aesthetic reflection about high-end cooking as self-expression and artistry.

In Step Up to the Plate, filmmaker Paul Lacoste zooms in on Bras, the three star Michelin restaurant in Laguiole, southern France, named after the father and son duo, Michel and Sébastien Bras. Michel, the founder of the establishment, is gradually retiring, while his son is taking over not only the business, but also the creative aspects of the kitchen. By following them in their daily activities, private lives, and travels abroad, Lacoste explores the challenges of the hand over in an industry where big personalities strive to assert their unique vision

Although the movie is mainly shot in France, a section takes place in Hokkaido, the northern Japanese island where the Bras' other homonymous restaurant opened in the Windsor Hotel in Toya. The geographic change allows us to get very close to the chefs' innovation process. While dealing with his father's constant scrutiny and at times annoying meddling, Sébastien experiments with new dishes inspired by local ingredients, first in France and then in Japan.

Both chefs express a strong desire to connect with the environment around them and with its products, whether they are at home or in a foreign location. Although they never mention it, the chefs are clearly working around the very French concept of Terroir, the almost mystical connection between soil, people, and foodstuffs in any given place.

The sleek and minimalist lines of the Bras restaurant, with its huge ceiling to floor windows overlooking the surrounding valleys, reinforces one of the main themes of the movie: food and cooking as an ongoing negotiation between nature and culture, between materiality and creativity. The chefs personally grow and pick the vegetables, plants, and flowers that make their dishes unique, both visually and in their flavor profile. Furthermore, the narration is organized around the four seasons, with long and pensive shots dedicated to landscape and light changes. The two Bras are also filmed while jogging or running with their families in the summer countryside, jumping across the crystalline waters of brooks from which they gather crawfish.

Time and the natural environment are not the only relevant elements influencing the chefs' creative process. They constantly refer to their own individual and family vicissitudes, steeped in the culinary traditions of the region where they grew up and still live. Their heavy accent pinpoints their southern origin, very far from the Parisian trends and fads. The documentary follows them while they participate in the local harvest festival, to which they have invited some of the biggest names in the restaurant world (Olivier Rollinger, Michel Troigros, and Pierre Gagnaire). We observe Sébastien as he tries to translate his personal story into a dish that includes elements that remind him of his grandmother (milk skin and chocolate), his mother (blackberry jelly and Laguiole cheese), and his father (bread).

The camera follows Sébastien staring at empty dishes and testing textures and flavors in a bare kitchen that appears so hygienic and immaculate that the whole process is suggestive of a scientific experiment. The slow and meticulous transition from inspiration to a structured idea to design to trial and error reinforces the perception that a great chef is not only a perfected artisan, but also an artist. However, the chefs' originality and eagerness to explore uncharted territory clash with their desire to ensure continuity, a crucial element in the restaurant's success. We hear Sébastien musing: "I don't feel like breaking everything just to put it back together again."

The filmmaker rarely succumbs to the lure of the popular visual style in food media that favors extreme close ups of dishes and preparation, amplifies kitchen sounds, and uses lighting to bring out textures and colors. Food porn only becomes the prevalent language when Sébastien performs in front of an audience in Paris. The sequence reminds us that, as hard as the chefs try to stay away from the spotlight, pervasive media and the trappings of celebrity are always lurking. After all, they have three Michelin stars to defend, and they have accepted to be featured in a documentary. They definitely know the rules of the game.