You Are What You Eat

By Mercy Ford

It’s no secret that the ‘camera eats first’ for many of us — social media has altered the restaurant and home cooking scene before our very eyes. Simran Hans recently interrogated what could be termed a ‘social media Second Coming’ for many ‘historic’ restaurants who have been revived, aesthetically and gastronomically, by Instagram gaggles. A scroll through any iconic restaurant’s social media, or the Cookery section of a bookshop, is a masterclass in saturation, colour-blocking and composition. Hence why it was a disappointment to see St. JOHN post a photo of a suspicious-looking pile of mince, chock full of awkward meaty clumps and messy carrots swimming in a thick sludge, topped with an all too aesthetically placed quenelle of horseradish. The comments are divided. “Looks awful so for sure it must be delicious” clashes with an equally vehement opposition — “looks like shit. Literally”.

It has become a cliché in many ‘criticism’ circles to argue that the internet has ruined art, poetry, sports, the news, and society. I’m not sure this quite works for food — the aesthetic power of food has always played a role in how we consume it. Our eyes take on senses they do not have; they assess taste and texture and smell before our other organs have had a chance to. For Mary Albert Walker, professional homemaker of the 1950s, optics trumped taste long before the days of over-saturated food photography.

Albert Walker’s The Art of Serving Food Attractively was one of thousands of tracts published in the heyday of the housewife, helpfully providing remarkably succinct step-by-step, dos and don'ts to presenting all manner of meals, from morsels to magnificent feasts. We are reminded that ‘Beauty is obtained through simplicity’; ‘Colours should harmonise — never clash’, and that mayonnaise must be ‘force[d] through a pastry tube’ to form pleasing rosettes, leaves ‘or other designs’ (it is amusing to consider what ‘other designs’ might encompass. Perhaps a swan for the classically trained, or simple swirls for beginners). Apparently simplicity, symmetry and harmony make the meal.

Ironically, it strikes me that many of the suggested designs are, in fact, remarkably ugly. A lemon turbo-engine would look like an elaborate rodent-repellent on a dining table; ‘perky lettuce’ like a desperate attempt to lure said rodent out of its lair. Although these ridiculous garnishes appear to be snapshots of a bygone vogue, we haven’t moved on as much as we’d like to think. The content may have changed — pickle fans don’t seem to be very popular anymore — but the message remains. We want to consume beautiful food over the ugly stuff.

But what makes it ‘ugly’? Maybe it's the textures — sloppy, slippery, slurpy sauces peppered with diced carrots, onions or the occasional noodle tend to recall a night out gone wrong. Or perhaps the colours — beiges and browns tend to dominate plates, and some savagely torn coriander does little to remedy the gruel. There could be something more scientific behind our tastes. Studies have shown that the relationship between our eyes and taste buds is close: we typically associate red and pink hues with sweetness, saltiness with yellow and orange and umami with darker red. This sensory association is built on a series of assumptions about how we think things should taste, which impedes our experience before the food has even entered our mouth. Taste is as much an experience — implying a series of moving parts — as it is a feeling that occurs in the mouth. It is a prevalent Western idea that taste is the least interesting of our senses, requiring the most limited stimuli — conversely, in Nicola Perullo’s Taste as Experience: The Philosophy and Aesthetics of Food, taste becomes something holistic, integrated into out other senses. If this is the case, we must eat with our eyes in order to fully experience our food.

What makes food ‘beautiful’, then? Is it symmetry? A poké bowl framed by perfectly balanced toppings, for example. Or contrast? Placing a bright green garnish on a plate of something deep and amber, such as goulash, can bring a touch of pleasure. These sights are certainly pleasing. But this construction of beauty is too simple. Maybe what we really find beautiful is the associations we have with certain food: time spent with friends and family, or the care put into our meal, and the energy it brings us. We can think the sprig of garnish beautiful, but perhaps it is only so in tandem with the wintry November with loved ones it reminds us of. And if we think these things are beautiful, then there is no need to apologise for the mess in a Tupperware we’ve just dragged out of a backpack. Perhaps gastronomical Jackson Pollocks taste even more delicious. 

MERCY FORD reorganised D M Ferry and Co.

Art by Cordelia Wilson