The Philosophy of Food

I’ve had a long-standing semi-feud going on with the Internet and social media, particularly when it comes to the topic of food. I want to enjoy it all. I really do. But it never works out in a way that makes me completely happy. No one and nothing is perfect, but it’s a nice thing when a best effort is at least made.

It all started with the chocolate cake. Not many people know this, but I finished a Patisserie program at Le Cordon Bleu in Portland, Oregon, a few years ago. I had pretty much wound down from an academic career, and I was looking to do something more creative and fun. Patisserie was the perfect choice: one learns to be an artist, a creator, a nurturer, all in one. Bread and cake and pastry are the media of choice, and the options are without limit. I jumped in head-first, cut my hair in a near ‘high-and-tight’ style to make working in a kitchen more comfortable, and I excelled, winning acclaim and accolades for my cream-puff swans, my holiday stollen, my brie en croute, and my bright blue raspberry-white-chocolate wedding cake. 

I loved the ‘what’s in the box’ challenges, where we were given various ingredients and tasked with making something delicious with them (pumpkin empanadas with caramel sauce, anyone?). I loved the sugar work (where I created a plum bonsai tree in front of a rising sun), and the chocolate work (in which I made a tea-cup from tempered chocolate and filled it with chocolate mousse and swirly white-chocolate ‘steam’ rising). I often posted pictures of my creations to Facebook, where friends and former students would express ‘ooos and aahs’ and ask for recipes, or inquire if I could ship some to them. I started creating my own recipes for cakes and cookies (biscotti being especially useful for creating new flavors). I developed a fruitcake that alluded to an expensive version made by Trappist monks, but that did not include the standard glazed-and-gunky fruit. The result was something I was proud to send to friends and family for the holidays.

One day, I posted a picture of a cake of my own recipe and design, a beautiful dark chocolate cake with a vanilla-bean frosting  (the picture can be found on a different entry). I was really happy with how it had turned out, and my brother staged it into a nice little scene that was quite pleasing. I got dozens of compliments, with one person suggesting that the only thing missing was ice cream. So I learned to make ice cream. Two weeks later, I had made some wonderful strawberry ice cream.

The Pacific Northwest is known for its fruit, and strawberries are high on the prized-fruit scale. The color of the ice cream was a delicate pink, with small speckles of fruit strewn throughout. I posted pictures and the recipe, thinking I would be doing a service. 

A few days later, a former student, thinking that she would be doing me a service in turn, posted a short video to my page showing someone making their version of ‘ice cream.’ In this version, the person poured cream, sugar, and vanilla into a Ziploc bag, then placed that bag into a larger Ziploc bag full of ice cubes. They ‘massaged’ the two bags together until the cream mixture started to thicken. They then served the concoction in the bag. 

Yuck. 

It was all downhill from there. I had started a food blog several years back, but it was quickly hijacked by people who were also starting food blogs and who – with a few ‘shortcuts’ – claimed they could make my recipes ‘even better!’ Almost all of my efforts were met with examples of creations that, while not in any way ‘better,’ were certainly much easier to make. And it wasn’t just friends or hijackers offering these misshapen trifles: I would occasionally search for recipes or ideas for special items, only to be met with ‘recipes’ that started with ‘One box cake mix – any flavor; one can frosting, white; one jar colored sprinkles…’. 

The focus has forever shifted from the artistry and the elegance of the European-style confections I worked hard to learn to make, to one of ease and superficial appearance, much like plastic surgery. Of course, color also played a big role: it’s hard to argue with a bright pink and purple ‘unicorn cake’ or a collection of vivid yellow googly-eyed Minion cupcakes. How do they taste? Probably like the corresponding colors of Play-doh. But no one is willing to admit that.

So fast-forward to now. I am, by nature, an optimistic person, and I continuously hope that society is going to someday turn a corner and miraculously awaken to an appreciation of things that are desirable in themselves, not simply because they are easier to do or more garishly colored. I still look for recipes on the ‘Net mainly to get ideas, but following the recipes outright has, lately, been near-disastrous. 

Last week, we found something that sounded good and decided to try it. It wasn’t too easy to do, which gave us a bit of hope that the extra effort would reflect in the final product. The recipe came from a self-described ‘food influencer,’ which perhaps should have been a red flag. (What exactly do 'food influencers' influence? Do they influence people not to eat food?)  The recipe consisted of thinly sliced steak marinated with pesto and then rolled around spinach. Sounds good, right? We marinated, rolled, and tied the roulade with kitchen string, and cooked it the way the instructions specified, searing it and then finishing it in the oven, letting it rest before we sliced it.

What ended up on the plate was not delicious, nor particularly appetizing to look at. We ate it, but neither of us enjoyed it, and we were far too frazzled by that time to go out and grab fast food. As with almost all situations, enjoyable or disappointing, my brother’s often acerbic wit kicked in, and he proclaimed that the sliced roulades looked like giant rats’ buttholes (“gay rats’ buttholes,” specifically; I’m not completely clear on that specification but it does create more colorful mental imagery). Yes, that is what I imagine a magnified rat’s butthole might very well look like. But as with most things found on the Internet, appearance is everything. Having never, to my knowledge, eaten rats’ butthole (which may very well be a delicacy in some parts of the world), I cannot make a reasonable critique as to the taste. 

One thing I do know for sure: we do not plan to again incorporate rats' buttholes - gay or straight - into our menus any time soon.