ESSAY: ROMANCING FOOD
the culinary world, a certain discipline is expected, but devotion to the craft is almost innate — to the extent that the relationships that chefs have with food reach an intensely affectionate level.
feel most comfortable at the dinner table, be it with a group, or only my thoughts to keep me company. It’s occurred to me that while some list dancing and singing as their talents, mine is eating. Others may joke that it’s theirs as well, but I’ve reached a point in my devotion to food where I can say this unironically. My affinity for certain meals even outweigh the strength of some so-called friendships.
Through dining and dissecting my dinner on a regular basis, I often bite off more than I can chew and hope something comes out of it much later. Lately, those nibbles have led to the romanticized idea of food, by those that make sense of it, and those like myself that devour it.
Some time in the earlier years of this millennium, Rene Redzepi’s Copenhagen restaurant soared to great heights, taking the future of Nordic dining to even greater ones. This month, the Noma that the globe had come to know and seek out will be putting this version of itself to bed. It isn’t a completely new direction from their original restaurant idea, rather a more polished variant of it. “We are ready to start the restaurant we have been practicing for,” Redzepi has written, while discussing this pillar of his career, which spanned the course of more than a decade.
Quit while you’re ahead, the saying goes. Or, in certain instances such as this one, pause but then go further. In this trade, a certain discipline is expected, but devotion to the craft is almost innate. The love-hate relationship that chefs have with food reaches an intensely affectionate level. Close relations with farmers are formed, knives become the unwavering tendrils to the hand, and a plated dish isn’t just a meal, it’s a masterpiece. When you spend hours on end in a place, is anything less expected?
Beyond interaction with the produce they work with, so much of themselves is reflected in the dishes that they make. In the Philippines, for instance, Bruce Ricketts’s tasting in Mecha Uma has become so sought out not only for the intensity of the meal, but for how he pours so much of his personal experiences into each and every dish. Toyo Eatery’s Jordy Navarra spent years creating his chef d’oeuvre, which incorporates all the vegetables in the “Bahay Kubo” song. Margarita Fores’s Grace Park is a manifestation of her constant patronage to locally sourced produce, and confidence in the country’s diverse flavors.
So much thought goes into piecing together a dish that’s bound to be scarfed down in just a few breaths. But cooking isn’t just about firing up a meal to feed people anymore. It has reached a level of allegiance, in the sense that integrating a fragment of their being is part and parcel of the job.
Food is a necessity not only for survival, but also an essential element to human interaction. Chefs and those in the service industry are privy to this. Diners like me, on the other hand, are key players entangled in it. Through cooking, and through eating, a spark is ignited through the food made, and then consumed. Senses are roused and snared together; the sound of a sizzling pan, the smell of butter browning, the first look at a meal’s main course, the slight touch of a morsel between parted lips, and the burst of its flavor as it first hits the tongue.
Collectively, they create this intimacy that is vibrant, yet fleeting. Funny that all the time and elbow grease put into constructing a dish, is all for that moment where it’s taken back apart again. Whether intentionally or by chance, elements of food that trigger our senses become anchor points to recollections. Moments and memories, prompted by the simplest smell or taste.
The best way I’ve found to make sense of it all is to simply surrender.
So much thought goes into piecing together a dish that’s bound to be scarfed down in just a few breaths. But cooking isn’ t just about firing up a meal to feed people anymore.