Narrating Food: Part 1

"No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers."-Laurie Colwin

Hieroglyphs from the Tomb of Seti I

The diffusion of every kind of narrative in every age of history occurs through a variety of mediums. Thus, the history of the cultures that have inhabited our world can be read in everything from cave drawings, hieroglyphics, and scrolls, to sculptures, paintings, and architectures, to oral stories, letters, and books. We undertake every venture in life surrounded by these stories, and they alternately inform, guide, caution, and prescribe the steps that we will take. The medium and the message transmitted vary with the indelible passage of time, but we can be sure that narratives themselves will always accompany us. 

Prometheus Brings
Fire to Mankind
by Heinrich Fueger, 1817

Have you ever considered the narratives of cooking and eating? Some of these narratives are ancient: just think of Eve biting into the forbidden fruit or Prometheus stealing fire from Zeus and handing it to mortals, arguably setting in motion the birth of cooking. As with many narrative threads in history, the visceral story of food and its preparation has been transcribed into modern language: consider Gerber baby food, the cafeteria food that you ate for about thirteen years in public schools, and all of those brand-name products and fast food meals that you’ve consumed throughout your life. Media-saturation is a part of modern life, but certain traditional narratives remain constant.

With food being so central to the sustenance of life and so easily enjoyed as well, it is no wonder that people have put words to its tastes, smells, and textures, recorded its chemical compounds and formulas, and widely distributed this information. Food and fiction writer Laurie Colwin said that no matter how alone a cook appears to be, one is generally surrounded by “generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.” 

Still Life with Coffeepot,
by Vincent Van Gogh, 1888

Just the other day, I found myself literally surrounded by these people. Julia Child was prompting me to make something delectable and French, James Beard was arguing for the richness of American cuisine, and myriad unknowns tempted me with collections of what appeared to be the rest of the world’s recipes. Nearby, Cheryl Mendelson was casting her vote for home cooking from her 800+ page tome on home economics. I was in the library, you see, gazing in wonder at the sheer volume of words and pages dedicated to making things to eat and eating them. 

Among all of these books, it was easy to see what Colwin meant. The narrative fiber of humanity runs strongly through kitchens and time, connecting us to all of the cooks ever written about, their stories and their recipes. Yet, these countless books only tell a meager half of the story to modern audiences. Although decidedly less tangible, dedicated television shows and networks, websites, and personal blogs add audio and image to the narrative. How is it, then, that “although a large, enthusiastic minority of home cooks grow more and more sophisticated, the majority become ever more de-skilled” (as Mendelson affirms in her book Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House)? On next week’s menu: an exploration of this paradox.