We Are What We . . .
ME: So, how did you enjoy the evening, mother?
MOTHER: I don’t know – your friends are kind of strange. All they want to talk about is food.
ME: That’s because if we talked politics we wouldn’t stay friends.
I read B. R. Meyers’ anti-foodie screed with a bit of discomfort. I am, after all, someone vain enough about his cooking to have posted annual menus of an eight-course dinner party I throw every Hanukkah.
On the other hand, I’m someone with an inherent suspicion of maven-hood, and the “foodie” is really a species of maven.
And on yet a third hand, I’m someone who has struggled (more correctly, who has lost the struggle) with the Jewish dietary laws, yet another angle on food-obsession that Meyers kind of breezes past in his rather Christian take on the whole food business.
So what does food mean to me?
* * *To take my third perspective first: Nahmanides and Maimonides, two medieval rabbinical giants, disagreed on the essence of the dietary laws.
Nahmanides argued that there is an obscure spiritual meaning behind the dietary laws. The foods and food mixtures that are prohibited are, in some way, fundamentally displeasing to the Almighty – they are inherently impure. If one wishes to approach the divine, one should not only refuse to partake of these foods, but one should actively cultivate a disgust for them, as one would for any sinful act – to train one’s appetites so one desires the pure and abhors the impure, and thus bring one’s kavanah – one’s intentions or spiritual orientation – into line with one’s actions, infusing those actions with a truly God-oriented spirit.
Maimonides, on the other hand, argued that the dietary laws were the paradigm case of laws that you obey for the sake of obedience, that have rational basis at all – obedience is an act of pure faith. The meaning of the act is simply the willingness to sacrifice for the sake of obedience to the divine word – and, as such, the merit of the act is in proportion to the greatness of the sacrifice. So, since there is nothing inherently wrong with a B.L.T. or a fried oyster po-boy or a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, and one is merely sacrificing these delights in order to demonstrate one’s devotion to God, not only is there no reason to cultivate a disgust for these forbidden foods, but in fact cultivating such a disgust reduces the value of the act of obedience, for where is the glory in rejecting that which one finds disgusting? Rather, one should cultivate a desire for the forbidden, precisely so that one may earn more merit in the eyes of heaven for abstaining for the heaven’s sake.
There are shades of Euthyphro in this dispute. Is pork by nature impure, and therefore God forbids it, or is it impure only because God forbids it, and not because of anything to do with its own qualities. And, as with Plato’s dialogue, I don’t think there’s any actual resolution. There is something about the categories of “pure” and “impure” – on one level obviously arbitrary, and yet admitting to that arbitrariness dissolves the categories, and so one searches for something inherent to justify the categorization, knowing that, if one could be found, this would also, in a sense, dissolve the categories – “impure” would no longer be a spiritual category at all, since any material basis could in principle be extirpated.
And I can attest to having personally experienced both sides of the debate within my own psyche. I did not grow up adhering to the dietary laws at all, adopted them, bit by bit, in my adulthood, and then, much more recently, essentially abandoned them outside of the home. There were times when I felt intense desire for particular foods – and not necessarily when they were before me – and clung to the sense that I was earning merit by abstaining to compensate for the experience I was not having. But there were other times when I had internalized the system sufficiently to feel a genuine disgust for the idea of transgressing – particularly when I came face-to-face with the limits of my observance, and recognized the absurdity of the lines I had drawn. (I never limited myself to kosher establishments, for example, but I knew that if I ordered eggs over easy in a diner they would be fried on the same griddle as the bacon, and that knowledge didn’t just trouble me – there was a period when it actually made my gorge rise.)
Food rules have power. They are a way of delineating and enforcing ethnic and class boundaries. They are also a way of establishing dominance – or establishing a sphere of autonomy – in social situations. Meyers is appalled that the foodies he reviews look down their noses at guests who refuse to eat certain foods as being exceptionally rude, arguing that the host is the one with the responsibility to be hospitable, not the guest. But surely he’s aware that we live in an age of exceptional sensitivity on this point, with a proliferation of dietary requirements on the part of guests that can drive hosts to distraction. But what is the reason for this proliferation? To some extent, it’s based on genuine advances in medical knowledge; to some extent, it’s based on medical fads. But to some extent, I think, it is precisely about establishing that zone of personal autonomy onto which social pressures cannot impinge. Do most vegetarians really think they are going to change the world one person at a time? Or are they, more likely, saying: I am defining myself by this act. I make the rules that govern my life, starting with one of the most basic acts of all: what I eat.
I lost my own battle with the Jewish dietary laws in Iceland, of all places. I was with my wife and son, on vacation, and we were in a restaurant that served puffin and whale. And my son asked: could I try puffin? And in a moment, I had to decide. Would I say, “no, you may not, even though this is likely going to be your only opportunity, because God doesn’t want you to”? Or would I say, “sure – if you’re curious, give it a try, and if God has a problem with that it’ll be on my head.”
I chose the latter, chose the liberal virtues of curiosity and openness to experience over the conservative virtues of fidelity and restraint. But, as I understood at the time I said it, that wasn’t the end. “One little time you pull out a thread, and where has it led? Where has it led?” It led to an awakening to the way in which my food rules were, indeed, about power, and not about either Maimonides’ or Nahmanides’ approaches to the divine. I wasn’t glorying in the sacrifice I was making – in the absence of any concrete reward, I resented it. And I wasn’t living a blissful and harmonious pure life – I was acting like a tyrant towards my own family to try to shore up my own sense of self. Well, I decided that that sense of self needed firmer foundations.
I haven’t thrown over the rules entirely. We keep a kosher home. On Passover, we observe outside the home as well. But with exceptions that large, they aren’t really rules that define the self – they are rules that define membership in a community, awareness of and respect for a tradition to which we are no longer truly faithful adherents. But so be it.
* * *Meyers doesn’t talk much about the “food rules” people, because he’s busy taking on the “food mavens.” But mavens have always been with us, and I find it very difficult to care that foodie-ism happens to be a socially-acceptable mavenhood of our age, or what that happens to mean. Think about the music mavens you know. Is there really any difference between the food maven who knows precisely where the best o-toro in New York is to be found, and the opera maniac who wouldn’t dream of listening to a less-than-sublime recording of Maria Callas singing Norma? Does that fact that music is a “real” art (in Meyers’ opinion) make the music maven any less insufferable than the chow hound?
I think it takes the foodies down a sufficient peg simply to point out that this is what they are: mavens. Maniacs who take an interest in a particular experience or branch of knowledge to an extreme, without actually necessarily becoming masters themselves. It’s worth underlining this difference. Anthony Bourdain, one of Meyers’ prime targets, is not famous for being one of the truly great chefs of our age. He’s famous for being one of the most popular food writers – for being, really, little more than an afficionado. I have read very little of Bourdain’s writing, I’ll admit, and one reason I had little interest in him is that he didn’t seem terribly interested in cooking so much as he had interest in showing off how awesome he was for knowing so much about food.
But cooking is a great deal of fun. Learning how a particular culinary trick is done, and then doing it, and then figuring out how to do it more efficiently and/or more idiosyncratically – that’s a great deal of fun. And it’s got virtually nothing to do with what the foodies typically write about. It’s craft, not mavenhood.
And cooking is a wonderful craft because it is really easy to share. Most people enjoy eating. Even if they don’t care about how to cook, and especially if they aren’t mavens – so long as they have a basic appreciation of the difference between good food and bad food, you can cook for them and they will show you appreciation. And you will be gratified.
Meyers, in his scathing attack on the foodies, comes off as something of a latter-day puritan. We shouldn’t care about food – we should be above that, focused on things that really matter, like our souls. It doesn’t matter what we put in our mouths – what matters is what comes out of them. But I don’t trust puritanism. Perhaps that’s the residue of my struggle with kashrut, but I think it runs deeper – at my most frum, I appreciated Jewish legalism precisely because it left you free to say: I’m going to see how far I can get within the rules. Can I make a delicious parve chocolate mousse, using egg whites and olive oil instead of cream. I can!
No, I think I don’t trust puritanism because I recognize the reverse snobbery involved. One can get into just as furious a competition over who lives more “simply” as one can over who is the bigger maven. But at least the mavens might be driving their particular chosen field – whether it’s food or music or hang gliding or whatever – forward, to greater achievement. What the puritans most often get to claim is sheer accumulation of wealth – disdain for the pleasures of life leaves lots of time and energy for working and piling up money. Which is all well and good – but I rather doubt Meyers wants to make his stand against Anthony Bourdain armed only with Max Weber.
I choose, in the end, to stand with the impassioned amateurs. I’m not a foodie. I’m not an anti-foodie. I just like to cook, and, for that matter, I like to eat. So sue me.
Cooking and eating are cool. But like mom said… if it’s all you can talk about, it might be time for those gathered to give it a rest. Forget about the age of the cheese and talk about the Jets or something.
PS: How was the puffin?
— Sam M · Feb 21, 03:09 AM · #
You may know this joke:
God, delivering the law to Moses, tells him: ‘You shall not boil a Goat in it’s mother’s milk.” Moses says, ‘Whoah. So you’re saying we can’t cook meat in milk at all?’
God says: ‘You shall not boil a Goat in it’s mother’s milk.’ Moses says, ‘Wait a second. You mean we shouldn’t eat any dairy together with meat?’
God says: ‘You shall not boil a Goat in it’s mother’s milk.” Moses says “So you mean we should keep separate dishes so that no dairy comes in contact with meat.?’
‘Oy, have it your way,’ says God.
— matt · Feb 21, 04:25 AM · #
As in most matters, you have to ask yourself what’s really the point? Are you doing something to be badddd, or to amaze yourself and friends with how close to the line (of dietary restrictions, or over-foodie-ing it, or some external arbitrary standard) or because it’s interesting and tastes good? You sell Bourdain short, since his whole ethos on his show and in what little of him I’ve read is: there’s great food hiding in the far corners of the world and around the corner, and the more you learn about it and try new things the more enjoyable the food is.
— swark · Feb 21, 06:21 AM · #
“Screed” is the correct word… Meyers seconding of cooking to “the real Arts” is offensive. However, I have to agree with his critique of the insular world of foodie media. There really is a lack of introspection and a real arrogance about morality.
I do suppose I am a foodie though. I care about what I eat, I seek out dining experiences that meet my desires and/or challenge my sensibilities, I cook. However, I don’t quest for the bizarre or marginal, although, not, sadly, out of some sense of righteousness against mistreatment or social conscience but simply preference.
My foodie-ism is based on a very simple ethos. There are three things humans must do… 1 – Breathe, 2 – Drink/Eat (and everything that follows), 3 – Sleep. Given that ALL other activities are essentially optional, get these three right. I’v got breathing down. Sleep, well, I do my best but I simply am unable to find enough practice time to get better. That leaves Drink/Eat as an area for improvement…
I cook because it satisfies #3, and as such, warrants our attention as individuals, families and societies. It is healthier to do your own cooking. It is a way to satisfy our essential needs and simultaneously tending to our relationships with others.
Additionally, I, personally, need an outlet for creativity that uses my hands. I was once a professional craftsman and would be again if it wasn’t so difficult to attain any degree of financial stability. Failing that, I cook, a gratifying way to bring some craft and art into my daily existence.
Finally, “moderation in all things”…
— TL · Feb 21, 04:32 PM · #
I don’t see the problem with otaku, especially foodies.
Food is one of life’s great pleasures, and does little harm to anyone else. If someone wants to cultivate a greater appreciation of opera or food, they may well be something of a pretentious douche but again, they are increasing their own pleasure at little cost to anyone else. I say go for it, both foodies, rotisserie baseball players, and opera nerds.
— J Mann · Feb 21, 05:17 PM · #
I’m just amazed that the same guy who wrote that sounds so intelligent about North Korea. Huh.
— Klug · Feb 21, 10:33 PM · #
I’m glad you wrote that, Noah. I remember thinking as I read the Myers rant, “This guy is such a Protestant!” While a Catholic or Orthodox Christian might well — and should — object to the disordered nature of particular examples of foodie enthusiasm, they could not in principle object to taking food seriously. This is because to the Catholic and Orthodox imagination, food is part of the sacramental matrix of creation. That is, it’s not, and never can be, mere matter. All things have an intrinsic purpose, given by G-d, and we are to approach it as having some sense of the sacred inherent in it. Though Jewish dietary laws are (famously, per St. Paul) not binding on Christians, Christians are not therefore free (at least not in the older, pre-modern traditions) to eat what they like when they like. Orthodox Christians to this day keep the ancient tradition of fasting from meat and dairy on Wednesdays and Fridays, and Great Lent is a time of intense fasting, as well as almsgiving and acts of repentance. Fasting, for the Orthodox, cannot be separated from a total program (if that’s the word) of repentance; as the saying goes, if all you do is abstain from food, you are no better than the demons, who also do not eat. The reason the Orthodox fast is to discipline our appetites and to remind ourselves that, as Jesus said, “Man does not live by bread alone.” Without going too deeply into the theology of all this, the point is that for Christians who have a sacramental vision, spirit is entangled with matter in ways that are real, not just imposed by human will. This is something that makes no sense to many Protestants, who accept, whether they know it or not, Cartesian dualism.
On a more personal note, I am an amateur foodie, in that I enjoy eating and drinking, and have taken real pleasure in learning how to cook, not least because when I’ve done it right, it brings such happiness to others. As a professional writer, I’m never sure whether or not something I’ve written is any good, and I have a lot of anxiety over that. But I am always sure about something I’ve cooked — whether it’s good, bad, or so-so. I have appreciated over the years the craftsmanship that goes into serious cooking, and that, in turn, has taught me to appreciate craftsmanship for its own sake. I don’t care about woodworking, but knowing what I do about the craft of cooking, I can appreciate the care, and indeed the love, that goes into crafting something beautiful from raw materials. Learning to enjoy eating, and preparing food, has opened a wider door for me onto learning and connoisseurship.
Plus, it’s fun. It really is. I am not a Puritan, so I see nothing in principle wrong with pleasure … unless you make pleasure your god, your absolute telos. For sacramental Christians, we approach the Almighty in part through matter, not only in a purely spiritual sense. The entire world tells us about G-d. Some of the foodies mistake the creation for the creator, and relate to it as pagans (I think of Bourdain in this way). But the answer to that is not to embrace the Puritanical extreme.
There is a story from the Gospel that may well speak to this issue. Jesus is sitting at table when an unnamed woman appears with a flask of expensive oil, and anoints him. Others around the table criticize her, saying she could have sold that ointment for a good price and given the money to the poor. Jesus chastised them, telling them, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you will, you can do good to them; but you will not always have me.” There is sacramental wisdom in this statement, but it’s not something a materialist or a Puritan will understand.
— Rod Dreher · Feb 22, 04:33 PM · #
We will be held accountable for all the permitted pleasures we failed to enjoy. — The Talmud
— Julia Fleeman · Feb 22, 09:08 PM · #
Belated answers to various questions:
Sam M: Puffin was ok, not as interesting as the (deep red) color might suggest.
matt: one of my favorite jokes. And quite sophisticated – as you may or may not be aware, the phrase, “thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk” appears three times in the Pentateuch. And this triple repetition is a key justification used by the rabbis for the elaborate architecture of meat/dairy separation. The joke, in other words, is shocking close to reality.
swark: I don’t think that’s really the question at all. I think the question – for me, anyway – was: why am I abstaining? I know the “official story” of why one would do this, but why am I doing this?
TL: don’t knock sleep! Or breathing! (There are whole religions that appear to have been founded on the notion of proper breathing.)
Rod: re: the anointing story, have you ever seen the movie, “Ushpizin”? If not, you should; you’d dig it. I’ll tell you what it’s about another time, but for now: it’s about an ultra-Orthodox Jerusalem couple on Sukkoth (Tabernacles). They are terribly poor, on the brink of eviction, when they unexpectedly receive anonymous charity. They tithe from this immediately, and spend another chunk on food for the holiday. But a full tenth of the money they receive the husband blows immediately on an obscenely expensive citron. Why? Well, the citron is one of the ritual articles of the holiday, and formal criteria for the beauty of the citron developed over time. And on Sukkoth you are positively commanded to “rejoice” which is interpreted, in part, to mean reveling in the aesthetic pleasures of the holiday. And the most meritorious such pleasure is through the beauty of a perfect citron. And, needless to say, that being the case, and the criteria for citron beauty being formally delineated, officially beautiful citrons are very expensive. So it is a measure of the husband’s extravagant devotion to the mitzvah of rejoicing in the holiday that he would spend so much money that in no way could he afford to purchase the “diamond” of citrons. Because while his own poverty would always be with him, it won’t always be Sukkoth.
— Noah Millman · Feb 26, 09:19 PM · #
Rod, it’s great to see you in the blogosphere again! I blog at www.aleksandreia.wordpress.com now, as does Lynn Gazis-Sax, and many of your old commenters. You should come comment there sometime!
Noah, I find the whole idea of food taboos fascinating. I lived for a couple years in a fiercely poor African country in which most people had various foods, depending on their clan, that were considered unclean and forbidden for them. (It might be pigs, or sheep, or goats, or eels, or a number of other things, depending on the family). No matter if someone was very hungry, and there was virtually nothing else to eat, they’d still be extremely reluctant to eat a piece of goat meat if it was forbidden to their clan.
I try to fast somewhat regularly as a spiritual discipline (I’m Anglican Christian), and I also don’t eat beef, not as a religious restriction but as a means of respect for my ancestors (I’m of Hindu extraction), and I’m thinking about sticking to a vegetarian diet on some days of the week, as another spiritual discipline. So I think the way we relate to food is clearly important.
At one level, I think part of the reason that human cultures nearly universally have forbidden foods, is to remind ourselves that we are more than our appetites, and that we have the power and the capability to refrain from tasty foods by using our reason and our will. An animal that operates on instinct eats when it’s hungry: we have the power to say, I am really hungry and that goat curry looks delicious, but part of my identity is that I don’t eat goat. Food laws are a way of subordinating our flesh to our spirit, and of disciplining our body and our appetites.
— Hector · Feb 26, 11:54 PM · #