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Food Links, 25.02.2015

Near the University of Edinburgh.

Near the University of Edinburgh.

  • Manufacturers can also buy … eggs pre-formed into 300g cylinders or tubes, so that each egg slice is identical and there are no rounded ends.’
  • US chefs talk GMO labelling.
  • Diets are worsening.
  • Updating the USDA’s Dietary Guidelines for Americans.
  • ‘But is being fed poorly inhumane? Should criminals be deprived of any pleasure from food? Isn’t that counterproductive if the purpose of imprisonment is rehabilitation?’
  • São Paulo is running out of water.
  • Some states in the US are considering legalising the sale of raw milk.
  • Understanding the gluten-free trend.
  • How to spend $300,000 on dinner.
  • Cafe Neo in Lagos.
  • Schools in Rome diversify their menus.
  • Explaining the munchies.
  • Manhattan’s best designed coffee shops.
  • How to choose and look after knives.
  • Eat chocolate cake for breakfast, lose weight.
  • A recipe for Grewia occidentalis berries. (Thanks, mum!)
  • Sewerage brewerage.
  • ‘For the best breakfast, I vote the Socialist era.’
  • Why are Kinder Surprise eggs illegal in the US?
  • Catering for the fashion industry.
  • A short history of the samosa.
  • Penguins can only taste the saltiness and sourness of their food.
  • When England was the coffee capital of Europe.
  • What chefs hate to cook.
  • The Carson McCullers diet.
  • Cooking … is a process that enables us to increase the calorie density of our food, so it’s almost as if you’re making calories out of nothing.’
  • A robot that feeds you tomatoes as you run.
  • Kanye West’s favourite restaurant.
  • Learning to make La Genovese in Naples.
  • If cities were made out of food.
  • Grape molasses cake.
  • The art of the crisp sandwich.
  • Burmese pudding.
  • The kitchen of the future.
  • Joan Didion’s recipe book.
  • Why not drink pig milk?
  • A world in a grain of salt.
  • Join a chilli club. And a guide to very, very hot chillies.
  • An optical illusion placemat.
  • Camembert shortbread.
  • An obituary for Michele Ferrero.
  • Stop motion latte art.
  • New York City’s salt mountains.
  • A cooking disaster.
  • The man who invented Sriracha.
  • Protein from sugar beet leaves.
  • Food-themed art.
  • Betty Crocker’s jelly salad.
  • A guide to the English breakfast.
  • Unfashionable sauces.

Apples and Oranges

One of my favourite scenes in Alice in Wonderland is when the Caterpillar asks Alice ‘Who are YOU?’ Having spent the day being shrunk, telescoped, and grown again, Alice is at a loss: ‘I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’ During a period obsessed with lineages, classes, and groups, Alice’s inability to slot herself into the correct category feels profoundly transgressive. Her ontological uncertainty—she remarks to the Caterpillar ‘I can’t explain MYSELF…because I’m not myself’—is more mature than the Caterpillar who will, as Alice argues, turn into a chrysalis and then a butterfly. Nobody is one thing for very long.

The same can be said, of course, for confectionary. Periodically, Britain convulses in a fraught debate over the status of the Jaffa Cake. In their commercial form these are rounds of Genoise sponge topped with orange jelly, and covered with chocolate. Supermarkets sell bright blue packets of McVitie’s Jaffa Cakes in the same aisle as Digestive biscuits, Hobnobs, and shortbread. So to the uninformed, the Jaffa Cake is – despite its name – a biscuit.

But is it really? Legally, the Jaffa Cake qualifies as a cake. A long and complicated court case in 1991 ruled in favour of McVitie’s, confirming that the Jaffa Cake is indeed a cake and should not, then, be subject to VAT. Harry Wallop explains:

In the eyes of the taxman, a cake is a staple food and, accordingly, zero-rated for the purposes of VAT. A chocolate-covered biscuit, however, is a whole other matter—a thing of unspeakable decadence, a luxury on which the full 20pc rate of VAT is levied.

McVitie’s was determined to prove it should be free of the consumer tax. The key turning point was when its QC highlighted how cakes harden when they go stale, biscuits go soggy. A Jaffa goes hard. Case proved.

So this is a Cake which looks like a biscuit but is really a cake.

Oranges trees in Perth, Australia.

Oranges trees in Perth, Australia.

But this ontological uncertainty extends beyond its position as cake or biscuit. Jaffa Cakes are named after Jaffa oranges. (McVitie’s never patented the name Jaffa Cake, so chocolate-and-citrus flavoured confections are often described as ‘Jaffa.’) These were developed in Palestine – in and near the port city of Jaffa – during the 1840s. Sweet, seedless, and with a thick rind which made them perfect for transporting, Jaffa or Shamouti oranges became Palestine’s most important export in the nineteenth century. The arrival of Jewish immigrants in the 1880s and 1890s revolutionised citrus growing in the region. These new arrivals introduced mechanised, ‘scientific’ forms of agriculture, dramatically increasing yields.

By 1939, Jewish, Palestinian, and, occasionally, Jewish and Palestinian farmers working collaboratively, employed altogether 100,000 people, and exported vast numbers of oranges abroad. Britain was a major importer of Jaffa oranges, particularly after Palestine became a Mandated territory under British control in 1923. The Empire Marketing Board – which promoted the sale of imperial produce – urged Britons to buy Jaffa oranges, something picked up by McVitie’s in 1927 with the invention of the Jaffa Cake.

An Empire Marketing Board advertisement for Jaffa oranges.

An Empire Marketing Board advertisement for Jaffa oranges.

Jaffa oranges were – and, to some extent, are – held up as an example of successful Palestinian and Israeli co-operation during the interwar period. But after 1948, the same oranges became a symbol of Israel itself. Similar to the boycott of Outspan oranges during apartheid, organisations like BDS have urged customers not to buy Jaffa oranges as a way of weakening Israel’s economy and demonstrating their commitment to a free Palestine. (Jaffa oranges are no longer, though, a major Israeli export, and are grown in Spain, South Africa, and elsewhere.)

The changing meanings of Jaffa Cakes – cake, biscuit – and their constituent ingredients – symbol of collaboration, symbol of oppression – show how the categories into which we slot food are themselves constructs. (We could, really, compare apples and oranges.) But also, the Jaffa Cake helps to draw our attention to how taxes, trade agreements, and the politics and practicalities of shipping shape the ways in which we eat, buy, and think about food. Last year, the supremely British McVitie’s – producer of the Jaffa Cake, the most widely recognised biscuit (I mean, cake) in Britain – was sold to Yildiz, a food group based in … Turkey.

Creative Commons License Tangerine and Cinnamon by Sarah Duff is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Food Links, 11.02.2015

Shoreditch, London.

Shoreditch, London.

  • Rooibos farmers and the state rooibos factory.
  • Organic tea in India?
  • What the produce aisle looks like to migrant farmworkers.
  • How to reduce your water footprint.
  • How to avoid peak chocolate.
  • Milk by Coke.
  • Is tea or coffee better for your health?
  • Remaking Newcastle Brown Ale for the US.
  • Hops are in high demand.
  • Orthorexia.
  • Kenji Ekuan, the inventor of the Kikkoman soy sauce bottle, has died.
  • Howard Epstein, the man who popularised sachets of soy sauce in the US.
  • Sweden’s first beer made only by women.
  • Immigration and coffee pots.
  • The politics of cups of tea.
  • How to make infused whipped cream.
  • Eating in Chengdu.
  • ‘Recipe for amatriciana, from the office of the mayor of Amatrice.’
  • The joy of blueberries.
  • The joy of Vegemite.
  • The joy of collard greens.
  • Soufflés should not be scary.
  • Georgia O’Keeffe and the pineapple fiasco.
  • Recipes in the Inquisition records.
  • How to make tea in wartime.
  • Speculoos cookie butter.
  • Fat should be the sixth taste.
  • The return of jelly.
  • What is fast casual?
  • Photoshopped food is boring.
  • Drinking vodka at the Faraday Bar in Antarctica.
  • Squirrels eating pizza.
  • Cups of tea in 22 different countries.
  • If zodiac signs were wine.
  • Japanese beer advertisements.
  • An introduction to balsamic vinegar.
  • President Taft’s cow.
  • The anti-crisis cow.
  • A History of Pizza Hut’s New Product Releases, 2002-2042.
  • Eliza Tibbets, the queen of the naval orange.
  • Embracing bush tucker.
  • ‘I suppose linguists can be annoying dinner companions.’
  • Grow your own salt.
  • Why we prefer independent cafes to Starbucks.
  • Food infographics.
  • Free-from diets are a form of conspicuous consumption.
  • Papusas in Red Hook, Brooklyn.
  • ‘only people with coeliac disease – an autoimmune condition that causes gut inflammation when gluten is ingested and affects 1 per cent of the population – needed to go gluten-free.’
  • Hot beer.
  • Yong Tau Foo.
  • Making maple taffy in the snow.
  • Culinary disasters.
  • Dumpling diplomacy.
  • ‘Is this a long-term Taylor Swift entrapment scheme?’
  • Episodes from Season 4 of Little House On the Prairie Reimagined to Reflect the Presence of a Starbucks in Walnut Grove.
  • Silly kitchen gadgets.
  • Perpetual pizza.
  • Big Corn and the film industry.

New Wine

Last week some friends and I had supper at the Cube Tasting Kitchen. I should emphasise at the outset that for all the fact that I write a blog about food, I’m not a huge fan of the mad flights of fancy which characterise fine dining at the moment. I’m not into molecular gastronomy. I think it’s really interesting—and for a number of reasons, not only culinary—but given the choice between that and the sublime comfort food served at The Leopard and Woodlands Eatery, pizza at Stella e Luna, or dim sum at the South China Dim Sum Bar, I’d probably choose one of the latter.

But Cube was, really, entirely wonderful. And fun. It’s a small, box shaped, white walled restaurant in Joburg’s Parktown North, in a row of good and unpretentious middle-range restaurants, including Mantra which is one of my favourite places at which to eat saag paneer. It was an evening of delights over fifteen courses. We began with six starters, each themed according to a vegetable—tomato, cucumber, cabbage, potato—or a deconstructed—pissaladière—or reconstructed—Parmesan ice cream with balsamic vinegar made to look like vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce—version of a familiar dish. The cucumber came with a gin cocktail, the cabbage soup was blue and then turned purple, and the Parmesan ice cream didn’t really work.

Blue cabbage soup...

Blue cabbage soup…

Johannesburg-20150129-00424

…that turns purple. (Apologies for the grainy photographs.)

That was okay, though. The fact that not every course was an absolute success was part of the fun. The infectious enthusiasm of the young chefs—who cook almost in the middle of the restaurant—and of the serving staff turned this into a game and an adventure. I had vegetarian main courses. The oddest, but most successful, was a combination of asparagus, humus, and shards of meringue with black pepper. The most delicious was a mushroom soufflé and a curry reduced to its most basic elements. The most beautiful was a Jackson Pollocked plate of beetroot and leek, which was also, paradoxically, the least flavourful.

Johannesburg-20150129-00428

Beetroot and leek.

And pudding—after baklava and cheese, and a palate cleanser of sherbet, pomegranate jelly, and orange sponge consumed as you would tequila with salt and lime—was a forest floor of pistachio marshmallow, rice crispy and cranberry cookies, chilled chocolate mousse, dried flower and chocolate soil, coffee biscuits, lemon gel, and wheat grass. Then there were chocolate brownies and coconut ice.

Forest floor pudding.

Forest floor pudding.

The size of the portions and the length of time it took to eat all of this—we were there for more than three hours—meant that we could digest at leisure. Because this was as much an intellectual and sensory exercise as it was supper. It would be easy to criticise this kind of dining on the grounds that its purpose is not really to feed people: it uses good, expensive food to allow fairly wealthy paying customers to have fun. But it is equally true that food has always been about more than nutrition. Human beings have long consumed—sacrificed—food in the name of status and power, in performing rituals, and marking celebrations.

It is, though, interesting that molecular gastronomy—which has its roots in the nouvelle cuisine of the 1980s—came to prominence before and during the 2008 crash, in a period marked by ever widening social and economic inequality. (On a side note, it’s worth thinking about relative definitions of wealth: our meal at Cube was expensive, but within the realms of financial possibility even for someone on a fairly modest researcher’s salary. I would never be able to afford the same menu at a similar restaurant in London, for instance.) Molecular gastronomy does not—despite the grandiose claims of some of its practitioners—represent the future of food.

It does, though, represent the past. What sets the foams, pearls, and flavoured air of molecular gastronomy apart from other iterations of fine dining is its reliance on technology. Indeed, the twin gurus of this kind of cuisine—academics Nicholas Kurti and Hervé This—were interested in researching the chemical processes which occurred during cooking. Their acolytes—from Heston Blumenthal to Ferran Adrià and René Redzepi—have used this knowledge to disrupt, deconstruct, reconstruct, and undermine what we think of as ‘food.’

This work, though, does not really fundamentally challenge our eating habits and choice of things to eat. Noma might serve insects and Blumenthal may have invented snail porridge, but molluscs and insects have been part of human diets for a very long time. I think that a more accurate name for molecular gastronomy is, really, modernist cuisine—the title of Nathan Myhrvold’s 2011 encyclopaedic guide to contemporary cooking. In all of is reliance and enthusiasm for technology, molecular gastronomy is supremely modern: this is the food of industrialisation. It is as heavily processed as cheese strings. Modernist cuisine is the logical extreme of an industrialised food system.

Creative Commons License Tangerine and Cinnamon by Sarah Duff is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.