the eaters and the eaten

'The table is laid according to rules of symmetry, choosing the right cutlery...Everything is controlled by aesthetic norms, and these norms, freely obeyed and freely varied, convey some of the meaning of...life...it speaks of tranquility, gentleness and things that remain forever the same..serving the food is also ritualized and you witness in the family meal the continuity of manners and aesthetic values.'

---Roger Scruton, Green Philosophy.

When your German friend was here you remember how, when going out for a meal, you or other friends would invariably put some food in his plate first, before eating their own food. A common gesture, but obviously not a universal one. And you have to confess that at times this custom has slightly irritated you. But, for my German friend it was as if his very individuality was being affronted.

One of the best meals I've eaten was in Seville...a lavish but inexpensive two hour affair with ripe watermelons, bitter coffee, dark chocolate,..sun and shade and a book. On the other hand, one of the quietest and simplest meals has been in Hunza: delicious goats cheese, apricots (of which Denise lovingly once wrote) and freshly baked bread. The etiquette there seemed very much to be: don't speak unless you have something to say. Not Wittgenstein, but a kind of natural grace and ease with oneself. None of the straining egos of 'the south', no excited and lively banter, no background music, just the mountains, clouds, and the bitingly cold air on one's face. This was, according to the locals, 'little Tibet' and it's not hard to see why...

It's tempting to look back, all misty-eyed, and reflect, Waltonesque, on the small ordering and regularity in out lives and how their dissipation is somehow a symbol of the fragmentation of modern times. Eat on the go, or in front of the television, eat on one's own or eat just because one has to, to keep the body going.

On the road to Bukhara, we stop at a roadside restaurant, a rickety wooden structure, something one imagines only existing in a medieval book; there the old man crouches on his haunches (eating or drinking standing up is usually frowned upon in many muslim countries); he pulls out a knife that he carries with him (this reminds you of Berger's fantastic essay) and starts to cut wide slices of succulent watermelon for all of us. Then, the oldest of our traveling companions is asked to break the large oval loaf of bread and divide it amongst us all. Again, there's something deeply reassuring about this ritual.

Of course, there are other norms, pernicious ones, that have profound implications. Those associated with gender biases. How do these translate into nutritional and educational inequalities? Work pioneered by Sen (I think). Other norms, rituals, strike one as very odd. For example, when in Boston, living with a Hindu family, an incredibly loving and gracious family it should be added, my entering the kitchen was frowned upon. Sharing of food or drink that has already been tasted is also considered to be quite disgusting.

Cleaning one's plate is also, you guess, a fairly widely practice. For Muslims it's considered part of the sunnah, for  northern friends it's plain old pragmatism (D. McClosky has a lovely reflection on the Dutch and their idea of "waste"). Drinking a glass of something in at least three 'goes' is also a custom, though I do confess to swigging down glasses of lassi in one go. Eating with the right hand now seems to be a fading remnant of an old tradition. Another part of that tradition: only eat so that your stomach is two-thirds full (there are other, more social ones which advocate that if one of your neighbours- up to seven houses from yours-is hungry then you have an obligation to share your food). You are told stories of how back in the per-partition days food was regularly shared by neighbours across the wall.

Cooking with someone is as enjoyable as eating with someone. But that's the subject of a whole new post. (R. Sennett: Craftsman). The politics of slow food.Food as a "political commodity" rather than a natural one (Ignatieff and Hont's fab. chapter on 'needs').

In a dark, dilapidated room in Karachi you remember how distant relatives, people you barely knew, laid out an elaborate meal for you. We sat, crossed leg on the floor, eating out of plates set out out on a brilliant white piece of thick cloth. Then they stopped and realized, in horror, that I didn't eat with my hands. There was a frantic search for a spoon and all was well in the world again. In Kashmir, you are told, there aren't always individual plates. That sounds too Arabian, barbaric, almost.Each to their own, I guess. Really must read Norbert Elias on manners.

Albert Hirschman: the common meal as a symbol...

To eat, outdoors, watching the world go by. One of the great pleasures of life. Paris. The click of high heels, the swoosh of a dress...Or a sarnie and some coffee, sitting on a bench or under a tree, a book placed down next to you, never face down, and never completely closed (a protruding pencil or bookmark makes sure of that). London. A liberating sense of freedom, equality and anonymity.

~~~

"To cook for someone is an intimate act. To prepare food that another will place in their mouth, that will be tasted and swallowed and then pass through that person's body, is a primal exchange. We care about food in literature not when it is deployed as a symbol but when it becomes a language. One cooks. Another eats. "

---from the Guardian.

Babette's Feast, of course. Courtesy of Beth.

Someone recommends a passage from Beckett...