See more food photo compositions at Meeta K. Wolff or in our Food Art category.
Related articles
|
Take a look at this lovely slide show!
The culinary experiences of our Culinary Chemist Jenn Oliver as she travels around Switzerland: a photo exhibit slide show.
|
See more food photo compositions at Meeta K. Wolff or in our Food Art category.
|
Some form of restaurant has existed ever since humans have been eating. The phenomenon grew as large cities formed, and as people traveled on the ancient silk roads in the Middle East and China, and in the Roman Empire, often in the form of inns where one could both sleep and eat.
Street kitchens and food trucks are by no means a modern invention. Jean-Robert Pitte says in his essay “The Rise of the Restaurant”:
Throughout the world, the principal type of eating establishment has always been the street kitchen, where a person can buy a precooked dish for a modest sum. They have always existed in China and still exist throughout Asia, even in industrial and postindustrial countries such as Japan…Street restaurants are still common in Latin America and the Middle East and Africa… (from A Culinary History: Food, edited by Jean-Louis Flandrin and Massimo Montanari)
|
by Renu Chhabra
The essence of pleasure is spontaneity.–Germaine Greer
Spontaneity in the kitchen can be fun sometimes and a challenge at other times. But it does get our creative juices rolling, and pushes us to bring out our best. Often times, with no set plans, and working with what we’ve got produces great results. New recipes are born, and new talents are discovered. That’s the beauty of spontaneity. Who wouldn’t like that?
|
Bad cooks — and the utter lack of reason in the kitchen – have delayed human development longest and impaired it most.–Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, 1886
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche was a German philosopher, poet, composer, cultural critic, and classical philologist. He is best known for saying, in his famous work Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None, that “God is dead” and declaring that man, no longer “the image of God,” is a “chance product of a nature uninterested in purpose or value”.
|
by Silvestro Silvestori
I love wine.
No, I mean I really, really love it. I love everything about it.
I love the sound of cracking the scotch tape when unloading cases, of pulling spongy and squeaky corks, of splashing it into freshly-polished glasses, of that first sip of something unexpected; the way it fills my mouth as though the liquid were fermented from the late-summer fireworks of my youth.
I love spending Saturdays arranging my personal collection, of browsing stores, cantine and supermarkets the way women think of trying on clothing, with no intention of buying any, but just to be around the stuff: pleasure through osmosis. I love pulling out the horizontal bottles to read the labels, how my mind tries to predict, or if I’ve been lucky, to remember what the contents are like, whether it was sunny that year, cloudy, whether is came from places far away, where farmers train their vines in radically different ways and call their mothers words other than ‘mamma‘.
As a teacher, I love being asked about a favourite wine, of how I’ll adjust my weight in my seat, half surprised myself by the long and beautifully nuanced explanation that seems to channel through me, as welcome as an old friend.
I love books about wine, and have hundreds of them, crammed and jammed into a 17th-century bookcase, four doors wide, the books themselves, marked with my horrific hand-writing and years and years of faded purple rings.
I love the history of a very different Europe, when wine traveled by barge, by clipper ship, where it poured from countless clay pots, crystal decanters and leather pouches.
Of course an attentive reader will notice that I never mentioned the alcoholic effect of wine, which of course that is what this essay is really about.
I love that too, and maybe a little too much.
|