Pollan reading

Pollan suggests that there exists an undeniable unhealthiness within the American diet. This is not an uncommon claim. However, instead of blaming the problem on any particular part of the diet itself, he points the finger at the concept of scientifically analyzing food in order to determine an optimum dietary course. It is the idea that food can be dissected and scientifically understood to be inherently good or bad for you that is causing the unhealthy symptoms of obesity and anxiety, with all the health problems that they invite. The problem, he says, lies less in the foods that we may choose to eat, but more in the way in which we eat them and the societal influences surrounding their consumption.

This is an interesting opinion to express. It certainly runs counter to the concept that science is the best available means of understanding the world and finding the optimum solutions to problems. However, Pollan blames the scientific community less than he does the anxiety and hyper-reactionary attitude that many consumers have towards the findings of dieticians. The resultant scramble on behalf of food companies to commercialize and monetize the demands of the populace seems a particularly sore point.

The anti-scientific and anti-commercial tone of the article does make me question the contents of the argument somewhat. It would suggest less that Pollan wants people to be healthy and more that he has an axe to grind with certain institutions and those people who follow them. Nonetheless, the fundamentals of his argument are sound, and I do agree with him on many points. I have never paid much attention to the various dietary fads that have come and gone over the years. Part of this is due to the fact that almost all of them concern losing weight, and if anything I require the exact opposite. The other part is that many of the respected "scientific experts" are hardly scientists at all. The field of nutrition is a ridiculously complex and individualized one, and many respected scientists are of the opinion that, honestly, we don't have the technology or understanding required to be able to tell you exactly what kinds of foods you should eat. There are some rough guidelines that we do know, and I try to follow those somewhat. Don't eat nothing but sugary foods. Milk is good for your bones. You need to eat some kind of protein. Vegetables are pretty good for you. Other than these basic pointers, though, I just eat what I want.

Food as Definition of Identity

            It is not an outlandish concept that food plays a key role in the cultural heritage and traditions of certain nations, societies, and other groups of people. Indeed, in this day and age, the globalization of culture and cuisine has resulted in a plethora of various foods available even to the palettes of those that would hardly describe themselves as knowledgeable connoisseurs. It is telling that these foods are generally assorted via such broad labels as “Mexican”, “Chinese”, or even the catch-all, generic term “Ethnic”. For virtually any nation, social class, region, or background, it is possible to find foods that are traditionally considered typical of that group. We understand that it is normal for these groups to be associated with specific foods, and that the ingredients and recipes of a culture often stem from long-standing traditions and preferences, many of which have since outgrown the more practical reasons for their inclusion in one’s diet. With the modern availability of new types of foodstuffs, means of storage, nutritional needs, etc., much of the original reasoning behind the groupings of foods into a particular diet have become obsolete. It is true that certain foodstuffs are still more convenient or of better quality in certain locations than others, but the extent to which this true is rapidly becoming negligible in developed nations. For example, it may be better to eat freshly-caught lobster in Maine than in Denver, but it can hardly be said that any type of seafood is unavailable in the latter location. As Leda Cooks says in her article on food and identity, “In the industrialized west, where food slips into image… it becomes necessary for lifestyle, rather than sustaining life.” Yet the grouping of foods into categories based on cultural background shows few signs of degradation or decay. I would purport that the reason for this lies mainly in the establishment and maintenance of identity, both in the broad scale societal groupings, and, increasingly, on the individual level. The traditional nature of certain foods and their association towards certain cultures, attitudes, and values provide individuals not only with a starting background, but also a means with which to explore their own preferences or to express themselves. A person’s choices to accept or ignore the foods with which they were brought up or which their society considers appropriate may help to shape their ideas about themselves as people within the context of that society.

            Let us first consider the biological reasons that might drive an individual to either stick to a familiar diet, or alternatively, to experiment with a wider variety of foods in which they might typically be expected to indulge. The key idea that I would like to introduce here is what is known as the “Omnivore’s Paradox”.  (Fischler) Since humans are omnivorous, we inherently consume a variety of foods, simply out of biological necessity. We require many different types of nutrients found in many different organisms in order to maintain our own bodies. Proteins, fibers, minerals, fats, salts, and so forth must all be found from various sources. It is this lack of reliance on any specific type of foodstuff that allows us to have such varied diets. There are, in fact, numerous places around the world wherein typical diets may consist entirely of elements that are completely unavailable in others. Yet we certainly cannot eat everything that we see. Some foods that are eaten even by species that seem on the surface to be quite similar to us, are in fact fatally poisonous. Studies have been conducted which suggest that, similar to rats, humans display instinctual caution towards unfamiliar foods and aversion to those that have been correlated to past negative experiences or indigestion. (Fischler) Allowing a substance inside one’s body is, after all, to render oneself extremely vulnerable to any ill effects it may bring on. Thus, we find ourselves caught between the desire to expand our available supply of food types, possible new sources of vital nutrients, and our inherent fear of the unknown. This helps to explain, on a purely biological level, how it is plausible that many foods remain consolidated into diets specifically eaten by certain groups of people, despite widespread experimentation between them.

            How then, does this relate to the formation of identity? How do we define ourselves, in part, by the foods that we eat? Allow me to share a personal anecdote that relates to the topic. My own culinary background, growing up in suburban America, involved coffee. My parents, both avid coffee drinkers, would always have a pot prepared every morning. While it was not expected that I take up the habit until adulthood, I never did so at all. Instead, I found the single aging pack of Earl Grey sitting in the back of our cupboard and tried that. I have been drinking tea ever since. Upon reflection, while this choice at the time seemed to be little more than a matter of taste, I would not be surprised if it had just as much to do with my idea of the kinds of people who drink tea. Having been raised by coffee drinkers, tea was always somewhat foreign to the house. It was a drink favored by the English or by those too intellectual or refined to enjoy the stronger taste and jolt of caffeine that coffee could provide. This, at least, was my impression of the connotations surrounding the beverage at the time. I have thought of myself as an intellectual since a rather young age, and to drink tea would have fit rather well into my own self-image. In picking up the habit, I believe I made a choice in expressing myself, in distinguishing myself somewhat from the background in which I was raised. This is not to say that I abandoned the eating habits favored by my parents, which would have been quite difficult even had I the desire to do so. However, the subtle changes that I made to the dishes that were prepared for me reflected a desire to differentiate myself to some extent and create my own sense of individuality. This form of adolescent resistance to tradition seems somewhat commonplace from analyzing the accounts of others. Roy Ahn, for instance, speaks of how during his own adolescence, he ate more food from his adopted country of America, in part to separate himself in the eyes of his peers from his Korean roots.  (Ahn) This seems to be a mild example of a common form of resistance to oppressive societal influence in general. One thing that a person can almost always control is what and how much they eat. In extreme cases, this may go as far as eating little to nothing at all, in the form of fasting and hunger strikes.  (Cooks) In this example, though, it appears similar to most other forms of adolescent resistance, being an attempt to create an image of oneself independent, at least to some extent, from their upbringing.

            At the same time, there is a powerful connection to the traditional foods of one’s family and country. In providing a tangible connection to one’s origins, foods can solidify, in concrete terms, inclusion in a societal group. In eating them, we can feel secure in the knowledge that we will always have that connection to our origins and family. Both Ahn and Nicholson confess to at least an occasional longing to partake in the cuisine exemplified by their parents, despite having also adopted the American palette of their new country.   (Ahn)   (Nicholson) Ahn goes farther still, expounding his desire to teach his son the basics of Korean foods. He explains that he wants his son to have this connection to his heritage, having realized its importance when the tragic death of his parents severed him from it somewhat. This connection to ethnic origins is again something that my personal experiences lend credence to. I am specifically reminded of a kind of potato tortilla that my mother sometimes either makes or buys near the holidays called “lefse”. It is a Norwegian dish, and while as a fourth generation American my experience with traditional Norwegian cuisine is limited, it has always been a highlight. As a result of my memories of it, I have always preferred potato bread to any other type, even before I was old enough to know the reason why. Both consciously and subconsciously, the attraction to familiar foods is strong. There is an oft quoted of Margaret Mead’s that seems appropriate here, which states: “It is easier to change a man’s religion than his diet.”

            There would appear to be a certain duality to the choices we make with regards to the foods we eat. We are comforted by the familiar, the foods that we were given to eat as a child before we could choose them for ourselves. They provide a starting place, a heritage, a culture to identify with and be a part of. Yet, at the same time, we are also attracted to the novel, our own twists on old foods, or things that we have picked up completely on our own. They distinguish us from our surroundings and from others. They help to make us unique. We have both biological and psychological needs to differ, but also to belong in this way. In creating a palette for ourselves we keep ourselves healthy and nourished, bringing in new sustenance to enrich the old and, perhaps accidentally, also creating a part of our identity. In striking a unique balance between the familiar and the unknown, we may find a piece of ourselves.

Bibliography

Ahn, Roy. "Home Run: My Journey Back to Korean Food." Gastronomica: The Journal of Food and Culture (2009): 12-15.

Cooks, Leda. "You are What You (Don't) Eat? Food, Identity, and Resistance." Text and Performance Quarterly (2009): 94-110.

Fischler, Claude. "Food, self and identity." Social Science Information (1988): 275-292.

Nicholson, Geoff. "Eating White." Gastronomica: The Journal of Food and Culture  (2010): 21-23.

SE2 Reviews

One interesting thing I noticed while reading this blog post was their analysis of the music used in the advertisements that they studied and how it related to the target audience of and rhetorical techniques of each. This was not something that I considered in my own post, as both of the pieces that used were still images. It does, however, add another dimension to consider when determining the intended effect upon the audience. I also did not consider the physical placement of the advertisements, as touched upon in this blog, having gotten mine off of the web. Both of these would be interesting aspects to explore should I decide to analyze more pieces in this manner. It would be more effective to consider how, when, and where advertisements actually appear in daily life as opposed to simply how they function when taken in and of themselves.

Short Essay 2

For the purposes of this assignment, I compared an advertisement for “Gamer Grub”, a product sold in pouches presumably to be consumed while busy playing a video game, to one for “Texas Roadhouse”, a traditional sit-down restaurant that specializes in steaks and ribs. The differences between the two products advertised are quite apparent, and at first glance, so too are the advertisements, but the mechanics at work, the ways in which they are advertised, are actually quite similar.

            The “gamer grub” pouches prominently feature enlarged images of a few small chunks of the material inside, along with visual effects and a background that suggest a video game environment. The names of the product and flavor are similarly portrayed in large fonts that are reminiscent of something that one might find in a video game. The word “Gamer” is especially emphasized. Smaller, more boldface font declares the product to be a “performance snack” and “infused with neurotransmitters”, along with the specifications of weight and suggested instructions for use of the pouch. These instructions are particularly telling, suggesting that the contents be consumed via a design feature referred to as “tear and tilt” that allows the customer to imbibe the contents without so much as looking at or touching them.

            The “Texas roadhouse” advertisement puts good deal more food on display than the other advertisement. Instead of illustrating a few kernels of the product in high detail, it prefers to demonstrate the size of the portions of various foods available, resulting in an image which depicts enough food for at least four meals. The background here does not appear artificially spliced in to the picture, but is instead of the large wooden table on which the foods are presumably served to customers. The font in which the restaurant’s name is advertised is that of a neon sign, with the word “Texas” in all capital letters, in a boldface type somewhat reminiscent of a cattle brand. The name is bisected by a picture of a map of the state of Texas, itself wearing a cowboy hat.

            Both of these advertisements demonstrate admirably the values and ideas of the specific culture of people that they are marketing towards. The “Gamer grub” obviously intends to appeals to people who consider themselves members of a “Gamer” subculture. The packaging lends itself to appear as much like something one might find in a video game as is possible, while the description and depiction of the actual food itself is garnered to the priorities of its consumers. Stereotypically speaking, a “gamer” cares very little about the food that they eat and even less about whether it conforms to traditional meals. So long as it appears edible and results in as much energy output as possible, tasting relatively like traditional food is simply an added bonus. These priorities are easily seen reflected in the content of the advertisement. While a small example of the contents of the pouch is provided, it is overshadowed by the lightning bolt - like “energy” effects, the specifications of the amount of food inside, and the claims to be a “performance snack” for “Gamers”.

In contrast, the “Texas cowboy” culture that the Texas roadhouse advertisement is marketed towards has almost completely opposite attitudes and priorities regarding foods, and this is again reflected in the advertisement. What is important here is the traditional nature of the food and the way in which it is served, in as great a quantity as can be consumed in a single meal as is possible. This lends itself well to a sit-down restaurant which specializes in serving very large helpings of meat and potatoes, examples of which are prominently featured in the advertisement. Again, the text serves to hammer home the intended audience both in vocabulary and the font in which it is written.

            The audiences of these advertisements are delineated by subculture: a group of people that consider themselves set apart from the general popular culture by virtue of the choices they make and values that they hold. The key thing to realize here is that while the target cultures themselves may be radically different, especially with regard to their attitudes towards food, the advertisements shown here are essentially attempting to appeal to each using the same argument. This is the idea that as a member of a certain culture, one should eat foods that qualify one as such. Both use an appeal to the ethnocentrism, the island mentality of their respective subcultures. They utilize the idea that the culture of their audience is superior, that their values and priorities are the most important things to consider in making a decision as to where and what to consume in any given situation. Thus, since the advertised products obviously represent those values, they must be the best choice for anyone who would claim to be a member of said culture to buy.

Freedman and Jurafsky reading

Freedman and Jurafsky take an interesting approach to studying the cultural distinctions in America by choosing to study potato chip bags. While I can't say that I find it the most effective way I could think of to look at the separation between economic classes, the linguistic analysis that they performed on the bags certainly appears to have garnered results. I find it interesting to note that even in a (supposedly) classless society, the researchers make an assumption on what their findings will look like right away in the way that they divide their subjects. Instead of simply highlighting a correlation between specific types of language and a price per ounce increase where appropriate, they also immediately take the bags in question and split them down the middle based on cost. In doing so, they assume that if there is a distinct difference, it will be found between "upper class" chips and the "lower class" chips. For the most part, they would appear to have been correct in this assumption.

As for the results of the analysis, I found it quite interesting that the "upper class" potato chips were so focused on what they were not. This concentration on avoiding being like the "lower class" chips in any way possible amuses me. I am reminded of a paper I once read about how it was once considered fashionable and attractive for the wealthy to be overweight, to show that they had the means to keep themselves healthily fed. This persisted until just about the time that said abundance of food became available to the lower classes, at which point it became more fashionable to be thin, to demonstrate the quality and healthiness (in other words, cost) of the food you ate. I believe the author of said paper referred to this as the "star bellied sneetch" phenomenon, if you've ever read that particular Dr. Seuss story. It is an interesting, if unfortunate aspect of human nature that our happiness appears to be more determined by relative wealth than by actual progress.

Short Essay 1

            While some may cite a specific personal cultural background in the selection of their culinary palette, I have never felt that my own was influenced by any one particular traditional system. If anything, my diet is based on that of the country in which I live, one that has few culinary staples of its own, but which borrows heavily on those of others, “Americanizing” them in the process. I am equally likely to enjoy a slice of pizza or a cheeseburger as I am fish and chips, tamales, gyros, Italian pastas, sushi, corned beef, or Swedish meatballs. So long as I can recognize the various components of what I’m eating, and it isn’t anything I have an allergy or personal aversion to, I have no problem with consuming it.

It is true that, as is the case for many people, this likely stemmed from the foods that my parents prepared for me when I was a child. While my mother is half Norwegian, virtually nothing that she prepared for the table would suggest the fact. The only part of my diet that I believe may have originated from her is a preference for potato bread over regular white bread. She grew up in North Dakota, an area heavily concentrated with people of Scandinavian descent, and often had lefse when she was young. It’s a potato based flatbread that I’ve only ever had a few times myself, perhaps every other Christmas or so. My father, by his own admission, could not cook to save his life, and has only a small smattering of various Western European cultural backgrounds to draw on in the first place. He refers to himself as a “Heinz 57”, which I suppose is appropriate, given his penchant to apply ketchup to almost anything (a habit that I never shared).

Much my diet, however, stems from things that I discovered for myself. My parents never cared much for tea, for instance. They were always coffee drinkers, and had a pot prepared every morning. I never took to the stuff. Instead, I found the single aging pack of Earl Grey that had been sitting in the back of the cupboard for years and tried it. I’ve been drinking tea ever since. It is possible that this sort of dietary choice has something to do with my own self-image. I’ve always thought of myself as an intellectual, a pensive man who reads books and likes cats and tea over dogs or coffee. It is possible that I came to enjoy tea purely out of the idea that it seemed appropriate to who I am as a person. This does not explain, however, how I came to enjoy seafood and sushi so much. I have lived in Denver for my entire life, half a world away from Japan and one thousand miles away from the nearest ocean. My parents hardly ever prepared seafood, simply out of practicality. The closest we came usually involved salmon or a fake crab mix made from some other sort of freshwater fish. Yet, for as much as I enjoy living in Denver, I also love seafood of almost any variety, especially shrimp. The only theory that I have is that its status as a rarity, almost a delicacy in my house as a child fueled my taste for it.

There is also the tactile nature of food to consider. Aside from the taste and traditional background of food, I’ve always liked foods that are rich and go down smoothly. My family has always enjoyed ribs. I can’t stand them. It’s not the taste I mind, it’s working away at a bone for 15 minutes just to get at the one tiny chunk of lean meat I can find, and having to leave the rest while I go get all the barbecue sauce off of my hands. I have a great (my family would say paranoid) dislike of fat or gristle on meat, mostly because of the way it feels in my mouth. I also don’t enjoy getting myself dirty simply in order to eat. While this may be a function of the fact that I’ve never had to work (directly) for my dinner, I much prefer to simply eat what I need to and get on with my day.

I suppose my diet is generally pretty average considering the country I live in. I don’t really put too much thought into what I eat on a daily basis, so I’ve picked up the usual set of dishes that are common in America. I might have some difficulty should I suddenly be placed in another country and be expected to eat all of my meals there, but I think I could handle a few dishes from just about anywhere.

Ahn / Nicholson readings

The similarity of the authors' attitudes towards their traditional culinary fare is quite striking, especially considering how different that fare is. Both heavily associate certain foods with the cultural roots of their lost parents and their former country. While they admit that their own personal selection of foods may be somewhat different than those of their parents, a more Americanized palette, they assert that their selections stem from those of their origin.

Ahn in particular seems to associate his Korean culinary roots with a fleeting heritage, something that must be preserved and remembered not only for himself but for future generations. This is understandable, since his connection and access to those foods was originally severed with the tragic loss of his parents. He seems to feel that he lost a good deal of his heritage along with the recipes that his mother once prepared and is determined not to let what is left of his own Korean heritage be lost in the same way as he raises his own son.

In contrast, Nicholson's break with his mother's traditional cuisine seems much more complete. While he still remembers it quite clearly and enjoys it from time to time (as is evidenced by his search for the right kind of flavorless, processed Cheshire cheese), he lacks a good deal of the remorse of losing his connection to that kind of food that Ahn expresses. Perhaps it is simply because Nicholson's mother's food was purposefully bland as almost  a statement of intentional practicality, while Ahn's fare involved a rich culinary history and variety of its own. I rather think, though, that it has more to do with the fact that Nicholson's mother lived a relatively long, healthy life. She was available for him to occasionally visit and eat with as a reminder of his culinary origins while he developed his own tastes for himself. In contrast, Ahn was left to spend his life painstakingly trying to reconstruct what he could of what he had lost.

Personally, I feel no such connection to my past or origins through food. My mother did prepare meals for us when I was young, but there was never any cultural theme to them that I can pick out. Save for a few special occasions, there was nothing that would indicate any sort of cultural heritage at all. I don't feel that I missed too much, though. I appreciate the freedom to choose what types and cultures of food appeal to me for myself.