Growing up in Iowa was not exactly a rich experience culinary-wise. While greasy-spoon diners do hold a very big place in my heart, many of the culinary experiences of my youth were a far cry from extraordinary. Take cappuccino, for example. My first was dispensed from a push-button machine in University Amaco that had three flavor choices: vanilla, amaretto and hot chocolate. I know the last one isn't a coffee drink, but this was the local gas station in a town of 10,000, so we'll have to give them a break, right? Needless to say, those "cappuccinos" were disgustingly sweet, tasted nothing like coffee and involved no steamed milk. And I loved them. But my Midwestern blissful coffee ignorance was shattered only a few years later when the Evil Empire (aka Starbucks) swept through the nation, bringing Seattle-style coffee (whatever that means) to the masses. So I finally had a sort of real cappuccino, foam and all, and it wasn't long before my family had a plethora of milk-frothing devices, an espresso machine, and fancy roasted coffee beans in the kitchen cabinet. Little did I, or anyone else know that those milk frothers and steamers and foamers were similar to the tools being used by a man far away in Spain that would create another Foam Revolution, the very one that has swept through the culinary world over the last few years. And just recently, the work of that man, Ferran Adriá, was declared to no longer belong to the realm of cooking--it was recognized as Fine Art. Sort of.
Adriá, the possible illegitimate father of the maybe-non-existent school of cooking sometimes referred to as Molecular Gastronomy and chef-proprietor of El Bulli, will take part in the up-coming documenta 12 art exhibition. Held once every five years in Kassel, Germany, the documenta series is considered to be one of the best and most important shows in the world, drawing international attention and often heralding new tones and trends in art. Looking at a list of artist that have participated in documenta since the show was first held in 1955 will reveal a who's-who of contemporary art, from Pablo Picasso to Kiki Smith. But Ferran Adriá will be the first chef featured, and it is an inclusion that has created a fierce controversy, rousing critics of both the fine and culinary arts.
One article in particular that caught my eye came was written by Guardian art critic Jonathan Jones and can be found on the Guardian Unlimited blog. In the article, Jones states that cooking cannot be art because a chef cannot do anything that would disgust people lest he want to lose his job. I won't get to deep into my opinions on that definition except to say that defining art and, therefore, the artist, as being someone has the ability to disgust without suffering financial damages is decidedly lame and, if Mr. Jones would like to join me for dinner at one of the culinary gems of South-Eastern Iowa, I could show him any number of cooks who disgust on a regular basis, but retain a job. And they are certainly not artists.
But if there is one disgusting that thing that high art and haute cuisine have in common, it is a deep love for all things offal. And Adriá is certainly no exception. When de-boned chicken's feet dressed in a swath of frothy white foam features on a restaurant's menu, I think it is safe to say that, in many ways, the chef has transcended popular notions of the grotesque. Unlike my Iowa-brethren, Adriá has done so quite intentionally and is very aware of what he is cooking and why. That is not to say that by cooking with chicken feet (or anything from the offal cannon and beyond) makes Adriá's food or that of other similar chefs transcend from being food into the realm of fine art, but I think it definitely complicates the relationship between the two. Instead of presenting simple, approachable food that is familiar and, for lack of a better word, safe, chefs like Adriá are creating new dishes that highlight the use of either exotic or possibly-offensive ingredients and break with the traditional processes of food preparation, thereby challenging and, quite possibly, disgusting the diner. In the art world, Joseph Beuys may have told stories to a dead hare, but Adriá will serve you its ears deep-fried. And chances are, if you can get past the dead cute animal bit, it'll taste good. It's a subversion of a different kind, but noteworthy none-the-less.
Comparing these recent developments in the culinary world to the art scene of the 1970s and 80s reveals many similarities. Art became much less about aesthetics and formalism and began to be more about innovation and process, redefining art as a practice and as an object. I've never been a big fan of works consisting solely of piles of industrial-grade felt or the sheets of steel propped against walls by heavy metal. Not to mention the cube obsession. I think Woody Allen said all there is to say about that. But when such works are considered in the context of art history, it's very easy to see that doing such work was a way to make something new that was as completely divorced from the past as possible. So when Ferran Adriá serves a diner at El Bulli a platter of dust, foam, colorful gelatinous globes and a few dots of brightly colored sauce or perhaps some flavored air -- a plating that would be more recognizable as a set on Fraggle Rock or a Tim Burton movie than as dinner -- he isn't catering to a palette interested in eating nothing more provocative that grandma's pot roast with peas and mashed potatoes. The traditional notions of taste, texture preparation and presentation have been throw out, just as Process Artists of the 70s did away with traditional aesthetics and materials.
With this in mind, I find it fairly easy to understand and agree with the decision to include Adriá in the documenta show -- he is at the forefront of the avant-garde in the culinary world and regardless of the current ubiquity of gelées and foams (neither of which I personally find very appetizing) that have proliferated throughout the globe, he is cooking in a way that will very likely redefine the future of haute cuisine, even if that future exists in a form that bears no resemblance to his food. And seeing that the tradition of documenta is one of redefining notions of not only art, but of modernity as well ("Is modernity our antiquity?" is one of the questions being posed to this years participants), I think Aria's inclusion is fitting and could bear very interest result. Artist or not, he is rethinking the most familiar and necessary aspect of our lives, food. But as far as I know, that "cappuccino" machine is still pumping out pseudo-coffee at the BP station on the corner of Main and Lowe. Neither art nor foam will ever change that.