Showing posts with label Food and Museums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food and Museums. Show all posts

19 February 2021

FINE DINING: CURIOUS FOODSTUFFS AT THE HISTORIC TABLE

 A Muse Bouche | Natalie Scola


Every few months I turn to Pinterest for design inspiration as to how to make the dining room table look beautiful for events. Pinterest brings up pictures of complex floral centerpieces, show stopping gingerbread houses, and every manner of iced cake. That got me thinking about how people dressed their tables hundreds of years ago. 

Food, like fashion, indicates wealth and status. Historically, the divide between the haves and the have-nots was incredibly pronounced on the dining table though ingredients and presentation. As dining and dining customs became more formalized, the upper classes looked to dress their tables with unusual, rare and elaborate centerpieces to further display their wealth. 

The pineapple was one such item. Pineapples, which are now readily available at the grocery store, were once incredibly rare and expensive items. They had to be shipped over great distances to buyers. Growing them in non-native climates was labour intensive and costly. Once a pineapple was purchased, it became a display as a centerpiece, being used over and over until it eventually rotted.

Another item found on dining tables was an epergne (pronounced AY-pairn), a centerpiece made of small dishes connected by scrolled branches which held fruits, nuts and other sweetmeats and confections. In the 18th century, they were a costly item made from silver or other metals. Even as the style of dining changed in the 19th century, epergnes remained on the table as decorative pieces. Manufactures began to produce epergnes from glass and porcelain, which eventually made them available to a wider audience and brought them into middle class homes.

This epergne from the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, displays intricate silver metalwork as well as the characteristic bowls for fruit. Source.

Elaborate game pies were also used as showstopping edible centerpieces. While lower classes did eat meat, it was still seen as a luxury food reserved for the upper classes. People ate a wide variety of meat and poultry, including ham, beef, pork, venison, mutton, hare, ducks, pigeons, geese and partridge. A common way to eat meat was to cook it in a pie. One of the earliest English-language cookbooks, The Forme of Cury (cury from the Middle French cuire, meaning to cook), gives recipes for the making of pastries called coffins and chastelets. Coffin, or “coffyn” (meaning box) as it was in the late 14th century, were pastries made with straight sides, sealed at the top and bottom. Chastlets were much more dramatic, made in the shape of a castle, usually with each tower holding a different filling.

The page from The Forme of Cury giving the recipe for chastlets. The first lines read: "take and make a foyle (leaf) of good paste with a roller of a foot broad and longer by compass. Make four coffins of the self-paste upon the roller..." Source.

The 17th century saw more development in the art of pastry crusts. These are not be the same puff pastries we have today, but a type of hot water crust pastry made with a durable rye flour. This strong flour helped the pastry hold its form. Cooks developed pies with elaborate designs, mimicking patterns from textiles, heraldry and architecture. The pastry patterns were created by hand, either by rolling or tracing paper designs directly onto the pastry. Some were created by pressing the pastry into carved wooden boards. Later in the 18th century, earthenware and metal springform tins developed and became a common item by the 19th century.

A page from Edward Kidder's Receipts of Pastry and Cookery (c.1720) showing the intricate designs for two pies. Source

The fascination with novelty shapes extended beyond pies. Manufactures developed a whole range of novelty molds to be used for cakes, jellies and ice creams! Molds were made from copper and covered with tin; some had a special vent at the top to help release the food within.

While jellies are not as popular today, historically they were seen as food for the rich. Jellies begin to appear in the 14th century, but it was not until the end of the medieval period that cooks were able to perfect jelly making. Jellies were not just sweet dishes (like how we think of Jell-O today) but also for savory dishes, such as blancmange or aspic. Cooks originally obtained gelatin from boiling collagen-rich bones, such as calf’s feet. This was a time consuming process, and restricted the use of gelatin to the wealthy. In the 16th century, isinglass, a form of pure gelatin found in fish, was imported from Russia. Again, the cost of importing the ingredient was prohibitive. But by the 18th and 19th centuries, gelatin was mass produced, which fueled the Georgian and Victorian craze for molded jellies.

Aspic was an incredibly popular dish, appearing on tables in the late 18th century. These were clear, savory jellies which encased whole or sliced ingredients. Their elaborate molded shapes made them show-stopping centerpieces; some were intentionally designed to be inedible! Molds were made out of wood, pewter, ceramic or ceramic coated in copper or tin. The more elaborate molds – those with many details or pointed tops – were the most difficult to form correctly. Aspics were so popular that the famed French chef, Antonin Carême, developed a category of food he called “chaud froid”, which were hot dishes served cold.

Examples of the types of molds available for savory jellies. Source

Sweet jellies were also popular desserts and had their own range of flavour and molds. Blancmange, a dish made with almond milk, originated as a savory dish in medieval times and included shredded chicken or fish. By the 18th century, it was a sweet dish, with sugar, cream and rice and served in tall, decorative forms. Flummery, a softer pudding made with starch from flour, oats or almonds, and milk, was molded into elaborate and novelty shapes. In Elizabeth Raffald’s 1769 cookbook, The Experienced English Housekeeper, she provides a number of recipes for molding flummery, including: a nest of eggs, floating islands, stars, moons, and eggs and bacon. She declares these unique dishes: “pretty decoration for a grand table.” Raffald gives instructions on how to form shapes by using dishes and other pots, but by the 19th century, specialized molds made it easy to create interesting novelty flummeries for the table.

Elizabeth Raffald's recipe for Eggs and Bacon made from flummery. Source

A modern-day recreation of the eggs and bacon in flummery recipe. Source.

Ice cream was seen as a rare and expensive delicacy. It was difficult to produce because ice was hard to obtain and conserve year round. Ice could be stored in special ice houses, but only the rich could afford to maintain them and enjoy frozen dishes all year. “Ices” were a popular social treat throughout the Georgian era – Jane Austen’s novels make mention of eating ice – but it was not until the mid-19th century when ice and ice cream became affordable. Ice was imported from Norway and the United States, and inventors developed better churning machines, allowing the middle classes to produce ice cream at home. 

One manufacturer was Agnes Marshall, known as the “Queen of Ices.” Marshall developed her own ice cream empire, publishing cookbooks, running a cookery school, and manufacturing ice cream churners and novelty molds. Ice cream molds continued the trend of novelty ice cream shapes, which likely developed in Italy in the late 17th century before becoming popular throughout the rest of Europe. By the 19th century, novelty ice cream forms had taken the shape of fruits, vegetables and other foodstuffs.

 
Ice cream molds offered by Agnes Marshall in her cookbook The Book of Ices (1893)| Source

Marshall capitalized on this trend, offering an incredible array of mold shapes to choose from: pineapples, grapes, melons, wicker baskets, wheat, and birds. A common – if unusual – shape was a bundle of asparagus! Many of the flavours Marshall gives in her cookbook are familiar to us today, like pistachio, lemon and cherry. Others are foreign to our taste buds, like cucumber. She provides instructions to freeze fruit ice cream in the mold that matches it’s flavour: pineapple ice cream in the pineapple mold, peach ice cream in the peach mold. Marshall even produced her own line of food dyes to colour the ice cream realistically.

A surviving example of a three-part pewter asparagus mold. Source

A modern-day recreation of ice cream in the asparagus mold. Source.

The great diversity of edible and dramatic centerpieces would end by World War I, as modernist ideas began to change dining trends to be more minimal. Some trends, like jelly foods, had a revival in the 1950s; with refrigerators seen as a status symbol in the post-war economy, gelatin-based dishes once again were seen as an indicator of wealth.

It’s easy for us to be shocked when looking at historical, either in cookbooks or in modern-day recreations because the food, flavours and presentations seem so different from what we have today. Shocking food combinations live on in modern cookery, like bacon ice cream or the novelty foods served at the Canadian National Exhibition each summer. What is lost is the incredible skill and artist that went into producing these elaborate dishes and the molds that formed them. While cookbook authors live on in their publications, home cooks and kitchens staff are unnamed and unrecognized as the talent behind these unusual dishes.

3 August 2020

FOOD DREAMS: FINDING OUR MUSES


A Muse Bouche | Dominica Tang and Lindsay Chisholm


Happy summer days to you all! We have previously written on pressing issues such as the impact of COVID-19 on food and racism in the food industry. We are putting our other ideas on the back burner for now but we’ll get back to the meat of things in our next articles. In light of the sweltering humid heat of Toronto, we have decided to cool things down and take a more introspective approach to this month’s writing. We thought this would be an opportune time to reflect on our food journeys and dreams through a light conversation with each other.

Mother of All Foodie Muses, Julia Child, photographed in her own kitchen. 
This kitchen was reconstructed within the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History.

Dominica: Lindsay, you are one of my favourite people to geek out about food! We’ve picked A Muse Bouche, so clearly, you have a special affinity for food in museums. What do you find so special about it?

Lindsay: Food is universally necessary for survival and intertwined into all aspects of life; through its research we can learn more about what it means to be human. The examination of tangible foodways can help uncover intangible concepts, whether they be reflections on society, culture, economics, and/or politics. Personally, I’m interested in people from past civilizations through the study of “edible archaeology”. What eats at you to study food and museums?

Dominica: Yes I think we both love food for its ability to provide insight on so many facets and intersections of human relationships, ideas, and activities. I'm interested in the broader modes of learning that multi-sensory experiences can provide, and intrigued by food as a medium for immersive learning. Most of my experiences with food studies in academia were purely theory-based, and while I thoroughly enjoyed that, my knowledge was enriched through cooking and baking in the historic kitchens of museums. I’d love for food to breach the walls of historic kitchens and infiltrate the larger museum sphere. COVID-19 has certainly stunted the growth of this aspect of museum learning, and I’m interested to see how museums further develop ways around this new challenge. 

Lindsay: What would your ideal museum food experience look like? Mine would be within a recreation of a Roman-style villa. I’d sample the elaborate tastes of the Roman elite while lounging on a kline atop an ostentatious mosaic within the triclinium. Bring me a globi and some peacock or boar to snack on. Possibly an edible chubby dormouse

"The Unswept Floor" mosaic in the Villa on Aventine Hill in Rome, created during Hadrian's reign. Source.

Lindsay: I’d also want to experience the life of a cook for a prominent family in a working kitchen. The grueling task of bread making can be recreated from this time period. The smells of sweat and smoke while enclosed in a hot cooking space would transpose oneself into the mentality of poorer Romans. These harsh and arduous working conditions exemplify what the daily life of a worker might have been like. Too often we get lost in the romanticization and wonders of elite and mythos of emperors, forgetting the larger portion of the population. Further dialogue should then take place within museum contexts that displays artifacts from antiquity in relation to food stuffs and cooking ware. And of course, my forever love of garum (the Monosdium Glutamate (MSG) of the Roman world). Who wouldn’t want to sample putrid fish guts?

Dominica: I love MSG and fermented fish sauce, so I would totally be into that. Echoing your thoughts on focusing on the general population, I want food and other multi-sensory experiences in museums to turn more towards marginalized histories and present-day experiences. MSG is still labeled as unhealthy, which is the legacy of a white scientist’s racism against Chinese immigrants. I still see “MSG-free” labels on Chinese food products and at Chinese restaurants. Of course, food can bring people together, but people also use food to antagonize, demonize, and ostracize a community as we’ve recently seen with the “bat soup” myth. As we’ve mentioned before, museums have a large platform to shed more light on these stories and I think food will play an important role in encouraging greater empathy towards these experiences. The Museum of Food and Drink put on the multi-sensory "Flavor: Making It and Faking It" exhibit, which included the science and history of MSG. The exhibition team offered home-made MSG tablets for visitors to try! 

The end of our conversation concluded with a hypothetical discussion about our new life goal to open a Michelin star restaurant together. The menu will be historic food inspired using kitchen instruments from that era. A historian and a classicist. What a dream team. GoFundMe account coming soon! (Just kidding!) 

                                Till next time in Julia Child's signature sign-off, "Bon Appetit!"

6 March 2020

MUSTARD MAN: BARRY LEVENSON

Walk Of Fame | Martin Bierens


As the semester goes on and we become overwhelmed with assignments, many of us are stressed and we are all taking our work very seriously. Sometimes, it is good to take a break and remember how much fun museums are! For this reason, I have chosen to give Barry Levenson a star on the Walk of Fame.

Barry Levenson Curator of the National Mustard Museum. (Source)
To be clear, Barry Levenson has not always been a museum professional; for many years he was a very successful lawyer until he found his true calling. On October 28, 1986, Barry Levenson was in mourning. His Boston Red Sox had just lost the World Series. Barry found himself walking through a 24-hour supermarket in Madison, Wisconsin feeling lost, with tears running down his face. Eventually, he stood in front of the mustard section when he heard the mustard proclaim, “If you collect us, they will come.”

Barry then began, what would eventually become his life’s work, though he did decide to keep his day job as a lawyer for five more years. The highlight of his law career came in 1991 when Barry argued a case in the Supreme Court. Before the case began he found a small jar of mustard left on an empty room service cart in his hotel, he decided to take it. Barry would argue his case and eventually win with this jar of mustard in his pocket. This, along with his moment in the grocery store, sealed his fate. Barry committed himself full time to collecting mustard.


In 1992 the Mustard Museum opened to the public in Mount Horeb, Wisconsin. Due to the success of the museum, and the ever-expanding collection in 2009 the museum moved to Middleton, Wisconsin and changed its name to the National Mustard Museum. If you ever find yourself in Middleton the museum is open from 10:00 am – 5:00 pm daily.

The tale of Barry Levenson is a tale of passion. Listening to Barry speak about mustard and the museum, you can tell how much he loves his job. In 1999 Barry was even featured on The Oprah Winfrey Show, during his interview he lets Oprah and the audience try a few different kinds of mustard. To me, the most intriguing mustard would have to be the raspberry honey mustard, Oprah’s favourite was the walnut mustard.



Oprah even checked in on Barry in 2016 on her Where Are They Now program. During the short clip, Barry leaves viewers with some inspiring words about following your dreams and turning your passions into reality.
“Now if you have an interest which seems to overwhelm you, it can become a passion. Act on it. Don’t wait. Don’t look back at your life and wonder what would have happened if I had started a museum about mustard?”
Barry’s story shows the joy that museums can bring, the reward of taking risks, and most importantly listening to your heart. Or in Barry’s case, listening to the mustard.

21 February 2020

VICTORIAN AFTERNOON TEA: CATERING TO A GREATER AUDIENCE THROUGH MULTISENSORY PROGRAMMING

Program Reviews Dominica Tang

My sister's favorite thing to do in a museum is sleep. To be fair, some of the benches are rather comfy and the galleries can be awfully quiet. I, on the other hand, would join the museum equivalent of a Tuscan wine tour faster than you can say "you don't have enough money, Dominica!" I get it though. Museums just do not appeal to everyone. Some people are not interested in reading the text panels or studying the artefacts and specimen. However, their perspective is still valuable to the museum. It might not always be that they are not interested in the content, but that the way in which museums present that content is not interesting enough. Multisensory-rich programs can accommodate for these visitors, create entry points into the exhibits, and, potentially, change their relationship with museums.

Last summer, I was tasked with planning a week-long family trip to London, UK. In the effort to make our trip meaningful and worthwhile for the entire family, I strategically selected only a few museums that I thought best catered to both mine and my sister's interests. One such museum was the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) because it offered a unique opportunity to try Victorian Afternoon Tea. This program was created by Tasha Marks, an award-winning artist, food historian and founder of AVMCuriosities, in partnership with Benugo, a catering franchise that brings food to different public spaces in a creative and sustainable way. Marks is a wonderfully talented curator and artist,  who holds an interesting perceptive on museum programming and story telling. With exhibitions called 5318008 (Boobies spelled backwards) and The Edible Archive, it is no wonder that she has captured the attention of so many well-established museums and formed partnerships with them. Her immersive and multisensory programming captured my sister's interest in new food experiences and made her visit to the museum an ounce more memorable.

Photograph courtesy of Benugo.

The Victorian Afternoon Tea program costs £30 per person with the option of upgrading to the Prosecco Afternoon Tea for £35 or Champagne Afternoon Tea for £38. It takes place every Friday between 1:00 pm and 7:00 pm in the Morris Room and requires a reservation via email. It comes with every item on the menu and unlimited tea! The lemon and elderflower tea was my favourite by far and I drank a few pots worth of it. Yes, a few pots worth. Marks’s curation of this collection of bite-sized Victorian foods from the second half of Queen Victoria's reign balances sweet and savory dishes, and more familiar recipes and lesser-known ones. They range from Crayfish and Mayonnaise Sandwich (1890) to the spongey Victoria Sandwich (1901). 

Menu Courtesy of Victoria and Albert Museum. 

Gooseberry Tart (left) and Lemon and Seed Cake (right). Photograph courtesy of Benugo.

It is quite pricey and, certainly, not for everyone. However, it highlights how the sociability of food lends itself to developing dynamic museum programming that effectively engages with a wider variety of audiences. It especially caters to visitors, such as my sister, who are seeking novel experiences to share with their friends and family.

At the most superficial level it serves the experience economy. Food programming, however, is far more than a tourist attraction; it has the potential to be pedagogical, immersive, accessible, artistic, experimental and, overall, an asset for engagement in informal learning spaces. Mark's curates multisensory environment creates a quasi-simulacrum of Victorian aristocratic life that encourages full-bodied learning without the visitor being fully aware of it. This article is a testament to the fact that this program has truly stuck with me and that I still think about this absolutely scrumptious experience several months later.


The choice of location is, though in the most subtle way, a significant factor to the success of this program. The Morris Room, originally called the Green Dining Room, is located in the 19th century refreshments center. William Morris, an activist, interior decorator, a champion of artisanal methods of production over industrialization, and an artist who was commissioned by the museum to decorate the Green Dining Room with light green wall paper, teal wood paneling, and stained glass. The V&A also display Morris's work throughout the rest of the museum.  In this way, the room doubles as an exhibit that is not unlike the ones in the main halls. In addition to the continuity of Morris's art, the Victorian foods carries forth a pedagogical and historical significance aligned with other museum artefacts. This pocket within the museum creates an environment that is conducive to boisterous  discussion, infused with delicious smells, and wholeheartedly encourages hands-on learning, all the while respecting visitors who prefer silent meditation in the gallery spaces or have allergies.

Morris Room at the V&A. Photograph courtesy of Benugo.


Indian Ham Sandwich (left) and Nasturtium Open Sandwich (right). Photograph courtesy of Benugo.

Working in living history museums where the multisensory programming is embedded in the exhibition spaces and speaking with other food studies enthusiasts, I wanted to see larger institutions move away from the current model of separating food and exhibits and to adopt this type of environment.  The symbiotic relationship between Marks's artistic program and the Morris Room demonstrates that it can be done in a way that accommodates for all types of visitors.


The Tang family post-afternoon tea. Photograph courtesy of Dominica Tang.

My sister was engaged for the entirety of Victorian Afternoon Tea; a rare occurrence in her museum-going experience. Be sure to check out the rest of Marks's highly experimental and eye-opening work, and I will see you in the next one!

12 February 2020

WHY FOOD?: AN INVESTIGATION INTO PASSION AND INTEREST

A Muse Bouche | Jordan Fee


As I close in on the end of my term as Co-Editor-in-Chief of Musings, I am beginning to reflect on just what it is about food that fascinates me. Over the course of the past two years, my thoughts and opinions on the relationship between food and museums have varied greatly. Now, at the end of my time in the Museum Studies program, I am struggling to understand how I might go on preaching about the social, political and educational value of food to groups of people who might not share the same degree of passion and interest.

When I began thinking about food and museums, it was mainly on a sensory level. While museums are generally defined by the act of looking – and in some cases, touching – I was fascinated by the concept of a multi-sensory museological experience, one that included senses like smell and taste. Local iSchool Professor Irina Miahalache’s book, Food and Museums, provided me with a great amount of reading material on this subject, and inspired me to consider how individuals outside of the museum, such as chefs and community members, could form new approaches for exhibition and interpretation. Reading about the Southern Food and Beverage Museum (SOFAB) in New Orleans and the ElBulli Foundation in Spain, my eyes were opened to an entirely new mode of thinking.

The Southern Food and Beverage Museum (Source)
Following this initial fascination with multi-sensory museum experiences, I began to notice how the educational aspects of museums can, in some ways, mirror food industry. While working at my job at a local butcher-shop, I had unique interaction with some customers that made me realize that the meanings that we assign to objects in museums are often somewhat arbitrary, and how important it is to let visitors develop their own relationships with these objects without too much intervention.

A local butcher shop in Spain (Source)

Later, I began to consider how contemporary and historic cookbooks could be used as a means for companionship and understanding between individuals, which I would argue is also one of the core tenants of contemporary museology. Since beginning my internship in the Publications department at the Art Gallery of Ontario, I have thought more and more about how art books – those fancy codices that accompany museum exhibitions – resemble cook books in their format and content. Since then,  I have since learned about companies like Figure 1 Publishing, a firm based in Vancouver which designs cook books and art books exclusively.

If you’ve read some of the more recent articles that I’ve published on Musings, you’ll have seen that my focus has not necessarily been on how to get food into the museum. There are already many individuals working hard to accomplish this task. Rather, I have been trying to show how food and reflect all aspects of our culture, from generational knowledge, to intangible heritage.

Of course, this is not to say that I don’t want to see a more literal crossover between food and museums. In my opinion, some of the most interesting museum displays in the world are food-related, such as Julia Child’s kitchen at the Smithsonian Institute’s National Museum for American History. Furthermore, I believe that art can serve food in the way that it challenges our modes of perception and thinking about the world around us. 



Julia Childs Kitchen in the Smithsonian Museum of American History (Source)

Ultimately, I believe that food and museums are important to me because they point outwards. When I serve food to my friends, I am thinking not only of what is on a plate, but also about where this food came from, how it got to me, and who was affected by this process. This is something that I find myself doing whenever I am strolling around a museum; wondering where these objects came from, how they got there, and who might have played a part in this process. Unfortunately in both cases, the process may or may not be very clear, and sometimes, many individuals have been taken advantage of along the way. Still, I can’t help but seeing food and museums as vast networks of connections and relationships that extend across the globe.

While it may be cliché to say, many of us today are stuck in a culture of self-gratification. I, myself am implicated in this. However, I believe that both food and museums force us to look outwards, into the world around us, and understand that we form part of something larger. When you look at an object in a museum, try to think about all of the other objects that were not put on display, or that were sent to a different museum by a different collector. When you eat a piece of food, try to not only think about how it might taste, but also about all of the people who made it so. Focus not only on what is present, but also on what is absent. In this way, we can all become more empathetic towards both people and objects, which can only help us to become better professionals.

13 January 2020

MAIZE AND MEXICAN HERITAGE: AN EVENING AT THE DEPANNEUR WITH IVÁN WADGYMAR

A Muse Bouche | Jordan Fee



In the final weeks of 2019, just days before we all sunk into holiday-hibernation, a friend and I took a leisurely stroll to an unknown location. That is to say, my friend knew where we were going but I did not. The entire night had been set up as an end-of-semester surprise, and I had no serious expectations as to what we were getting into.

Around 6pm, we arrived at our destination: The Depanneur, which is located at 1033 College Street, just a few blocks west of Ossington Avenue. Lovingly referred to by patrons and owners as “The Dep”, this space is one-part kitchen, one-part restaurant, and one part-forum. As I write this article, I find it quite difficult to define just what is The Depanneur. Perhaps, it is best to simply refer to their website, where the space is described as “a place where interesting food things happen.”

Inside of The Depanneur (Source)
The event attended by my friend and I was part of a larger Table Talk series. For each of these events, the owner of the Depanneur, Len Senater, invites a local culinary personality to speak to guests about a topic that is of particular interest to them. The talk is then accompanied by a series of plates and dishes that reflect the ideas and themes found within the talk.

The personality invited to speak at this particular event was Iván Wadgymar, who is the owner of a tortelleria (ie. a place where tortillas are made) called Maizal. Originally a restaurant, Maizal has scaled down to become a one-stop shop for hand-made tortillas and totopos (think the best chips you’ve ever had). Although hard to find, the business is located on Ossington Avenue, in the kitchen space behind the bar Baby Huey



#ActFast TUE Dec 3 — Table Talk: Iván Wadgymar on The Past and Future of Maize Maize, the staple grain of many pre-Colombian civilizations, is now one of the most widely cultivated crops on Earth. But along the way, so much of what made corn culturally central and sacred is under threat of being erased by the soulless commodity products flooding the global market. Artisanal producers like Iván Wadgymar are returning to the heritage varietals and traditional processing techniques, along with zero-waste agricultural practices. This produces a higher quality, more authentic, and far more delicious product that honours this precious gift of nature and culture. ----- Dinner by Len Senater This menu showcases the versatility of maize in Mexican cuisine Tostadas – crispy tortillas topped with squash, beans, chorizo (optional) & garnishes Pozole Verde – a pre-colombian soup of whole nixtamal corn (hominy) in a green chicken broth w/ tomatillos, green chiles, cilantro and pepitas Tamales Dulces – festive dessert tamales filled with dried fruit and garnished with cajeta caramel Chocolate Atole – a cornflour thickened beverage with vanilla and Mexican cacao. #GF #vegan options available ----- Doors open at 6pm, talk starts at 7pm Includes dinner and coffee or tea. $35 (includes HST) BOOK NOW https://thedepanneur.ca/event/table-talk-ivan-wadgymar-on-the-past-present-and-future-of-maize/ This Table Talk is presented in collaboration with Artery Every space is a stage. Artery lets anyone bring creative experiences to life, in places you may not expect. ----- Iván Wadgymar is a tortillero and molinero who runs Maizal, a tortilleria that evolved from a Mexican restaurant into an end-to-end producer of artisanal corn masa, tortillas & totopos. They grow heritage maize locally, nixtamalize it in traditional ways and produce products that seek to reconnect to centuries of cultural tradition and wisdom. ----- Every month The Depanneur invites a local food personality to talk about something that interests them while Dep founder Len Senater cooks dinner for everyone. Find out more on Table Talks at The Depanneur https://thedepanneur.ca/table-talk/
A post shared by Len Senater (@thedepanneur) on


Originally, hailing from Mexico, Wadgymar was careful to emphasize the importance of what is known as maize to Mexican culture and heritage. Although corn and maize are both varieties of the same species Zea Mays, the corn that we consume in North America today is generally prized for its high-sugar content, whereas maize is much more prized for its starch. This means that maize holds greater potential health benefits than corn, and that it can sustain humans for a longer period of time.

However, Wadgymar explained that one cannot simply eat maize like you would a piece of corn-on-the-cob. Instead, maize needs to be dried and then boiled in an alkaline solution (most commonly water and limestone). This solution breaks down the cellular structure of the corn and produces a thick porridge called nixtamal, which is highly nutritious in nature. This can in turn be used to make masa, which is the dough that can be made into those tortillas and totopos that I mentioned before.

A Traditional Tortelleria (Source)
According to Wadgymar, both nixtamal and masa have integral to the agri(cultural) history of Mexico for thousands and thousands of years. In fact, the process of nixtamalization (ie. the process through which dried maize is turned into nixtamal) has been dated back to 1500 B.C. This means that this process could have been just as important for pre-Columbian, Mesoamerican societies as it is to people like Wadgymar today.

In keeping with this extensive tradition, Wadgymar has travelled to Mexico to collect indigenous species of maize and brought them back to Canada to be cultivated here. Much of the maize grown for Wadgymar’s tortelleria is produced on a farm north of Toronto, and he is very careful to follow the steps taken by his predecessors to produce the highest quality masa possible. 

More recently, Wadgymar has also taken the opportunity to plant varieties of corn that are indigenous to North America, thereby constructing a bridge between the Mesoamerican cultures that relied on varieties of Zea Mays as a major food staple. He has even gone on to describe the food that he makes as “indigenous Mexican cuisine”, thereby embedding himself firmly in the traditions of his home country. 

When this talk began, I believed that I possessed a strong understanding of what the many varieties of corn represented in todays agricultural system. For many, corn is representative of some of the worst aspects of contemporary agriculture, from habitat destruction, to animal feed lots, to monocultures whose scale exceeds comprehension. However, Wadgymar’s talk revealed a completely different world, one that is defined by local communities, intangible cultural heritage and generational wisdom. In just a few short hours, Wadgymar flipped the script completely and showed each of the guests how maize can represent some of the strongest and most resilient aspects of food culture.

I would highly recommend that anyone reading this article check out the Depanneur’s website to see all of the exciting events that they have planned for the coming months (these are not limited to the Table Talk series!). Furthermore, if you want to taste the product of Wadgymar’s hard work, make sure to stop in at Maizal for some tortillas! I promise that you will not regret it.

Finally, if you’d like to find out what me and my friend ate on this wonderfully informative evening, follow this link: https://thedepanneur.ca/event/table-talk-ivan-wadgymar-on-the-past-present-and-future-of-maize/ to find out.

6 December 2019

CULTURE(D): FOOD, MICROBIOLOGY AND INTANGIBLE HERITAGE


A Muse Bouche | Jordan Fee



Since it has been a recurring topic in my past two articles, I thought it best to write my final piece for this semester on how some producers and distributors of food can function in similar ways to cultural institutions. However, while my last two articles dealt with the inherently human side of this question, my article today will be centred on something different, and quite microscopic: namely, bacteria.

One of the most popular topics in the world of food today is fermentation. While entire books have been written on this topic, fermentation can be defined simply as a biochemical process where certain compounds – sugars, in most cases – are broken down in an environment that is anaerobic (ie. free of oxygen). Fermentation is the process that produces alcoholic beverages such as wine and beer, but it is also integral to the production of dried meat products, as well as things like tofu, soya sauce and kombucha.

Chocolate is also fermented product! Here are some fermenting cocoa beans. (Source.)
So how exactly does the process of fermentation begin? Generally, there are two ways: one is to add what is known as starter culture to the mixture, which is essentially packaged bacteria that will help kickstart the process. The other, more traditional method is to let the mixture become inoculated with the natural yeasts and bacteria that exist in the air around us, which can be referred to as a low-intervention method

In either case, when the mixture is inoculated with these bacteria, it is referred to as being cultured. This open-access study, published in Frontiers in Microbiology, defines the distinction between two kinds of culture (ie. the one that we generally refer to in museums and the other microbial kind) as such:

"Every community in the world has distinct food culture including fermented foods and alcoholic beverages, symbolizing the heritage and socio-cultural aspects of the ethnicity. The word “culture” denotes food habits of ethnicity; another meaning for the same word “culture” is a cluster of microbial cells or inoculum, an essential biota for fermentation, often used in the microbiology."

These days, cultural institutions around the world are becoming more and more concerned with what is referred to as intangible cultural heritage. A fellow writer for A Muse Bouche wrote in 2018 about this topic in relation to the cultural practice of saving seeds, emphasizing how it sustains the traditions and memories of communities across the world. According to the website for the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO):

“Cultural heritage does not end at monuments and collections of objects. It also includes traditions or living expressions inherited from our ancestors and passed on to our descendants, such as oral traditions, performing arts, social practices, rituals, festive events, knowledge and practices concerning nature and the universe or the knowledge and skills to produce traditional crafts.”

While this definition certainly covers a broad range of cultural practices, is it possible that this emphasis on intangible cultural heritage could be taken one step further, into the microscopic realm? Currently, UNESCO lists over 15 food-related practices on its list of intangible cultural heritage. While some, like the Washoku diet in Japan, are related to the spiritual beliefs of a particular culture, there are other traditions that require micro-biotic activity as well. Kimchi, for example, is a fermented cabbage product that is traditional to both North and South Korea. Each year, many communities come together in what is known as the Kimjang where kimchi is produced en masse in autumn to prepare for the harsh winter.

Portioning Kimchi at a Kimjang celebration in Seoul, South Korea. (Source.)


According to the report linked earlier, Kimchi has been found to contain up to 17 different kinds of bacteria, and several other kinds of naturally-occurring yeasts. Each of these microscopic organisms contributes to the development of flavour and texture in the kimchi, breaking down the contents into a sweet, spicy, funky and tangy product (can you tell that I like kimchi?)

In any case, what I find so fascinating about this tradition is that it relies on both kinds of culture. The participants in Kimjang help to form the macroscopic culture that we in museums know so well, while the bacteria form the microscopic culture that helps to produce these unique food products that help to define a particular country, region or town.

In a lecture published in 2015, David Chang – owner of the Momofuku restaurant group and star of Netflix’s Ugly Delicious – spoke on what he referred to as “microbial terroir”. The word terroir is used most commonly to describe the characteristics of wine, generally in relation to the soil that the grapevines are grown in. However, in this lecture, Chang makes the argument that this terroir – the unique set of geographic characteristics that determine the taste of foods around the world – exists on a scale that is invisible to the human eye.



While I won’t get too far into it, Chang highlights two different kinds of yeasts – aspergillus orzyae and pichia. He speaks about how the former (which is also known as koji) is traditionally used in Japan to create products like soya sauce. He then goes on to tell a story about how, in an attempt to inoculate a certain food product with koji, he actually ended up producing a different kind, the aforementioned pichia. This led to the realization that because he was in New York, "using New York ingredients in New York air", that the naturally occurring yeast would of course be different from the ones that occur naturally in places like Japan. This essentially means that each region in the world has its own microscopic culture that is unique. This variation is also reflected in the article published in Frontiers of Microbiology!

It it would of course be difficult to officially designate these yeasts and bacteria as manifestations of intangible heritage. Still, I think it is something very interesting to think about. Museums today are having to readjust their practices to allow for new modes of cultural expression, and I believe that these microscopic cultures should be included in that discussion, even if it is only theoretical.

To quote Stuart Hall: ““theory is always a detour on the way to something more important.”