Jean-Louis Flandrin and Massimo Montanari
In the nineteenth century, militants of the Workingman’s International used to chant about wiping the slate of history clean and starting over. To what extent has the capitalist economy of food succeeded in doing just that? What is left of the various “eating behaviors” that we have described in this book, behaviors that took centuries to develop? Do they still exist today? And if so, do they have a future?
Coca-Cola has long been drunk everywhere in countries whose cultures are as diverse as can be. Over the past thirty years, American fast food chains, led by McDonald’s, have come close to achieving a similar ubiquity. Nowadays, Europeans drink orange and grapefruit juice from cans, bottles, and cartons, thus obediently following the recommendations of modern nutritionists and celebrating the cult of the vitamin. Many of these fruit juices are also imported from America.
The power of American capitalism is not the only factor at work, however. There are even more pizzerias in Europe than there are fast food restaurants. In most of continental Europe, white bread has become the norm, even in countries where natural conditions make it difficult to grow wheat and where people of all classes once saw no shame in eating black bread. Everywhere the meat ration has increased, and class differences in meat consumption have decreased—even in Mediterranean countries where, until recently, a more vegetarian diet had been common.
Coffee drinking has also increased dramatically everywhere, even in Great Britain, where tea was traditional. It is increasingly common to drink beer, even in countries where the traditional drink was wine, cider, or mead. By the same token, wine has become more common in countries traditionally associated with beer, even as it has declined in countries noted for their production of grapes.
Some distinctive differences have even been stood on their heads: the Germans, who once consumed extraordinary quantities of meat, are now more likely to be vegetarians than the French. The same is true of the English. And the French, who for a long time shunned the grilled and roasted beef that their neighbors across the Channel loved, now seem more wedded to their daily beefsteak than are the English. But even these reversals are rooted in each nation’s history, and in Europe traditional differences with respect to eating behavior have proved extremely persistent.
Although meat rations have been converging across the continent, they are still lower in southern Europe than in the north. Furthermore, each nation prefers certain meats over others: beef and mutton in England, pork in Germany, veal in Italy. As for fish—which, thanks to refrigerated trucks and railway cars, can be now be bought reasonably fresh in most parts of western Europe—the Swiss and Austrians still eat much less than do people in nonlandlocked countries.
Even though wine consumption has been rising in beer-drinking countries such as Germany, England, and Belgium, beer is still by far the most consumed fermented beverage. And even though wine consumption has declined in France and other wine-making nations, it is still much higher there than in the countries of the north.
Ireland, which was the first country to make the potato a dietary staple, is still the largest per capita consumer of potatoes. Next comes Germany, which also played a prominent role in the history of the tuber. And while the Germans now eat more wheat than rye, they still consume a far greater quantity of the latter than do the French. The same is true of the Poles. It is hard to decide, moreover, whether this difference between the behavior of the Germans and Poles on the one hand and the French and Italians on the other is due more to persistent differences in natural conditions or to durable habits and traditional tastes. Much the same thing can be said about buckwheat, which is virtually unknown in much of Europe but which still plays an important role in Brittany, where buckwheat pancakes are eaten, and in Poland, where it is used to make kasza (a sort of porridge of crushed buckwheat).
Furthermore, even when a food gains popularity across the continent, it is rarely the same in every country and may not be used in the same way everywhere. Take white bread, for example. Although more white bread than black bread is now eaten in all countries, it varies from place to place. The presliced, industrially baked white bread of England and the United States has little in common with French, Italian, or Spanish breads. This variety has a long history.
While most Europeans now drink orange and grapefruit juice, often with breakfast, as in the United States, the Americans and English drink vitamin-enriched juices, which many Europeans do not like and which are hard to find in some countries. And while Swiss chocolate has dominated the French market for some time, the Swiss chocolate sold in France is not the same as that sold in Switzerland. Even when the brand name is the same, the sugar content is adjusted to suit French taste. As for coffee, the beverage that goes by that name in the United States and northern Europe bears little resemblance to the coffee drunk in Italy or even in France. Nor is it drunk in the same way or in the same circumstances: the French, Italians, and Spanish generally do not take coffee along with their main meal, but Americans often do.
If Coca-Cola is virtually the same everywhere, its status varies. In France Coke is seldom drunk during dinner, at least by the older generation, whereas the practice is common in the United States regardless of age or sex. And if McDonald’s is a cheap, popular place to eat in the United States, it is a deluxe restaurant in Moscow and Peking.
When it comes to cooking and serving techniques and table manners, the story is the same. Shorter cooking times and even uncooked foods have become popular in most European countries as the cult of the vitamin has captured new devotees. The new dietetics and the new aesthetics of physical beauty have forced cooks everywhere to limit the calorie and fat content of what they make: starches, flour-thickened sauces, sugar, butter, lard, and many other once popular ingredients are no longer in favor. Grilling is now in vogue for the same reason, and this has led to the development of new equipment for barbecuing and making fondues. Steaming in various kinds of baskets, couscous makers, and self-cookers has also become popular. Ready-to-eat foods and fast food restaurants are now common throughout Europe, so Europeans can now eat at any time of the day, as in the United States.
Although the French and English still sit at the table as they have always done—the French with their hands on the table, the English with their hands under the table—the French seem to have forgotten their traditional style of laying the couvert (setting) with a concave dish on the bottom and a convex one on top. Even in the most elegant restaurants (except for Troisgros), this custom seems to have gone by the boards. The hotel schools all teach restaurateurs to use the English-style setting. It has become common to serve dinner directly on the plate, simplifying both service and table manners. This custom seems to owe more to the traditions of India and Japan than to traditional western conviviality.
Nevertheless, it would be an exaggeration to say that cooking techniques, table service, and manners have been internationalized. The art of the sauce, which is all but unknown or misapplied in many European countries, continues to flourish in France and Belgium. The order in which dishes are served in France, though of relatively recent origin, is nevertheless strict. And it is just as strict, if not more so, in Italy, where pasta must be eaten as a first course, never as a side dish or garnish. The same countries are also strict about what may be drunk with dinner: wine, water, beer, or possibly cider may be served, but in principle neither soda nor fruit juice nor coffee nor tea is acceptable.
To be sure, sociologists and marketing experts have been somewhat too hasty to declare traditional dining patterns dead and buried. Even in big cities and among young people, regular meals are still the norm in France, Italy, and Spain. And if the distinction between a meal and a snack is less obvious in England, hours of dining are still just as rigid there as on the continent. In short, if anomic eating behavior is becoming more common in Europe, it is not yet as widespread as in America. Furthermore, it is not obvious that it will ever supplant traditional forms.
Indeed, the social function of dining is still important in Europe. Europeans do not eat simply to assuage a physical need but also to see relatives and friends with whom they like to share the pleasure of dining. In order to enjoy this convivial activity, they must keep to a common schedule and bring a certain ceremony to the occasion. In fact, eating rituals vary widely, not just according to country and social class but also according to the occasion and type of meal. No matter how simple, however—a snack shared between friends, say—there is a little more ceremony, a little more conversation, a little more social exchange than one finds around a bag of popcorn in the stands of an American stadium or on the living room couch in front of the television.
Clearly, then, the “standardization” of eating behaviors has not yet passed the point of no return. If consumption patterns are becoming increasingly similar, substantial differences remain. Appearances may be misleading, moreover, because common elements are interpreted in different ways in different countries. Local traditions, the result of a long and complex historical process, still exert a powerful influence.
Will this diversity survive? We think so, for the trend toward more homogeneous behavior tends to make many people react by developing a strong attachment to their own identity. Recent political events have demonstrated the truth of this assertion: wherever an attempt has been made to normalize and universalize identities, the reaction has been strong and sometimes violent. We see the same thing in connection with food and gastronomy—crucial elements in defining any historical identity, as we have tried to show throughout this book. Despite ambiguities and misunderstandings of all sorts, national cuisines have been “rediscovered” and local gastronomic traditions revived while at the same time the food-processing industry has tried to deny their importance. Regional cuisines are today a part of the national patrimony, and people are probably much more aware of them than in the past.
Indeed, in years past, every regional cuisine was inextricably intertwined with the local system of food production, at least as far the lower classes were concerned. Because of this necessary link, culinary traditions did not always engender a sense of pride at being a member of a certain community. In fact, tradition was often seen as a limitation or constraint, which people hoped one day to transcend. Peasants who worried about having enough to eat frequently relied on foods that could easily be stored for long periods. If this meant uniformity, that was a small price to pay for survival.
At the opposite end of the social scale, the elite contrived to enjoy an artificial cuisine assembled from every imaginable type of food; every vestige of local identity was erased, and this independence of circumstance became the principal mark of alimentary privilege. “Only the common man is content to eat whatever the land provides,” Cassiodorus wrote on behalf of his sovereign, Theodoric, in sixth-century Gothic Italy. A thousand years later, Bartolomeo Stefani, the chef of the Gonzagos, wrote a treatise on cooking in which he explained that a nobleman should not have to worry about food being in season or about the natural limitations of the region in which he happened to live, because with a “substantial purse” and a “good charger” he could have whatever he wanted all year round.
In a sense, the food industry has today realized this ancient dream. Democratic as well as oblivious of regional differences, it has made it possible for everyone to eat whatever they like wherever they like, albeit at a price. The reaction, however, has been a frenetic, often chaotic quest to preserve local traditions. The food industry itself has been quick to seize on this novel trend—and we stress the word “novel”—by packaging and selling what used to be considered fit only for the poor as the very latest in elegant dining. Nowadays, local seasonal ingredients are highly sought after. This latest turn of events only seems paradoxical. In fact, it is the logical outcome of a transformation of the system of production that once appeared likely to have the opposite effect.
Thus to insist on regional differences and the preservation of cultural identity is not backward or reactionary. It is in fact the latest thing, an outcome possible only because of recent changes that have yet to be fully consolidated. A related point needs to be made as well, and it is worth making explicitly even if it seems obvious: traditions are not really fixed once and for all at the moment of their inception. They are created, shaped, and defined over time as cultures interact, clash, and influence or absorb one another. This process has been quite evident in the pages of this book. Every culture is “contaminated” by other cultures; every “tradition” is a child of history, and history is never static. At the dawn of the Middle Ages, Roman eating habits were changed by contact with barbarian customs. Not only did Roman consumption patterns change but so did Roman taste. The same thing happened when Europeans discovered certain American plants and animals. But major cultural interactions of this sort are only part of the story. Every day people make new discoveries, encounter new foods, and have new experiences out of which they construct both individual and collective identities. Identity is both confirmed and reshaped by experience.
People speak, at times misleadingly, about a so-called Mediterranean pattern of eating, as if geographical circumstances alone were enough to dictate certain common choices and habits. But how many “Mediterranean diets” are there? And how many of those are “purely” Mediterranean? Think of what has gone into them: the American tomato, pasta (which came to Europe through exchanges with Arab traders), fruits and vegetables from Asia, and so on. Clearly, there is no such thing as a “pure” identity.
These considerations are especially important in this day and age, because food—and people—can travel more rapidly than ever before. What history teaches us is that change is inevitable and that there is no point in longing for the past—a past, bear in mind, that was often haunted by hunger.
Our generation, like those that went before, must learn how to manage the relationship between past and present, tradition and change. To do this in a reasonable, balanced way is a mark of intelligence. It also enables us to enrich our gastronomic heritage and explore that “proper sensuality” to which the humanist Platina devoted a famous book in the fifteenth century. It would please us, as it must have pleased him, to contribute to that end.
