tag:theconversation.com,2011:/global/topics/tastes-of-a-nation-27471/articlesTastes of a Nation – The Conversation2017-01-25T19:54:50Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/599772017-01-25T19:54:50Z2017-01-25T19:54:50ZParrot pie and possum curry – how colonial Australians embraced native food<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154189/original/image-20170125-23858-1t5a153.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Tea and Damper by A . M. Ebsworth. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">From Digital Collection of the State Library of Victoria.</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The relationship between European settlers and native Australian foodstuffs during the 19th century was a complex one. While the taste for native ingredients waxed and waned for the first century of European settlement, there’s ample evidence to demonstrate that local ingredients were no strangers to colonials’ kitchens or pots. </p>
<p>British settlers needed to engage with the edible flora and fauna of the continent almost immediately upon arrival. The journals of First Fleet officers record not only their reliance on native food, but the relish with which they enjoyed it. For example, First Fleet surgeon <a href="http://www2.sl.nsw.gov.au/archive/discover_collections/history_nation/terra_australis/journals/worgan/">George Worgan</a> noted in his diary a feast held to celebrate the King’s birthday:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We sat down to a very good Entertainment, considering how far we are from Leaden-Hall Market, it consisted of Mutton, Pork, Ducks, Fowls, Fish, Kanguroo, Sallads, Pies & preserved Fruits.</p>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=805&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=805&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=805&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1012&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1012&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154190/original/image-20170125-23878-1xscwji.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1012&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">S. T. Gill’s sketch of a ‘Butcher’s Shamble’ from 1869.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">State Library of Victoria</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>But despite the colonists’ reliance on native ingredients to supplement their diet, they were regarded with deep suspicion. Cooks – mainly women – relied on traditional British methods to transform these raw materials into something that they deemed culturally recognisable and appropriate.</p>
<p>Journals and other written accounts record these efforts. Kathleen Kirkland, a migrant who settled in Australia in the 19th century, wrote about the kangaroo soup, bush turkey and parrot pie she prepared for New Year’s Day 1841. She also praised the wild mushrooms from which she made a ketchup. </p>
<p>A contemporary of Kirkland, Louisa Meredith, describes eating kangaroo, wattle bird and echidna, although admitting that her tastes were not shared by all. But at least enough agreed with her that Phillis Clark, who was born in Tasmania in 1836, could compile a manuscript cookbook of recipes copied from other books and newspaper clippings. This personal collection contained a number of dishes featuring native ingredients like kangaroo, as well as detailed instructions for butchering the animal.</p>
<h2>Kangaroo steamers</h2>
<p>These examples notwithstanding, the settlers went to considerable trouble to maintain British food habits, in order to maintain a British identity.</p>
<p>Mrs Allan Macpherson, who settled in northern New South Wales in 1856, recounted that a dish of rock wallaby had a “very close resemblance to the hare” specially when cooked the same way and eaten with currant jelly. This application of European cooking techniques made it impossible to “distinguish them apart”. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=892&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=892&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=892&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1121&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1121&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154188/original/image-20170125-23851-10twufi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1121&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Frontispiece of The English and Australian cookery book : cookery for the many, as well as for the upper ten thousand, by an Australian aristologist.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">National Library of Victoria</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Suspicion extended to traditional Aboriginal food practices such as using cooking vessels made from from bark or tree gnarls and wrapping food in leaves. They were disdained entirely, even if the ingredients used by Indigenous Australians were not.</p>
<p>It is in this manner that native ingredients appear in Australia’s first cookbook, <a href="http://www.sbs.com.au/food/article/2015/02/09/readable-feasts-english-australian-cookery-book">The English and Australian Cookery Book</a>, written by Tasmanian politician Edward Abbott and published in 1864. </p>
<p>In a section dedicated to game meats, Abbott featured recipes for kangaroo, emu, wombat and other native fauna. There were a number of recipes for “kangaroo steamer”, a dish that had been popular for at least almost half a century across the colonies. </p>
<p>Kangaroo steamer was a colonial adaptation of the traditional British dish of jugged hare and involved slowly cooking kangaroo meat with bacon and other seasonings. The dish would be cooked in a glass jar or earthenware vessel and sealed so it could be stored for an extended period. </p>
<h2>Engaging with Indigenous food methods</h2>
<p>One of the few cookbook writers to fully engage with Aboriginal people and their food methods was Wilhelmina Rawson. Born in Sydney, Rawson spent long portions of her life in northern and central Queensland. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=935&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=935&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=935&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1175&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1175&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/154011/original/image-20170124-8078-7gzkrq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1175&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">State Library of NSW</span></span>
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<p>It was here that she began gathering the recipes that would appear in her first cookbook, <a href="http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/12443697">Mrs Lance Rawson’s cookery book and household hints</a>, first published in 1878. </p>
<p>This book holds the distinction of being the first cookbook written by a woman in Australia. From the outset, Rawson noted the abundance of edible native ingredients that her readers could rely on such as kangaroos, bush turkeys and bandicoots. She urged her readers not to think of these foods as ingredients of last resort but rather, to consider them as a “sumptuous repast” not far from their kitchen. </p>
<p>Rawson’s adventurous palate extended beyond fauna and included such things as wild mushrooms and the young shoots of the rough leaved, fig tree which had been pointed out to her by Aboriginal informants. </p>
<p>In her 1895 book <a href="http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/8480899?">The Antipodean Cookery Book</a>, Rawson noted that “I am beholden to the blacks for nearly all my knowledge of the edible ground game” and that “whatever the blacks eat the whites may safely try”.</p>
<p>Rawson’s relationship with Aboriginal people was complex and nuanced. Demonstrating an understanding of the dispossession of land occurring in Queensland at the time, she wrote sympathetically of</p>
<blockquote>
<p>The lessons white men should learn from the blacks before the work of extermination which is so rapidly going on has swept all the blacks who possess this wonderful bush lore off the face of the earth. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Here she was voicing common sentiments about the predicted demise of the Aboriginal race. Rawson’s long periods of living in remote rural locations throughout Queensland had most likely placed her in closer contact with Aboriginal people than cookbook writers who lived in towns or cities.</p>
<p>British settlers, especially those living away from metropolitan centres, consumed native ingredients both out of choice and out of necessity for most of the 19th century. </p>
<p>However, this consumption was mediated by deeply held cultural prejudices. The transformation of native ingredients into recognisable British dishes can be regarded as part of the broader colonising process taking place.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/59977/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Blake Singley does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The first European settlers in Australia used a dizzying array of flora and fauna in their kitchens – but they cooked them in a traditional British style.Blake Singley, Curator, Australian National UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/657342017-01-03T20:13:58Z2017-01-03T20:13:58ZKitchen ink: foodies, chefs and tattoos<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151159/original/image-20161221-14183-1h4uwfn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Food tattoos run the gamut of knuckle tattoos to cake mixers. </span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/clango/2208819528/">Peter Woodman/Flickr</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>A foodie, according to <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2007/jun/14/whatisafoodie">Ann Barr and Paul Levy</a>, is “a person who is very, very, very interested in food”. </p>
<p>Cultural scholars Josée Johnston and Shyon Baumann have somewhat expanded this definition, recently describing foodies as individuals with very specific traits.
Foodies are eager to learn about ingredients and cooking techniques; they crave unusual foods; and they make food an essential marker of social distinction and cultural identity. They do so by ascribing aesthetic attributes to food. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151136/original/image-20161221-13147-1m4vzz9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Food Network</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Not surprisingly, many foodies are keen to etch food-related tattoos on their skin, celebrating food’s artistic features rather than its nutritional/functional attributes. In this way foodies contribute to the fetishisation of food, making it an icon of consumer culture and a matter of taste and style. </p>
<p>In March 2016 McCrindle Research surveyed 1,011 Australians nationwide and found that <a href="http://mccrindle.com.au/the-mccrindle-blog/tattoos-in-australia">one in five individuals have one or more tattoos</a> (which rises to one in four among women). As tattoos become well and truly mainstream, the phenomenon of foodie tattoos has become more visible. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=675&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=675&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=675&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=848&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=848&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/151132/original/image-20161221-13147-znmtr2.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=848&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Kitchen utensils are popular tattoos.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Instagram</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Food tattoos have a <a href="https://www.flickr.com/groups/foodtatts/pool/">wide range of manifestations</a>. The most common are vegetables and fruits, which are usually meticulously crafted. From aubergines, to strawberries, pineapples, carrots, peas, bananas, corn and asparagus, food tattoos are typically inscribed with vibrant colours and sophisticated detail, representing highly refined still-lives imprinted on human canvas. </p>
<p>Foodies highlight niche tastes with tattoos of cheese, ice-cream and small cakes, particularly cupcakes. Some pick tattoos of kitchen utensils. The knife is the single most common tattoo although whisks, spoons and forks, and even bulkier utensils such as free-stand and hand-held cake mixers, also appear.</p>
<p>While foodies use their body as a human canvas to glamorise food, chefs have long used tattoos for different purposes: as markers of nonconformity, self-promotion or resiliance in a notoriously tough industry. A recent publication, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28260469-knives-ink">Knives & Ink</a>, explores this connection. The book features over 60 exquisite drawings of chef’s tattoos, accompanied by the story of each design.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=793&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=793&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=793&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=997&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=997&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150929/original/image-20161220-26738-d4mx1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=997&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Catherine Doyle in Knives & Ink. Click to enlarge.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bloomsbury</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>While some have chosen more traditional forms of calligraphy, others have proudly exhibited their star sign, favourite animals or signature dishes as a certification of trade expertise. Female chefs have also taken to tattooing with gusto. </p>
<p>Acknowledging that tattoos connote toughness and resilience (essential attributes in any woman working in a male-dominated industry), female chefs also confess using them to represent femininity and to replace the jewellery that chefs aren’t allowed to wear in the kitchen. Tattoos have become the trademark many chefs proudly exhibit to promote their self-image and their food.</p>
<p>Much of this has been written about before. However, Knives & Ink adds detailed chefs’ testimonials, some of which are poignant accounts of love, commitment, joy and pain. </p>
<p>One of the most common narratives is the thoughtfulness that precedes the selection of a tattoo, as each image has been seriously considered and deliberated upon. Typically, tattooing is a “work in progress”. Most tattooees have multiple tattoos, each representing a character or a story in an evolving history.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150926/original/image-20161220-26718-1acjth2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Text and images taken from Knives & Ink. Click to enlarge.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bloomsbury</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>They can range from a homage to a relevant person in the chef’s life; to a token of friendship and love; from a visual depiction of a place, food or animal; to a foundational cookery motto. Joe Tomaszak, for example, has <em>mise en place</em> tattooed on his neck, a French phrase meaning “everything in its place”. Another chef has “quality over quantity”. </p>
<p>In any case, chefs are using ink as a signifier that permanently seals a commitment to something or someone with profound personal meaning.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=808&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=808&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=808&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1015&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1015&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/150931/original/image-20161220-26712-1io5kcb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1015&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Danny Bowien in Knives & Ink.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bloomsbury</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Despite increasing acceptance, tattoos still represent a certain degree of unruliness. It’s this nonconformity that attracts many chefs, which they use to unconventionally herald personal values they hold close to their heart. Kitchen ink has come to represent social agency, rebellion, innovation, and artistic endeavour.</p>
<p>Inked chefs embody creativity; their tattooed bodies have become normalised and aspirational. Anthony Bourdain has matching knives-with-blood tattoos with his wife Ottavia Busia, and pastry chef Adriano Zumbo tattoos include Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka, who gave him “<a href="http://www.smh.com.au/photogallery/entertainment/restaurants-and-bars/chefs-ink-20120511-1yhcd.html">the dream</a>”. </p>
<p>Tattoos have become a cultural marker of individuality that re-asserts control over one’s body. Simply put, tattoos are one of the building blocks of what is described as a “project of self”. </p>
<p>Tattoos have become part of mainstream culture because two competing conditions have been met: the shedding of stigma, and the gaining on an added veneer of glamour and cultural acceptability. </p>
<p>Chefs’ stardom has been a powerful tool to facilitate this process – it has normalised body artwork, rubberstamped tattoos with social and cultural capital and given chefs’ food the fetish symbolism already imprinted on their celebrity bodies. No wonder other groups of food-lovers have also become keen tattooees.</p>
<p><br></p>
<hr>
<p><em><a href="http://www.booktopia.com.au/knives-ink-isaac-fitzgerald/prod9781632861214.html">Knives & Ink: Chefs and the Stories Behind Their Tattoos</a> by Isaac Fitzgerald and Wendy MacNaughton is published in Australia by Bloomsbury and is available now.</em></p>
<p><br></p>
<p><em>This article is part of ongoing series on food and culture, <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/tastes-of-a-nation-27471">Tastes of a Nation</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/65734/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Paula Arvela does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>From images of knives to cupcakes, foodies are increasingly etching their identity on their skin. And for chefs, tattoos are markers of non-conformity, self promotion and resilience, as a new book testifies.Paula Arvela, Honorary Post-Doctoral Research Associate, University of WollongongLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/599082016-09-08T06:51:45Z2016-09-08T06:51:45ZThe limit of labels: ethical food is more than consumer choice<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136977/original/image-20160908-25266-c5yxk8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Is 'voting with your wallet' an ethico-political act or an illusion?</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Over the past hundred years, industrial agriculture and the globalised food system have produced cheaper, longer lasting and more diverse food items. We can now enjoy tropical fruits in winter, purchase whole chickens at the price of a cup of coffee, and eat fresh bread long after it was baked.</p>
<p>Once celebrated as the benevolent results of food science and ingenuity of farmers, these cheap and safe foods are dismissed by critics as the tainted fruits of “Big Food” – the culinary version of Big Tobacco and Big Oil. </p>
<p>Food is no longer simply a matter of taste or convenience. Our food choices have become ethical and political issues. </p>
<p>An innocuous but central strategy in these debates is the food label.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=902&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=902&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=902&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1133&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1133&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136976/original/image-20160907-25253-ugm53k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1133&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">No Logo by Naomi Klein.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Picador</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In recent years there has been an explosion of <a href="https://www.academia.edu/2005503/Ethics_of_Food_-_Annotated_Bibliography">ethico-political food labels</a> to address concerns such as slavery, nutrition, environmental degradation, fair trade and animal cruelty. These disparate concerns are unified by their connection to the amorphous culprit “Big Food”.</p>
<p>The idea is that by knowing what is in our food and how it was produced, we will reject unethical food corporations, buy from ethical producers and thereby promote justice. </p>
<p>But is this necessarily so?</p>
<p>The power of truth to awaken the slumbering consumer giant has been in place since at least the mid-1990s. In the introduction to her landmark book, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/647.No_Logo">No Logo</a> (1999), Naomi Klein outlines her hypothesis:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>that as more people discover the brand-name secrets of the global logo web, their outrage will fuel the next big political movement, a vast wave of opposition squarely targeting transnational corporation, particularly those with very high name-brand recognition.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>According to Klein, when the veil is removed and people discover the “secrets” behind their consumer products, an outrage will be unleashed that will transform the global web of capital.</p>
<p>We see this logic in <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/religion/articles/2016/06/02/4474344.htm">calls for food labels</a> to reveal unethical food production practices of Big Food. By giving consumers more information, it is believed they will use their buying power to force change. Perhaps.</p>
<h2>Limits of ethico-political consumption</h2>
<p>First, a danger of ethico-political consumption is that citizens are transformed into consumers, and political action is reduced to shopping. Rather than holding companies and governments to account for unethical practice, it becomes a matter of consumer choice.</p>
<p>For example, most of us would consider a proposal to use consumer choice as a way of resolving slavery in the American cotton industry during the 19th century to be a perverse idea. Slavery, we like to believe, should be outlawed. It is not an issue to be solved through consumer preference. Yet today we find ourselves in a <a href="http://www.alternet.org/civil-liberties/there-are-more-slaves-today-any-time-human-history">situation</a> where we are trying to solve issues of <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/4corners/stories/2015/05/04/4227055.htm">slavery</a> and <a href="http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/foreign-affairs/mafia-uses-slave-labour-for-tinned-tomatoes-dumped-in-australia/news-story/b79f9796a3b4dbded54b7469a3d865d4">exploitation</a> through consumer choice.</p>
<p>Today, 45.8 million people are living in slavery. According to the <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/business/workplace-relations/andrew-forrest-puts-worlds-richest-countries-on-notice-global-slavery-index-20160526-gp4dlg.html?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=nc&eid=socialn%3Atwi-13omn1677-edtrl-other%3Annn-17%2F02%2F2014-edtrs_socialshare-all-nnn-nnn-vars-o%26sa%3DD%26usg%3DALhdy28zsr6qiq">Global Slavery Index</a>, 4,300 are working in Australian food production or sex industries. Many more work in the global food system, of which Australia is a part. </p>
<p>As Nicola Frith has previously argued in The Conversation, the slavery used in the global food system that supplies prawns to UK and US supermarkets <a href="https://theconversation.com/slavery-is-a-crime-it-shouldnt-be-up-to-consumers-to-fight-it-28347">should not be considered an issue of consumer choice but a crime.</a> </p>
<p>A second problem with ethico-political consumption is that the consumer response is susceptible to co-option by the very corporations that are being protested. Due to the vast array of products sold by trans-national corporations, it is possible for corporations to maintain highly profitable but “unethical” products, along with less profitable but “ethical” products.</p>
<p>For example, Pace Farm is one of the largest producers of cage-eggs in Australia, yet they also sell <a href="http://www.pacefarm.com/index.php/our-products/fresh-eggs">free-range eggs</a>. They also have <a href="http://guide.ethical.org.au/guide/browse/guide/?type=25">other brands</a> that are not obviously associated with Pace Farm, like <a href="http://www.familyvaluefreerangeeggs.com.au/">Family Value</a>. </p>
<p>In 2013, Oxfam launched <a href="http://www.behindthebrands.org/en-us/about">Behind the Brands</a>. This campaign draws attention to the influence of multinational food corporations on the global food system and negative impacts on women, workers, farmers, land, water and climate. Although the campaign uses a variety of strategies to critique these corporations, much of the focus falls on consumers. </p>
<p>A popular image associated with the campaign shows the way hundreds of popular food brands are actually owned by ten corporations. It’s worth noting this chart is several years old and some of the listed brands have changed hands, but its point remains. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=497&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=497&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/132278/original/image-20160728-21591-35froi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=497&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The illusion of choice. CLICK TO ENLARGE.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Oxfam/Behind the Brand</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The image has been repeatedly shared on social media and is commonly accompanied with the text “the illusion of choice”. However, clearly there is choice here – there are hundreds of brands, each with thousands of products. Of course, the sentiment of the “illusion of choice” statement isn’t simply that we have only a single choice of soft drink or cereal, but that all choices lead to one of ten transnational corporations.</p>
<p>The more troubling illusion, however, is not that the thousands of products lining the supermarket shelves are owned by ten corporations, but that political consumption – the proverbial “voting with your wallet” – is illusory.</p>
<p>The illusion of consumer food choice as an ethico-political act is not the pernicious creation of food corporations, but co-creation of public health experts, consumer advocates, governments, food ethicists and a host of others.</p>
<p>Even if these labels serve to disrupt corporate brands, they also trap individuals into responsibility for systemic and global issues, such as public health, global poverty, animal welfare or fair working conditions. This isn’t to say we are absolved, but the idea that more consumption will solve the problems of consumption is self-defeating.</p>
<p>Using labels or apps to draw attention to the political and ethical features of consumer choice is a fine objective, but largely symbolic. If certain activities of food corporations and the global food system are considered unethical, then a plurality of approaches is needed – one of which needs to be international and domestic legislation. </p>
<p>As the American economist <a href="https://books.google.com.au/books/about/Supercapitalism.html?id=IPmWgoKQTgUC">Robert Reich</a> argues, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Companies are not interested in the public good. It is not their responsibility to be good…if we want them to play differently, we have to change the rules.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>For the past decade, there has been an over-reliance on self-regulation and naïve expectations about corporate social responsibility. This needs to change, and not by simply adding a new label to our food.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/59908/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Christopher Mayes does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Food labels aren’t just nutritional information anymore: they’re moral statements about everything from fair trade to palm oil. But let’s not confuse shopping with effective political action.Christopher Mayes, Post-Doctoral Fellow in Bioethics, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/624242016-07-21T04:49:28Z2016-07-21T04:49:28ZSmoothies as talismans: the allure of superfoods and the dangers of nutritional primitivism<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131353/original/image-20160721-8628-btizvg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Superfoods are everywhere these days. Once found only in niche health food shops, displays of “exotic” superfoods like açai from the Brazilian Amazon and maca from the Peruvian Andes now appear in supermarket chains, chemists, and convenience stores. </p>
<p>One can hardly open a newspaper or magazine without coming across a list of the <a href="http://www.vogue.com.au/beauty/wellbeing/over+kaler+here+are+the+new+superfoods+of+2015,34855">top</a> superfoods <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/diet-and-fitness/top-10-superfoods-20091007-gmdq.html">you</a> <a href="http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/shopping-storing/food/superfoods">should</a> <a href="http://www.marieclaire.co.uk/health/best/6655/12/superfoods-here-are-the-ones-you-should-be-eating.html">be</a> <a href="http://www.doctoroz.com/slideshow/dr-ozs-10-favorite-superfoods">eating</a>, or an article <a href="https://theconversation.com/superfoods-not-so-super-after-all-14029">debunking</a> the entire premise of them.</p>
<p>New superfoods keep coming, too. The latest product, Australian native “bio-food” <a href="http://loreaustralia.com/">Gurạdji</a> (ger-ra-je), is promoted as “anti-inflammatory, anti-cancer, and beneficial to gut health”, while simultaneously being an “undiscovered” superfood used for “thousands of years”.</p>
<p>But what are superfoods, and why do so many Australians find them to be both seductive and confusing? The word itself is the creation of marketing, but their history and popular appeal are more than superficial.</p>
<p>We can study superfoods in two ways: firstly, as a popular way of thinking and talking about food, health, and values; and secondly, as a particular group of food products produced by real people in a global food economy.</p>
<h2>Seductive and medicinal</h2>
<p>In Australia, consumers are drawn to superfoods because they are positioned between food and medicine. Through focus group interviews with superfoods consumers, I’ve found that this in-between quality is part of what makes superfoods so alluring – “a bit seductive” as one participant put it – and also so confusing, because how much or how often to consume them, and precisely what benefits they offer, are often unclear.</p>
<p>Participants in the study rarely spoke about the taste of superfoods – they focussed more on health benefits. So it’s not surprising that superfoods are most frequently consumed in smoothies, where they are blended together into a meal that’s also a multivitamin and preventative medicine. This smoothie becomes a talismanic object that’s seen as providing protection from many of the health threats of the modern world.</p>
<p>These findings underscore <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purity_and_Danger">classic anthropological observations</a> about the power of ambiguous objects. They help us to understand why certain foods carry more cultural appeal than others.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=416&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=416&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=416&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=523&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=523&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131354/original/image-20160721-8616-sd7o3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=523&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But superfood consumers are not as naïve as one might think. Most express scepticism towards superfood health claims and recognise that they are being sold a romantic image. However, they are happy to succumb to a bit of <a href="http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/superstitions-can-make-you/">magical thinking</a> and eat superfoods as a sort of extra insurance, because they believe that they might help and probably can’t hurt.</p>
<p>This attitude might not be a big concern for those who choose to buy superfoods. But the focus on individual foods and nutrients might distract from major public health messages of eating a <a href="https://www.deakin.edu.au/news/latest-media-releases/2015-media-releases-archives/from-superfoods-to-super-diets-top-10-foods-for-a-healthy-diet">balanced diet</a>, and downplay the impact of increased demand for “exotic” superfoods on <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/life/food/2013/01/quinoa_bad_for_bolivian_and_peruvian_farmers_ignore_the_media_hand_wringing.html">producers in the global south</a>.</p>
<h2>The lure of ‘all-natural’</h2>
<p>Many of us are living, arguably, in an era of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17070538-nutritionism">functional nutritionism</a>. In wealthy countries like Australia, we’ve largely solved the public health problems of malnutrition. Most research and dietary advice focusses on eating the “right” nutrients and foods to maximise health and prevent chronic disease.</p>
<p>One outcome of this focus is the rise of “<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/health/features/stories/2009/06/17/2601507.htm">functional foods</a>” designed to offer extra nutritional value: vitamin-D fortified orange juice, omega-3 enriched eggs, or cholesterol-lowering margarines, for example.</p>
<p>Many people accept the idea that if we consume large quantities of the right nutrients we can be extra healthy, but reject “functional foods”. They want all those nutrients, but they don’t want to eat highly formulated and often heavily processed foods.</p>
<p>This is where superfoods come into the picture. They embrace the premise of functional nutritionism, and flaunt their high levels of vitamins, antioxidants, and other nutrients. But they insist these nutrients are better when they come in a more natural form. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/131355/original/image-20160721-8631-19rk1gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">WILLIAM ISMAEL</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Nutritional primitivism</h2>
<p>For many of the more exotic superfoods, like quinoa, chia seed, and açai, associations with “ancient” or “indigenous” traditions are another major selling point.</p>
<p>For example, chia, a seed native to Mesoamerica, is often called the “superfood of the Aztecs”, while the Peruvian root maca is frequently marketed as the “Inca superfood.”</p>
<p>The assumption that a food or diet is healthier because it is more natural, authentic, and ancient is widespread in contemporary food and nutrition culture: Paleolithic and low-carbohydrate diets are two popular examples. </p>
<p>Food culture researcher Dr Christine Knight has called this trend <a href="http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/15528014.2015.1043107">nutritional primitivism</a>: the tendency to romanticise ancient or indigenous food practices as being inherently healthier because they are supposedly simpler and more in touch with nature.</p>
<h2>Superfoods as global food products</h2>
<p>Representing superfoods as “exotic” and “primitive” can have consequences for producers in the global south. By depicting superfood production in primitive utopias, the real lives – and real <a href="http://aciar.gov.au/aifsc/food-security-and-why-it-matters">food security</a> and <a href="http://viacampesina.org/en/index.php/organisation-mainmenu-44">food sovereignty</a> struggles – of these populations are erased in favour of more romantic images.</p>
<p>For example, the packaging of popular Australian superfood brand <a href="http://www.powersuperfoods.com.au/">Power Super Foods</a> features illustrations of indigenous-looking women happily harvesting products by hand in pristine surroundings.</p>
<p>In reality, most superfoods are grown using modern agriculture, with machinery such as tractors and dehydrators. The people who produce superfoods face the same real problems as farmers anywhere, like climate variation and fluctuating prices. But often their struggles are even harder as they have <a href="https://ccafs.cgiar.org/blog/why-perus-highland-needs-gender-responsive-mitigation-policies#.V4RDXuZ95E5">less political and economic power</a>.</p>
<p>All of this doesn’t mean that superfoods aren’t healthy or good for you. But we should be aware that superfoods are a symptom of nutritional confusion and an often-exploitative global food system, not a cure.</p>
<p><br></p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is the fourth article in our ongoing series on food and culture Tastes of a Nation. You can read previous instalments <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/tastes-of-a-nation">here</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/62424/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jessica Loyer received funding for this research from the Australian Federation of University Women South Australia, Doreen McCarthy Bursary, and from an Australian Postgraduate Award.</span></em></p>Chia, acai, quinoa, guradji - our supermarket shelves are awash with superfoods. They may well be healthy but in attributing magical qualities to these products are we glossing over an often-exploitative global food system?Jessica Loyer, PhD Candidate in Humanities, University of AdelaideLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/595812016-06-01T20:16:09Z2016-06-01T20:16:09ZTastes like moral superiority: what makes food ‘good’?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/124753/original/image-20160601-1925-d7v6ex.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">We talk about food with moralising – and judgemental – language. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Food choice has become a moral morass. Discussions about food production and consumption are increasingly loaded with moral language. We’ve witnessed burgeoning debates over which agricultural practices and foodstuffs are “sustainable”, what counts as “clean” or “green” living and eating, and who is “responsible” for obesity, to name just a few. </p>
<p>Consumers are increasingly encouraged to seek out a range of ethical foodstuffs, which variously include: local, made in Australia, seasonal, non-genetically modified, humanely-produced, free range, organic, palm oil free, and fair trade.</p>
<p>There’s also increasing emphasis on reducing meat consumption, or even finding substitutes for all types of animal products. </p>
<p>Our research on food values has shown that consumers are increasingly confused by the multitude of food choices available to them. People feel pushed by labelling or peers to buy products when they feel they have inadequate information, or which fail to fulfil certain values. </p>
<p>We’re bombarded with messages about what makes food “good” and “bad”. These categories can tend to reinforce other social distinctions, like race, class, and education level. </p>
<h2>Information overload</h2>
<p>Our qualitative research as part of a broader <a href="https://arts.adelaide.edu.au/history/food-values/">food ethics project</a> has shown that parents in particular are increasingly overwhelmed by pressure to eat “ethically”, and feel judged. </p>
<p>They ask how they possibly can do the “right” thing on a restricted budget and in extremely limited time: not everyone can grow vegetables and fruit or raise their own chooks, only shop at expensive farmers’ markets, or go to many outlets in order to buy only “ethical” products.</p>
<p>The sheer amount of information available can cause paralysis. As one participant noted, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>There’s a lot of people who point out different things about, you shouldn’t buy this, you shouldn’t buy that, but then you can’t keep up with what’s good for what and what’s bad for what. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>As another said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It gets to the point where it’s just too hard, you just buy it, and you turn into a creature of habit … I just can’t find myself analysing all this stuff. I just want a couple of steaks and you give up, it’s just too much information.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Religious ideas about ‘good’ food</h2>
<p>Using moral language in reference to food is not a new phenomenon: nearly every religion has certain food prohibitions. Pork is forbidden in Judaism and Islam and Catholicism bans meat on certain days; the Bible specifically cautions us against gluttony. </p>
<p>Even with declines in organised religion in some Western countries, these distinctions are deeply ingrained in our culture. As with many religious and cultural traditions, what’s improper or forbidden often creates a separation between members and non-members of a group.</p>
<p>Identity claims associated with various contemporary food categories can serve a similar purpose. Consider not only vegetarian, vegan, and other more established labels, but also newer categories such as locavore, freegan, <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/australia/7222088/Kangatarians-emerge-in-Australia.html">kangatarian</a> (eating vegetables and kangaroo meat only), and <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2013/jan/21/flexitarianism-vegetarianism-with-cheating">flexitarian</a> (eating mostly vegetarian with occasional meat). </p>
<p>Attaching moralising labels to our food such as “good” and “bad”, and to ourselves as eaters can create troubling binary categories. </p>
<h2>Expensive, ‘exotic’, and unclear</h2>
<p>Food labelling also can bewilder consumers as much as inform them. Labels provide nutrition, provenance, and safety information (for example, “best by” dates and allergen warnings); serve as advertisements; and increasingly include information about ethical issues such as production methods and animal welfare.</p>
<p>The new Australian code for <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-03-31/free-range-egg-definition-chickens-welcomed/7286772">free range egg labelling standards</a> created as much confusion as clarity. While transparency in labelling has been welcomed, many producers and consumer organisations claim that the maximum stocking density is far too high and eggs from hens that never actually go outside could be called “free range”. They emphasise that <a href="http://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2016/03/31/consumers-urged-boycott-19-egg-brands-after-free-range-definition-announced">consumers should boycott what they call “bad eggs”</a>, perhaps in an intentional contrast to what some companies label as “happy eggs”.</p>
<p>“Superfoods” can be confusing too. Rhetoric and marketing emphasises various health claims, but also exoticises their origins, no doubt in part to rationalise their relatively high cost. </p>
<figure>
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</figure>
<p>Emphasising less familiar and often more expensive ingredients in the context of dietary advice can foster an elitist message, and even fuel food anxieties. </p>
<p>In similar ways, our snobbery toward frozen and processed foods may well be blinding us to their potential advantages. Depending on issues like season and storage and transport methods, some frozen foods might in fact be more nutritious (as well as more convenient) than their fresh counterparts. </p>
<p>As the food historian Rachel Laudan argues, <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9HbgKDkUrDEM2NjOThkZjAtYTUyNS00NDYxLWI0NDMtMDUwYzcwODQyOWY1/view?ddrp=1&authkey=CP2XufED&hl=en&pli=1">processed and industrialised foods are not automatically bad</a>, although quality matters: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>If we unthinkingly assume that good food maps neatly onto old or slow or homemade food…we miss the fact that lots of industrial foodstuffs are better.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>We think in black and white</h2>
<p>Humans love to divide things into categories and attach labels: this tendency allows to us organise often overwhelmingly complicated amounts of information and develop shortcuts. </p>
<p>However when we divide humans into categories, it’s usually in terms of self/other or us/them. The language associated with food can do the same.</p>
<p>Critics of this moralising language have proposed using phrases like “growing foods” versus “fun foods”. They’re much less grounded in concepts of right and wrong, or good and bad, and emphasise a healthier relationship with food.</p>
<p>We may wish to make particular food choices for ourselves and our families because of deeply held values associated with supporting our local economy, trying not to damage the environment, not contributing through our choices to cruelty to non-human animals or promoting unfair or unhealthy working conditions. </p>
<p>But not everyone has the same values or interprets them in the same way. Nor do we weight them identically: choosing food reflects a complex calculus and there are few simple decisions. </p>
<p>Let’s eliminate judgemental language from our conversations about food policy, but most importantly, let’s stop bringing it to the kitchen table.</p>
<p><br></p>
<hr>
<p><em>Rachel will be online for an Author Q&A between 3:30 and 4:30pm AEST on Thursday June 2, 2016. Post any questions you have in the comments below.</em></p>
<p><em>This is the fifth article in our ongoing series on food and culture Tastes of a Nation. You can read previous instalments <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/tastes-of-a-nation">here</a>.</em></p>
<p><em>Do you have a story idea for this series? If so, please contact <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/team">Madeleine De Gabriele</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/59581/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rachel A. Ankeny receives funding from the Australian Research Council for projects relating to food ethics.</span></em></p>Locavore, freegan, kangatarian, flexitarian … what we eat has become a moral minefield. Religions have long enforced food-related prohibitions, but in a secular context we could do with a little less moralising at the kitchen table.Rachel A. Ankeny, Professor of History, University of AdelaideLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/539782016-05-26T05:30:48Z2016-05-26T05:30:48ZDude food vs superfood: we’re cultural omnivores<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/124059/original/image-20160526-17530-z9ng6y.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mike Segar/AAP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Australia appears to be simultaneously embracing very contradictory food trends. We lick our fingers after an all-American feast of gourmet burgers, freakshakes, doughnuts and ribs, but repent for our sins with a kale smoothie and a cauliflower-base pizza.</p>
<p>Early in 2016, In-N-Out’s Sydney popup store prompted six-hour lines and <a href="http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/food/restaurants-bars/how-sydneys-fell-for-innout-burgers-popup-marketing-stunt/news-story/5b250fd0f42bd2fcd22d0272c5937d50">sarcastic editorials</a>. A month later, another burger chain from the United States, Carl’s Jr, <a href="http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/food/restaurants-bars/carls-jr-burger-restaurant-to-open-in-bateau-bay-on-nsw-central-coast/news-story/f52fddb07f465d255591ec6657ab65ae">opened on the New South Wales Central Coast</a>. Gourmet doughnut chain Doughnut Time opened to long lines in Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley last year and has since opened more stores in Queensland, as well as in New South Wales and Victoria. And Canberra café Pâtissez is largely credited with the <a href="http://www.canberratimes.com.au/act-news/canberra-life/canberras-freakshake-phenomenon-five-reasons-these-shakes-have-taken-off-20150713-giblqc.html">emergence of the freakshake</a> in Australia. </p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"620662614041866240"}"></div></p>
<p>Meanwhile outlets that focus on organics, raw and health food are becoming more popular. In my hometown Brisbane, places like <a href="http://primalpantry.com.au/">Primal Pantry</a> and <a href="http://cocobliss.com.au/">Coco Bliss</a> are popular in the inner-city and fringe areas, but the reach of these foods extends to the outer suburbs and beyond.</p>
<p>Every major city and town in Australia – and a growing number of regional centres – can boast its own health-conscious, superfood-serving eateries. So how then do we reconcile the fact that there are currently two very different versions of what is “good” and “popular” fare? I argue that our fondness of both indulgent and healthy fare is based upon the <em>same</em> values: we’re cultural omnivores.</p>
<p>Network Ten’s cooking program, <a href="http://www.goodchefbadchef.com.au/">Good Chef Bad Chef</a> sets these polar-opposite values alongside one another as chef Adrian Richardson and chef/nutritionist Zoe Bingley-Pullen cook together and playfully bicker about whether taste and indulgence, or nutritionally-rich and fresh dishes are better.</p>
<p>Although worlds apart, it appears that both of these trends are borne out of the same disdain for fast and processed foods that has become more pervasive in recent years. </p>
<h2>The failure of fast food</h2>
<p>McDonald’s in the United States had seen a downturn in profits as the fast-casual dining trend becomes ascendant.</p>
<p><a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/greatspeculations/2014/06/23/how-the-fast-casual-segment-is-gaining-market-share-in-the-restaurant-industry/#1750439d1d48">Fast-casual</a> dining refers to a style of eatery that is positioned between fast food and casual dining where customers receive a better product than a fast food offering, but with fast food’s pared-back service style and lower price point. </p>
<p>In the United States, restaurants in this category include Chipotle and Shake Shack. Australian equivalents include burger chain <a href="http://www.grilld.com.au/">Grill’d</a> and <a href="https://www.guzmanygomez.com/">Guzman y Gomez</a> taquería outlets.</p>
<p>In Australia, the Golden Arches appears to have better responded to the increased desire for gourmet offerings with its M Selections menu, and more recently its <a href="http://www.lifehacker.com.au/2014/10/taste-test-we-try-mcdonalds-deluxe-build-your-own-burger/">Create Your Taste</a> custom burgers. </p>
<p>It was <a href="http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/brisbane-finedining-restaurants-close-as-glut-of-trendy-midrange-shyvenues-flood-brisbane/news-story/76ea0ba5c33718f74c8cc0d36512ae7c">reported</a> in Brisbane last year that a growing penchant for “trendy, mid-range venues” and a “glut” of these in the city was contributing to the closure of fine-dining restaurants.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/124082/original/image-20160526-16688-z6sriv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Robert Gourley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Cultural omnivores</h2>
<p>While in the most literal terms, to be an omnivore means to consume both plants animal products, cultural omnivorousness means that a person of a higher socio-economic status or class appreciates highbrow (elite) culture, as well as trends, genres and artefacts that are considered lowbrow (exotic or otherwise marginal), or middlebrow (mainstream).</p>
<p>Academics Richard Peterson and Roger Kern reported on this phenomenon in relation to <a href="http://www.jstor.org/stable/2096460?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">music tastes in the mid-1990s</a>, while Bryan Turner and June Edmunds published evidence of omnivorousness among Australia’s post-war elite across <a href="http://joc.sagepub.com/content/2/2/219.abstract">literature, music, movies, and cultural activities in the early 2000s</a>.</p>
<p>More recently, Josée Johnston and Shyon Baumann have explored the emergence of omnivorousness values among foodies in the United States. In the culinary world, foodies are considered (sometimes with disdain) as a culturally elite group.</p>
<p>In their book <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2706501-foodies">Foodies: Democracy and Distinction in the Gourmet Foodscape</a> (2009), Johnston and Baumann explain and analyse how and why foodies are increasingly drawn to what could be considered lowbrow food culture, like hole-in-the-wall ethnic eateries and farmers’ markets.</p>
<p>The attributes that omnivorous foodies look for in lowbrow cuisine are “quality, rarity, locality, organic, hand-made, creativity, and simplicity.”</p>
<p>Therefore, a freakshake and a green smoothie can both be valued in the eyes of foodies as they are hand-made, creative (in the case of the freakshake), and organic as well as simple (the green smoothie). </p>
<p>Why omnivorousness tastes have become pervasive is in-part a matter of food and class politics. The culinary elite are keen to shrug-off the “food snob” tag, showing that they appreciate inexpensive foods that are in some cases ethnic, but authentically so. </p>
<p>This can be seen in the case of <a href="http://www.goodfood.com.au/good-food/eat-out/restaurant-review-tim-ho-wan-worlds-cheapest-michelinstarred-restaurant-lands-in-chatswood-20150402-1mbvln.html">Tim Ho Wan</a>, dubbed the “world’s cheapest Michelin-starred restaurant.” It is also embodied in sites like Brisbane’s <a href="http://www.eatstreetmarkets.com/">Eat Street Markets</a>.</p>
<p>Locating and dining in local, ethnic eateries becomes a source of distinction for foodies, as these can be difficult to seek out. This fulfils the rarity and locality sought by culinary omnivores.</p>
<p>In terms of dude food, items like milkshakes, burgers, hotdogs and pizzas have been appropriated by foodies showing an appreciation of mainstream fare, albeit with a gourmet twist.</p>
<p>Foodies however still look poorly upon middlebrow food culture such as supermarkets and traditional McDonald’s-style fast food. This omnivorousness exposes inequalities in the food landscape – and it goes some way in explaining how dude food and superfoods can both enjoy immense popularity at the same time.</p>
<p><br></p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is the fourth article in our ongoing series on food and culture Tastes of a Nation. You can read previous instalments <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/tastes-of-a-nation">here</a>.</em></p>
<p><em>Do you have a story idea for this series? If so, please contact <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/team">Madeleine De Gabriele</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/53978/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Katherine Kirkwood does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Two very popular – and seemingly contradictory – food trends are gripping Australia at the same time. Ultra healthy and extravagantly indulgent eateries are actually fulfilling the same elite-driven desire for food that’s creative, hand-made and rare.Katherine Kirkwood, PhD Candidate, Queensland University of TechnologyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/550142016-05-23T19:35:56Z2016-05-23T19:35:56Z‘Mummy, where does steak come from?’ How Australian families talk about meat<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123688/original/image-20160524-11017-li8y8h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">How many Australian children know what meat is before it shows up on their plate? </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Australia is a nation of meat-eaters. Our identities are deeply tied to our pastoral history: we have the <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/national/health/australia-is-the-meateating-capital-of-the-world-20151027-gkjhp4.html">highest rates of meat consumption in the world</a>. But with increasing urbanisation, Australians are becoming more disconnected from how their food, including meat, is produced.</p>
<p>A survey undertaken for the <a href="http://www.piefa.edu.au/resources/reports/foodfibrefuture.pdf">Primary Industries Education Foundation of Australia</a> reported that 75% of year six children thought cotton socks were an animal product. Although there are programs to teach children <a href="https://www.kitchengardenfoundation.org.au/">how vegetables grow</a>, there aren’t too many (at least at primary school level) that involve raising an animal for food.</p>
<p>Our <a href="https://arts.adelaide.edu.au/history/food-values/">research group</a> has been investigating a range of questions related to Australians’ understandings of “ethical” food, including community attitudes to farm animal welfare. We wondered how children learned where meat came from, and whether parents felt comfortable having this discussion with them. </p>
<p>In many settings in Australia, discussion of slaughter is taboo, with the exception of families that engage in farming or hunting. In many other cultural contexts, such as in Asia and the Middle East, slaughter is more visible. It is part of everyday life and <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/middleeast/10382365/What-is-Eid-al-Adha.html">major religious festivals</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123690/original/image-20160524-10986-neawx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
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<p>Our research, <a href="http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0195666316300289">recently published in the journal Appetite</a>, involved a survey of 225 primary carers of children from households where meat was consumed. (It included parents who were vegetarians so long as their children ate some meat.) </p>
<p>Most of the parents – almost all of whom had talked with their children about meat production – had done so when the children were five or under. Most conversations about meat production occurred when preparing or eating meals. </p>
<p>Parents felt it was important for children to know where their food comes from, preferably from an early age. In fact, they reported that the older kids were when told where meat comes from, the more likely they were to become upset. </p>
<p>Most (64%) of the carers in our study were women, and there were some differences in the way that women and men thought about meat eating.</p>
<p>Women were more likely to agree that children should make conscious decisions about eating meat. They were more likely to be understanding if their children stopped eating meat and more likely than men to feel conflicted about eating meat themselves.</p>
<p>Men were more likely to think that children should eat what is served to them without question, and that meat should be eaten as part of a healthy diet.</p>
<p>We also found that people who lived in cities seemed to find these conversations about food animals and meat more difficult than people in rural areas. City dwellers were more likely to express a preference for avoiding these conversations and feel they lacked some of the necessary knowledge to talk about meat production. </p>
<p>Families who lived outside of the cities didn’t perceive these conversations as difficult or to be avoided and thought that children should be shown aspects of animal production for food.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/123519/original/image-20160523-9554-1okrvjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
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<p>Most of the participants shared stories of how their children learned about the origins of meat. For rural children it was part of their day-to-day lives, with some being directly involved in raising farm animals for food. </p>
<p>Others (particularly city dwellers) described instances where children had become upset and chose not to eat meat for a period of time. One of the key themes that both rural and urban parents thought needed to be communicated was a sense of respect: treating animals well on farms, dispatching them humanely, and recognising the effort that goes into producing meat. </p>
<p>The gendered aspects of our findings are interesting, although not surprising, as the links with meat and masculinity have been well documented. Culturally, women have stronger links than men to meat avoidance and concern with animal welfare. </p>
<p>The attitudes expressed by rural people in our study may be directly linked to their roles in animal production for some participants, but may also reflect other rural values. </p>
<p>Our research highlights that the home environment is where children start to learn about food production, including meat, and that parents talk to children about meat in ways that reflect their own values about meat production. </p>
<p>Our research team (which itself holds diverse views on meat eating) was struck by the importance of the value of respect to most study respondents. It’s an encouraging starting point for a broader conversation about the future of ethical, sustainable and affordable food. </p>
<p><br>
<br></p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is the third article in our ongoing series on food and culture Tastes of a Nation. Previous instalments ask: <a href="https://theconversation.com/macho-kitchens-sludge-eating-techies-and-miracle-diets-how-did-food-get-so-tricky-54332">when did we get so obsessed with food</a>? And <a href="https://theconversation.com/can-we-be-australian-without-eating-indigenous-food-53742">can we be Australian without eating indigenous food</a>?</em></p>
<p><em>Do you have a story idea for this series? If so, please contact <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/team">Madeleine De Gabriele</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/55014/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Heather Bray's salary for part of this study (the preparation of this manuscript) was partly funded (50%) by an Australian Research Council Linkage Project (LP130100419) which includes contributions from industry partners Coles Group Ltd, Elders Limited, Richard Gunner’s Fine Meats Pty Ltd, and the South Australian Research and Development Institute.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rachel A. Ankeny has received funding from the the Australian Research Council including a Linkage Project (LP130100419) with contributions from industry partners Coles Group Ltd, Elders Limited, Richard Gunner’s Fine Meats Pty Ltd, and the South Australian Research and Development Institute.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Anna Chur-Hansen and Sofia Zambrano R. do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>We’re a nation of meat eaters but city dwellers may have trouble discussing the origin of a steak with their offspring. And though there are programs teaching children how vegetables grow, there aren’t too many that involve raising an animal for food.Heather Bray, Senior Research Associate, University of AdelaideAnna Chur-Hansen, Professor of Psychology, University of AdelaideRachel A. Ankeny, Professor of History, University of AdelaideSofia Zambrano R., Visiting Research Fellow, University of AdelaideLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/537422016-05-16T19:55:49Z2016-05-16T19:55:49ZCan we be Australian without eating indigenous food?<p>American food historian <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/119999.Food_by_Waverley_Root">Waverley Root</a> once wrote: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>food is a function of the soil, for which reason every country has the food naturally fit for it.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Every country, that is, except Australia.</p>
<p>By Australian food we mean the plants, fruits and animals that have grown here and sustained the indigenous people of the land for over 50,000 years. If we eat only the food brought by the first settlers and all those who followed, can we call ourselves Australian?</p>
<p>The British who colonised – or <a href="https://theconversation.com/of-course-australia-was-invaded-massacres-happened-here-less-than-90-years-ago-55377">invaded</a> – Australia arrived with an intact culture, which included their cusine. They brought with them the fruit, vegetables and livestock from their home. From the outset, they imposed that food and food culture on their new land and, <a href="https://theconversation.com/we-can-close-the-indigenous-nutrition-gap-heres-how-54529">to their detriment</a>, its original inhabitants. </p>
<p>They ignored the intricate environmental management of indigenous peoples, a management that heavily informed their world view. Historian Bill Gammage <a href="https://www.themonthly.com.au/issue/2011/december/1322699456/james-boyce/biggest-estate-earth-how-aborigines-made-australia-bill-g">argued in The Biggest Estate on Earth</a> (2011) that for the original inhabitants “theology is fused with ecology”. The colonists overlaid an alien system of agriculture which began the process of ecological imbalance in which the continent now finds itself and began exporting back to Europe the European foodstuffs they planted and raised. And, for around 150 years, we adhered to the diet of the first settlers.</p>
<p>In short, European Australians lived on, not in, this continent. This culinary determinism is the most material evidence of the disjunction between where we are, and what we eat.</p>
<p>The successive waves of migrant arrivals since 1945 also bought their cultures and foods with them. And what did Anglo Australia do? Ate them up. Embraced the food of migrants more than just about any country in the world.</p>
<p>The result is that Australia is not just multicultural, it’s multiculinary. Australians will go to a Thai restaurant – any kind of restaurant – and have no fear. They’ll happily eat boat noodle soup with beef blood stirred through it or stinking tofu: but not witchetty grubs or quandongs or akudjura (bush tomatoes). As the television scientist Julius Sumner Miller would have asked, “<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/science/features/whyisitso/">why is it so?</a>” </p>
<p>To answer that question we must first acknowledge that food is far more than a material substance that is ingested and excreted. It distinguishes and defines us to ourselves and to our fellows. </p>
<p>It can be a primary cultural marker of our clan, tribe, religion, region, province, personal sensibilities and country of origin. Based on that understanding of the complexity of food, we’d like to suggest three interlocked answers to this question.</p>
<p>Firstly, cultural determinism, which basically means you stick with what you grew up with. It made sense for the First Fleet to bring its own food to this distant and unknown land. But not, perhaps, to ignore the local foods for almost 250 years.</p>
<p>Secondly, neophilia, <a href="https://sites.sas.upenn.edu/rozin/files/choicefoodxcultappetite2006.pdf">the fear of new foods</a>, a concept introduced by psychologist Paul Rozin. And new they were. Giant marsupials that bounded across the landscape; limes shaped like fingers; flour – nardoo – made from a fern. Large white tree grubs. Strange grub indeed.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122624/original/image-20160516-10697-1ux3q36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Nardoo spores are roasted, then ground to make flour.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">eyeweed</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/">CC BY-NC-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>(As an aside, misunderstanding the food of the land really can be deadly. Burke and Wills may have <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2007/03/08/2041341.htm">starved to death from eating too much nardoo</a>, which is full of an enzyme that’s lethal in high quantities. If they’d asked the local Indigenous people how to prepare the nardoo spores, they would have survived.)</p>
<p>Finally, the dark, underlying reasons for the long rejection of our native foods. What we – and others – have called “food racism”. The association of these foods with the original inhabitants. </p>
<p>This is a very hard charge to prove, but in writing about this topic, over time, I (John Newton) have recorded several examples of anecdotal evidence. Perhaps the most powerful example comes from Raymond Kersh, chef at the Edna’s Table series of restaurants.</p>
<p>When he began using Australian native produce ingredients in his dishes at the first Edna’s Table, Kersh didn’t list them on the menu. But when the restaurant moved in 1993, he began listing the native ingredients used in the dishes on the menu. </p>
<p>A good customer who had eaten Kersh’s food in the first Edna’s Table came to the new restaurant, read the menu and asked the chef: “What are you using this Abo shit for?” This was not an isolated instance. It certainly reinforces the power of food beyond its ability to satisfy hunger.</p>
<p>What can we do about this reluctance to eat the foods native to this country without which, we contend, we cannot truly call ourselves Australians?</p>
<p>Perhaps Australia Day should be celebrated with a meal of Australian and introduced food, shared by all Australians. The meal would give thanks to the Indigenous inhabitants for caring for country for over 50,000 years, and – admittedly belatedly – showing us the foods of the land. </p>
<p>It would be an act of culinary reconciliation. We might even agree to <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-day-i-dont-feel-australian-that-would-be-australia-day-36352">change the name</a>. At the end of his book, Bill Gammage writes: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>We have a continent to learn. If we are to survive, let alone feel at home, we must begin to understand our country. If we succeed, one day we might become Australian. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>One way of achieving this may well be to sit down as brothers and sisters and share a meal of native foods.</p>
<p><br></p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is the second article in our new series “Tastes of a nation,” which looks at our food crazy culture. In the first instalment John Gage asked: <a href="https://theconversation.com/macho-kitchens-sludge-eating-techies-and-miracle-diets-how-did-food-get-so-tricky-54332">when did everyone get an opinion about your diet?</a></em></p>
<p><em>Do you have a story idea for this series? If so, please contact <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/team">Madeleine De Gabriele</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/53742/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Newton is a member of The Greens NSW</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Paul Ashton does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Australians will happily eat boat noodle soup with beef blood stirred through it or stinking tofu – but not quandongs or akudjura. Yet overcoming ‘food racism’ and eating native produce could be a powerful act of culinary reconciliation.John Newton, Author, The Oldest Foods on Earth, University of Technology SydneyPaul Ashton, Professor of Public History, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/543322016-05-15T19:46:58Z2016-05-15T19:46:58ZMacho kitchens, sludge eating techies and ‘miracle’ diets: how did food get so tricky?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122431/original/image-20160513-27205-1q5g9pd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Food is being deconstructed, politicised, scrutinised and replaced altogether.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">AAP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Our new series “Tastes of a nation” looks at our food crazy culture: from the politics of “Dude Food” to the moralising that now accompanies our eating choices.</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Why is food such a big deal these days? Both inside and outside academia, it has become a veritable cultural and political obsession. Pop culture was there first: since at least the late 1970s, a vibrant array of media devoted to home cooking and fine dining has existed. </p>
<p>(The first chef’s hat to celebrate outstanding Australian restaurants was awarded in 1977; the 1980s witnessed the explosion of American half-hour cooking shows like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0282298/">The Frugal Gourmet</a> (1983-1995)). </p>
<p>One could certainly make a case for wide food obsessions in earlier decades, too. Still, our appetites seem more insatiable than ever: magazines, blogs, television shows, apps, social media, and a dazzling array of global festivals reveal how food has become a platform for selling a panoply of aspirational lifestyles.</p>
<p>Academics, by contrast, have come relatively late to the party. Anthropologists – always sensitively attuned to lifestyles, so to speak – led the pack in taking food as a compelling topic of study (the French structuralist <a href="http://www.britannica.com/biography/Claude-Levi-Strauss">Claude Lévi-Strauss</a> may jump to your mind). </p>
<p>But only a handful of historians considered food a genuine subject of research until the mid-1970s, and even then their research frequently met with puzzlement. Other fields similarly hesitated to recognise food as a valid area of study. </p>
<p>Was it because food and cooking – like fashion – struck conservative male scholars as women’s stuff? Or was it because food studies seemed low on the list of important subjects for feminist scholars? If so, both sides have changed perspectives in recent decades.</p>
<p>Even the most old-fashioned scholars now recognise the deep research of enterprising social historians and feminist academics, who have shown food was always embedded in complex networks of labour and consumption for both men and women. The late Sidney Mintz’s 1985 book <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/167457.Sweetness_and_Power">Sweetness and Power</a> – an historical anthropology of sugar – remains fundamental as a project that extended food studies into the realm of urgently topical scholarship.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/122430/original/image-20160513-27188-1s9j4ak.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Stéphanie Kilgast/Flickr</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/">CC BY-NC-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Women are cooks, men are chefs</h2>
<p>Many of food culture’s stories of power, it turns out, are embedded in long histories in which women’s cooking has been classed as domestic and men’s cooking as professional. </p>
<p>Even for celebrity chefs, home cooking still generally conjures a world of women (Maggie, Delia, Julia), but restaurant cooking makes us think of dudes (Heston, Yotam, René). </p>
<p>This phenomenon haunts us even today: the uproar that followed the publication of <a href="http://www.eater.com/2013/11/7/6334005/time-editor-howard-chua-eoan-explains-why-no-female-chefs-are-gods-of">Time Magazine’s 2013 issue devoted to “The Gods of Food”</a> (100 chefs, all men) is just one index of an ongoing conversation about the way that food preparation articulates relations of power in families and businesses alike.</p>
<p>We also might wonder whether the celebration of the hard-driving macho culture of the kitchen (represented by military-style command structures coupled with tattooed counterculturalism, and flamboyant technologically-driven techniques) can help further to explain the popularisation of food culture in the last fifteen years.</p>
<p>Men’s ongoing embrace of the kitchen has made it a new leisure space and imaginative realm for them. Anthony Bourdain, Gordon Ramsay, and the <a href="http://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2014/10/24/white-vegan-couple-cooks-controversy-thug-kitchen-cookbook">controversial Thug Kitchen duo</a> imagine cooking as a profane, often hard-living sport.</p>
<figure>
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</figure>
<p>But it’s a complex evolution: international phenoms like Jamie Oliver appear to straddle simple divides between home and professional kitchen, pointing to ethical concerns about eating (one of Oliver’s main platforms) over gendered ones.</p>
<h2>The contested science of food</h2>
<p>Scholarship is catching up now. An explosion of new research in dozens of fields has at last begun to grapple with the ways that food is fundamental to studies of capitalism, race, migration, nationalism, history, environment, demography, ethics, technology, leisure, justice, health, and art, just to name a few.</p>
<p>Food studies have permitted the flourishing of an interdisciplinary conversation that brings together unlikely interlocutors in the interest of finding important intersections between fields.</p>
<p>One of the most vexed of these intersections is the question of food science: both the science of food, and nutritional science. </p>
<p>“Molecular gastronomy” is a phrase we often use generically to talk about high-tech cuisine, but scholars originally coined it to point to a startling lack of knowledge: what actually happens (in terms of chemistry and physics) when we cook?</p>
<p>Only in the past thirty years have specialists begun to investigate those questions, and we can see some of the popularised fruits of that research in the new book by J. Kenji López-Alt, <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24861842-the-food-lab">The Food Lab: Better Home Cooking Through Science</a> (2015), an enormous compendium of explanations and techniques based upon kitchen-laboratory research. </p>
<p>While the “science of cooking” might strike some as a strategy to appeal to men, new research suggests that young Australian women are embracing science education and careers vigorously. That shift suggests a generational change that could itself bring new perspectives into ‘food science.’</p>
<p>Advances in knowledge of food preparation, however, do not equate to knowledge of nutrition. One of the great research challenges of the last generation has been to find appropriate ways to study food in terms of public health. </p>
<p>Critics claim that fundamentally flawed research presuppositions about populations – especially in terms of class – have diverted much nutritional science into dubious territory. (See Julie Guthman’s 2011 book, <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10998528-weighing-in">Weighing In: Obesity, Food Justice, and the Limits of Capitalism</a>.) </p>
<p>Calorie-counting, nutritional graphs, fat-carbohydrate-protein ratios have all become contentious topics. Foods that the last generation ate virtuously we now denigrate as carcinogenic or toxic (meat, sugar), and former no-nos now receive scientific endorsement (certain kinds of fat). But not if you’re on the paleo regime. The somersaults are dizzying.</p>
<p>Stimulated by these arguments over ideal diets, Silicon Valley entrepreneurs have gone so far as to scrap the very notion food. A food replacement named <a href="https://www.soylent.com/">Soylent</a>, a nutritionally-sufficient pancake-batter sludge, replaces food for young techies too busy to eat. </p>
<p>In this climate, one of the jobs of academic research into food is to unpack the core assumptions that drive production, consumption, and valuation of what we eat. We’ll be exploring some of these assumptions over the course of our new series, Tastes of a Nation. </p>
<p>If our research can propose better avenues, more compelling pasts and futures, or smarter ideas than the current working models, then we will have earned our just deserts … and, if the nutritionists permit us, possible even desserts.</p>
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<p><em>Look out for the next instalment in Tastes of a Nation: Can we call ourselves Australian if we don’t eat native food?</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/54332/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Gagne does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>When did food become such a big deal to academics, politicians and pop culture alike? From paleo evangelicals to taxes on sugar, everyone’s got an opinion about what’s on your fork.John Gagne, Lecturer in History, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.