Reel Food and World Cinema

Rarely do movies have a happy ending when they follow the journey of an obsessed artist. In recent years, movies like Black Swan , Jiro Dreams of Sushi, Whiplash, Steve Jobs, and Phantom Thread have taught us that true auteurs must be cold, antisocial, inflexible in their beliefs, and devoted to their craft to a fault. These films validate our suspicions about the enigmatic “artist” - that those who strive for perfection cannot succeed in their personal lives. And this idea extends beyond those whose pursuits are specifically artistic - the greatest athletes, the most successful CEOs, the top lawyers and doctors and politicians - all have lives culturally steeped in tragedy, wherein their achievements are only made possible through single-minded and ultimately self-destructive ambition. Why is this how we perceive these figures? Is there truth to our idea of success? Does it humanize these larger than life people? Does it somehow make us feel better, knowing that those who have surpa...

There is undoubtedly value to be gleaned from every religion out there. And though many people don’t like to admit it, those values tend to boil down to the same basic ideas. Be kind to others. Don’t lie, cheat, steal, or kill. Act selflessly when possible. Set a good example for children, so they might do the same. I can get behind these ideas, and see the utility in theologies that promote them. Where religion falls short, however, is in the notion that life’s pleasures are sinful.  This is the kind of misguided religious philosophy t hat permeates Babette’s Feast.  Puritan beliefs are based in fear - fear of God, fear of hell, fear of the self. The two extremes of Christianity juxtaposed in Babette’s Feast are fear and love. Should God be worshipped because we fear Him? Or because we love Him? When worship is shrouded in fear, satisfaction becomes sinful. And is there a more basically satisfying part of life than a warm, delicious meal? In Babette’s Feast , food is...

Like many who grew up in this commercial tsunami of cooking shows and chef competitions, cooking for me was a sport before it was a passion - but it was always an obsession. Before I learned to chop an onion, I was fantasizing about the perfect tasting menu - exploring ideas for sauces and meats and bizarre gastronomic techniques of which I hadn’t the first inkling how to make. I spent my days fetishizing the idea of cooking rather than paying any heed to the skill that goes into it. On my twelfth birthday, (in a last ditch effort to get me interested in cooking - or at least to shut me up about my gourmet infantilizations) my parents bought me an ice cream maker. And so ice cream became my new, far more tangible obsession. For the next year, I would perfect the simple art of whisking egg yolks into sugar and hot - but not too hot - cream. I would make over two dozen batches of ice cream, each concoction wilder than the last; mint, vanilla, coconut, ginger, cardamom, basil, almond...