Gastronomy
The first time I heard the word Gastronomy I had a vision not unlike the one pictured here. I knew that the prefix Gastro- had something to do with our digestive system and the suffix -onomy meant the measurement or managing of something (most commonly associated with astronomy.) Putting the two together I pulled out the fact that our intestines are about 28 feet long. I kind of missed the point.
According to the Universita di Scienze Gastronomiche, in Italy, gastronomy is the study of the relationships between culture and food. Along with language, the cuisine of a culture is one of the most fundamental identifiers of the way a people live(d). Of cultures now resting under the pavement of history you can decipher climate, crop use, daily habits, health, class status, cooking and agricultural progress, even preferred tastes among a multitude of other things. For those pavement pounding peoples in existence today you can measure strengths of tradition, changing climates, economic as well as geographic prosperity, propensities to consume chemicals, and, more inferentially, their appreciation of quality.
The anthropologist in me has always been attracted to people, both alive today and those living among the myths of our ancestors. That food could (and does) play such a considerable and in some cases tasty, role in the lives of these people became apparent to me much later in life. While I enjoyed cooking my own breakfast as a child and have held numerous positions in the restaurant industry, food remained a utilitarian part of my world, devoid of importance outside the realm of my taste buds and paycheck. Then something clicked. Failing the anthropological examination of my own eating habits I can’t quite pinpoint when or what dish sparked the change. Was it my first meal in a foreign land? Or was it the strengthening of my cooking skills? Perhaps it was larger paychecks that allowed me to purchase and consume tastier foods? Maybe I just matured? Where is Dr Lévi-Strauss when you need him?!
Whatever the cause I have come to be your typical foodie, with a bent for anthropological cookbooks and ancient fare as well as the antiquated notion that time spent at the table is better spent nowhere else. While out ensuring that trains filled with megatons of industrial corn keep themselves happily married to their rails I keep a steely eye peeled for establishments that serve up more than just a plate of food. A history, an anecdote, a tradition, anything to enhance the knowledge of what it is I’m eating and why it is I’m able to eat it. From Basque dinners in Reno to Rhubarb Piroushkies in Seattle; Vietnamese delicacies in Oklahoma City and Sopapillas at the foot of the Sangre de Cristos; our country, while devoid of its own culinary identity is rife with the diversity of flavors that have flocked to it, calling it home.
