rant

Poverties of Spirit, or, “They’re Not Poor, They Just Don’t Have Any Money.”

a big thanks to all the all the Invisible folks, nic, chloe, and kelvin; joey and emily for reading; and everyone who showed up for the TO Food & Trembling launch this weekend, and likewise to CanZine and the Broken Pencil peoples for having me as part of their Radical Reading Series. the former went awesomely, the latter pretty well, although suffering somewhat from the consequences of the previous night’s awesomeness.*

during the question period at CanZine i was asked about my disinclination to identify as a ‘foodie’ (that i touch upon here, but get into in a little more detail in the book itself), to which i gave a garbled but passable response about the rarefaction** of something so basic and central as food into a precious lifestyle category; my failure to participate in the book, blog (besides writing one, i mean), and television culture that i would argue makes up a big part of the modern foodie identity; and the annoyingness of the word itself. some hours and beers later it dawned on me that a much more pointed reply sat very close at hand, and i regret that i did not seize on it at the time:

food-wise, CanZine was boothed by the Toronto Underground Market; there was a Beau’s stand, some southeast asian street food, a chocolatier, and this bbq place, the name of which i fail to recall.  which is fine, because i don’t want it to appear as if i have a gripe with them in particular. from them i got what was effectively a little brisket sandwich, that was advertised as a “pulled beef po’ boy,” and it is precisely this sort of thing that i find obnoxious about foodie culture, the sort of acceleration of meaningless food faddishness.

i am not naive enough to blame this sort of thing entirely on “foodies,” these sorts of trends, in cooking, serving, marketing, have been a part of food culture(s) for ages, but this is very much an example of the present moment, and they are difficult to disentangle (one can make the parallel argument that it is just this kind of quibbling i am about to engage in that makes me a foodie, and in my defence all i can say is that i do not claim not to be a foodie, i merely am not interested in identifying as such, and i think self-identification is relevant here).

my problem is this: why is this a po’ boy? what makes this a po’ boy, as opposed to any other kind of sandwich? now it is difficult to get into this without opening up the whole can of worms of the question of authenticity, which especially where regional food is concerned is an irresolvable quagmire, that i happen to think should remain that way (who needs to clean up or sort out a swamp? swamps are thriving idiosyncratic ecosystems that are better explored than organized). what makes a po’ boy? seafood or no seafood? gravy? assorted meat ends, whatever happens to be at hand? the unique combination of crustiness and airiness of French bread baked in balmy, bawdy New Orleans?*** does it simply have to be from Louisiana? how much agency are we willing to grant the sandwich itself, as it moves northward and westward, popping up in different permutations on menus so removed from its ancestral home?

what is the difference that makes a difference, so to speak? how different from what origin or what collection of qualities must a sandwich before it ceases to qualify as a po’ boy?

rather than implicitly or explicitly evoking the “authentic po’ boy,” however, i think we can come at this another way. namely, what makes this sandwich a po’ boy? there seems to be nothing, really. mini bun, slaw, biscuit, pickle, pulled beef? is it only a po’ boy because the slider is played out? i really cannot discern any clear grounds for the identification, which seems to leave only an attempt to exploit the current modishness of the po’ boy, and this is annoying to me on two levels – 1) it strips the po’ boy of its context, its history, its specificity (specificities?), however fraught and varied that may be, and reduces it to a sort of empty signifier. one might ask “well, what has really been done to the po’ boy as a dish? does this make any difference to the po’ boys served across the south?” no. not really. but what it does is effectively say “what is special about the po’ boy? nothing! who cares!” and 2) it does a disservice to the sandwich actually on offer. why does this perfectly charming little brisket sandwich (and it was indeed a decent sandwich) need to be thusly (mis)represented? further, i think it is unfortunate that they felt compelled to ‘pull’ their brisket, seemingly because Pulled Pork Is The New Chipotle, when probably the most attractive feature of good brisket is its willingness to come apart in one’s mouth, to begin as an identifiable piece of meat that so readily cedes its integrity and gives way to a fatty, melty compromise, which transformation is lost when you get it pre-deconstituted.

so one is left asking why, why? and is met with either the mute senselessness of a world without order (postmodernism wins! i never thought i’d be so dismayed!) or the cynical retort that this is what sells, and that strikes me as dismal.

but then, is the argument i’m making all that different from the tiresome cynical naïf of a gourmande who demands authenticity in each of his/her exotic culinary encounters? i like to think so, but am willing to be called on it, if someone’s willing to put in the time.

which i happen to know you are not.

* ie: at 4am drinking Kronenberg Blanc (which tastes like peaches and is weird) out of a bottle you have accidentally broken the neck off of by trying to open it on a parking meter, then warming up a slice of pizza of indeterminate age on someone’s space heater. i woke up at noon to my friend ed playing, rather appropriately, “Still Crazy After All These Years” on an old electric organ.

** being unsure that “rarefy” was really the word i wanted to use here, i looked it up and apparently it technically refers to the process of making a gas less dense, which itself derives from the original meaning of “rare” which has to do with the constituent particles of a substance being few and far between, hence we have “rare” as the opposite of “dense,” but can see where the meaning of not often found comes from. the question, then, is whether either this meaning, or that of “pure or refined” really apply to what i’m talking about, with regards to foodie culture – on the one hand, yes, there is a certain elitism to it, but on the other we witness a great proliferation of …. stuff. the cultural substance of foodieism becomes cluttered and dense with discourses, products, publications, etc. but then most specializations, rare in their own way, tend to involve this sort of proliferation of microrelevancies. hm.

*** this, as it happens, is my favourite of the arguments i’ve heard thus far for the singularity of the New Orleans po’ boy – that the baking styles of the French, adapted for use in the swampy subtropical climate of Louisiana produce a baguette of incomparable crispness of crust with lightness of interior. arguably as specious as any other claim to the authentic po’ boy, this at least has the attraction of accounting for local specificity in a believable-sounding way, by installing a sort of barometric terroir.

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7 thoughts on “Poverties of Spirit, or, “They’re Not Poor, They Just Don’t Have Any Money.”

  1. me says:

    methinks your insightful analysis, though so entertaining, is wasted on
    …………… food.

    as my old (& young) mother would say
    ‘don’t hide your light under a bushel’.

    AND …… don’t be eating glass.

  2. Hannah Mae says:

    Pickle and pulled meat on a sandwich, eh? Cuban brisket sandwich? Or what if it’s a Mississippi-style torta? Or what about a barbecue banh mi (house-made do chua coleslaw, local grass-fed beef)? I remember us having a conversation about corporate co-option of subcultures some years ago, and coming to the conclusion that, while letting “London Calling”s presence in an ad ruin the song for you is giving big media way too much power over your own private emotional life, co-option of subcultural forms of expression is still objectionable because it separates those expressions from their history and meaning for anyone who’s never seen them in their subcultural context, which is going to be a lot of people, because big media is very big.

    Same diff here, I think. The job of a menu is to convey factual information about the food (…I think) and to make it sound delectable, not to educate anybody on culinary history, but calling the above a “pulled beef po’boy” is confusing to those who know what a po’boy is, and not edifying to those who don’t. It does make it sound good, though in a vague way which falls apart when you look to the actual meaning of those actual terms for details on what the sandwich might actually contain. Overused food words become nonsense syllables, attractive in their novelty, but detached from their original meanings by misapplication, but without new, specific meanings evolved through use, which is why we have to find new words for the same things when the old ones get old. That is to say, “po’boy” still means something, but now it just means “sandwich from 2011.”

  3. Hannah Mae says:

    Also: you realize that this

    a sort of barometric terroir

    raises the bar for imported authenticity quite a bit, right? First there are those haute pizzerias with real Italian doppio-zero flour, then there’s insisting on water from the ancestral homeland of whatever you’re making, and now fools are going to have to build climate- and pressure-controlled rooms for their (authentic wood-fired) bread ovens. With, like, airlocks and stuff. The $200 baguette is just around the corner.

  4. stillcrapulent says:

    if you build it, they will come, right? someone needs to make a Demolition Man dystopian action film that involves the levelling and terraforming of low-income neighbourhoods to create imported exotic culinary micro-climates. i’d watch that.

  5. God I loved this post, in that echo-chamber way the internets have of reaffirming all your deeply held eccentricities.

    I recently had a “Cuban” sandwich at an otherwise decent restaurant in Ottawa that consisted of two, small boneless porkchops, covered in melted cheddar, BBQ sauce and…get this…sauerkraut, on a kaiser. WTF is that?

    I think both you and Hannah Mae are right: calling it a “Cuban” helps sell it on a whisper of authenticity and results in just a really inaccurate mental image for the consumer—and continued overuse renders it meaningless.

    A Cuban sandwich should be something highly specific. It has so few ingredients and such a specific preparation that if you know what it’s supposed to be, you can’t help but be disappointed by extravagant, left-field substitutions. Cuban now = trying to get away with something.

    In this case it was like they had forgotten it was on the menu. As written it had pulled pork and ham, but was maybe just whipped together with chops and whatever was in the walk-in as a last minute substitute? Enraging.

  6. Pingback: This Is Everything That’s Wrong With Everything, And I’m Gonna Eat It. « still crapulent

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