The Anthropology of Food
How does food create intimacy?
And what does it say about the unconscious mind?
Whenever I order spaghetti or corn on the cob or Baked Alaska in a restaurant, my mother nags me. According to her, my selection would ruin a first date. When I argue that I am perfectly capable of ruining a first date without an assist from my entrée, she replies, “The food makes the meal.”
For a long time, I thought this aphorism was obvious and trite, but after some research, I am starting to see her point. The food we eat, and the methods by which we eat it, creates a sense of shared intimacy between diners.
What makes food intimate?
When I first considered this question, I turned to cultural anthropologists because they have done lots of thinking about people and food and culture.
Perhaps the most important contribution to this topic is the work of Claude Levi-Strauss. In his book, The Raw and the Cooked, he describes the connection between how food is prepared, like if it is grilled or boiled, and how a dish is perceived by those who eat it. He argues that human minds often operate through binary systems, like hot and cold, and these, often subconscious, associations impact how we feel about things like food. These systems differ from culture to culture but always influence how humans think about the world and the food we eat in it.
In the United States, for example, cold is often associated with separation or distance, like if a friend gives you “the cold shoulder.” Conversely, heat can be associated with emotional volatility, like when someone is described as “fiery.” Warmth lies in the middle and often reminds people of comfort and stability. Think of a warm cup of tea or a fuzzy blanket.
There is a similar dichotomy between messiness and cleanliness. The saying “cleanliness is close to godliness” shows orderliness as pure and distant. This is why staged homes feel cold and unnatural. An incredibly messy house, on the other hand, is thought of as stressful or even dangerous. Between the two is a sort of comfortable clutter, creating the satisfying “lived-in” feeling.
The question remains, though. How does this relate to food? I posit that, in the United States, the most intimate foods are those that lie between these two dichotomies. They are the dishes that are pleasantly warm and just messy enough to create a sense of informality. I offer another dichotomy as well, that of shared and distinct food, wherein a greater overlap between diners creates greater intimacy.
Let’s consider this idea using some appetizers as examples:
Buffalo Wings: Not only are buffalo wings served right out of the fryer, but they are also drenched in a spicy sauce. They are hot and messy, breaking down any display of politeness or performance. Everyone knows when ordering wings that this is a carnal, boorish undertaking upon which the group will embark. To pretend otherwise marks one as an outsider, rejecting the ritual. It is always awkward to see someone picking at a drumstick with a fork and knife, while everyone else sucks sauce out from under their fingernails. The ceremony requires a buy-in from everyone at the table. It is a shared, hot, messy, and intimate appetizer.
Bruschetta: This is one of the least intimate appetizers out there. Not only is it a cold dish that always arrives delicately prepared, but it is also entirely distinct. Each person has their own slice of bread, so a million people could dig into this appetizer without so much as a hand graze between them. It also requires balance, dexterity, and focus. When eating bruschetta, the mind races with questions like, How big of a bite do I take? Did he just see me drop all those tomato chucks onto my lap? How do you even pronounce bruschetta, anyway? It is a true challenge to keep the appetizer neat, and this challenge creates defensiveness and judgment of others. It is easy to catch oneself thinking, well, he looks like a total doofus, when watching someone else eat bruschetta.
A giant pretzel: This is a particularly safe choice, as it is warm and somewhere between shared and discreet. Though diners are ripping from the same pretzel, it lacks intensity. There is something very Stone Age about a group of friends simultaneously tearing into the flesh of the same animal, like in the case with buffalo wings. The same cannot be said about a big pretzel. It is more buttoned-up than that. The accompanying sauces create space for rogue drips or smears, but it is a neat dish, for the most part. In my opinion, it is the perfect appetizer for a first date, offering rigidity without formality. The pretzel provides solid boundaries, while leaving the door open for further closeness in the future.
Of course, these observations do not hold true in all cultures and contexts. Our own life experiences and relationships with certain foods mold both our conscious and unconscious perceptions of dining experiences. But no matter who we are, or where we’re eating, food goes beyond mere nourishment. It can serve as a powerful medium for communication and connection.
