food commodity in gastrotourism
Reading about gastrotourism I couldn’t help reflecting on food experiences I’ve had traveling. Some of the most memorable involved getting very sick (you won’t ever catch me eating emu sausage again), but I suppose this risk adds to the danger that food can bring- exotic/foreign spices, meats, or strange concoctions become that much more appealing when the eater is conquering the unknown.
The stories of how fisherman in Florida triumphed over the stone crab were reminiscent of Sea World. “Humans, however, gained clear predatory advantage over the stone crab through the use of technology” (37). Man’s victory over nature can be quite marketable and, well, appetizing.
What food really adds to tourism, though, is the “authentic.” That is, by eating “local” food, one is experiencing (with all the senses) something impossible to recreate elsewhere. In our search for the authentic, we often seek out local restaurants off the tourist map. I remember when I was in Venice with my family, we went to our guidebook’s suggestion of a local Mom and Pop eatery, known for being “less touristy” (whatever that means), only to be disappointed to find other travelers there with the same guidebook in hand, and the only real Italians being the ones who took our order (who spoke English of course). I’ve become convinced that the only way to get true local food is to either eat in the home of a resident or have a local take me out to a place he/she frequents. When I was in Istanbul, I took pride in having tea with my Turkish friend at a teahouse where she said we wouldn’t see any tourists. Somehow I felt the tea there was more “authentic.” However, the “authentic” and the “local” are only myths, often perpetuated by those hoping to capitalize on the outsider’s view of culture.
Food can be a place where culture is commodified down to the most basic of stereotypes. Evidence of this are the Joe’s Stone Crab restaurants in Japan. I don’t know why I was so shocked to read that at these places they wanted to create a “uniquely American atmosphere” which meant “wood panel walls, scrubbed floors, and country music” (Mink 41). It’s deeply frustrating for me to think that Japanese people who visit these restaurants experience such a skewed view of American culture. We talk about how stereotypes can be damaging, yet at the same time continue to perpetuate them. Evidently, we need these stereotypes to form our own identities. Adrian Peace’s article is a perfect example of this, showing how the residents of the Barossa region of South Australia have a clear idea of the values and traditions of their specific culture and perpetuate this through the Barossa Slow festival. I found particularly interesting Mink’s point that “to deal fully with the magnitude of the Depression, those who held sway over culture—the federal, state, and local governments; the literati and artists—envisioned the United States as a nation of regional communities complete with natural and cultural characteristics distinct to a particular locale.” (34). It is clear how Americans capitalize on regionality, but it’s not only Americans. The tiny French town that I lived in last year in Brittany was full of endless crêperies serving savory galettes and sweet crêpes, specialties the region is known for. Bretons have enormous pride in these dishes. But of course crêperies are to be found all over the world–some good, some terrible, many containing canned versions of Breton or French culture. I know these types of cultural food commodities cannot be avoided– after all, we live in a world that craves the foreign. My question is, then, how we use places such as the Japanese Joe’s Stone Crabs to bridge cultural understanding? Is there a way these stereotypes might work to our advantage?