Speak What You Eat
Sarah Olive samples a range of Australian menus and suggests that we are eating our way to a national identity Choice is problematic, even in such minute, daily activities as choosing a dish from a menu. A profusion of products and consumer sovereignty continues to rear its head over the gastronomic market in the form of menus bursting with a plurality of courses: appetisers, soups, fish, entrees, chef’s specials, grills, roasts, vegetables, cold buffet, salads, cheeses, dessert. They have left in their wake a trail of solutions to the problem of excessive options: chef’s recommendations, menu guides and food critics all attempt to resolve this gustatory dilemma. Society has been quick to develop these coping mechanisms despite the relatively modern advent of choice in the menu, which owes its origins to nineteenth-century Paris restaurants. These institutions, according to Rebecca Spang’s The Invention of the Restaurant, offered restorative preparations (hence the term restaurant) tailored to suit one’s own afflictions and constitution. Unlike table d’hôte or domestic dining, where several dishes are offered for consumption by all diners, ‘the restaurant’s style of service demanded a degree of self-definition, an awareness and cultivation of self-definition’ from the consumer.
With the introduction of choice, selecting a dish has become a public forum for personal expression. In the process of eating we make, either consciously or unconsciously, statements about our background, ethnicity, gender, religion, social and economic status. As Deborah Lupton asserts in her book, Food, the Body and the Self, menus appeal ‘not only to our tastebuds, but to our need to differentiate ourselves, to represent ourselves as culinary adventurers’. To use a well-worn phrase, ‘you are what you eat’, or, as one Italian version insists, ‘speak what you eat’. The connection between identity and food goes some way towards explaining our pre-prandial deliberations. Choosing from a menu is not merely a case of feeding hungry stomachs; many diners would be physically capable of eating any one of the enumerated dishes. Rather, food plays an integral role in our self-construction. Not only do we assert our individuality when we eat, but as a collective of individuals, as Australians, we are eating ourselves towards a national identity. The collection of menus in the National Library provides a glimpse of the evolution of Australia’s identity from a colonial, white Australia to one that celebrates multiculturalism and recognises the knowledge and values of its Indigenous people. For example, the collection of menus for Commonwealth functions which Deakin attended as prime minister provide an insight into the dependence of British identity on its diminishing colonies as well as its thinly disguised attempt to exercise colonial power. The persistently Anglo and Eurocentric ingredients, dishes and language which dominate these menus, tying sophistication, elegance and affluence to Britain and France, are examples of cultural imperialism. The consistent use of French as the language of early menus in the collection both reflects and creates its readers: it reaches out to well-educated, affluent Europeans, marking them, to paraphrase Lupton, as possessors of economic and cultural capital, while simultaneously excluding those from other backgrounds. The terminology used in these menus operates as authorising language—diners only deserve the meal if they can understand the menu.
The use of French as the culinary language, the language of haute cuisine with its connotations of luxury, quality and elegance, persisted into the 1980s, even for such diverse readerships as passengers on Australian airlines. For example, the Australianness of Trans Australia Airlines’ (TAA) menus, covered with images of run- down outback shacks or heavily stylised, spear-bearing Aborigines, is undermined by European menu items, including Vichy carrots and Boulangere potatoes. The menu for the Canberra Chamber of Commerce Christmas Dinner in 1934 took the opportunity to parody the curiously persistent use of French, satirically fusing local places and expressions with French grammar and vocabulary to create dishes such as ‘boeuf à la abattoir’. One of the first dishes inextricably linked with Australian national identity and celebrity is the Peach Melba which, according to The Master Dictionary of Food and Cookery and Menu Translator, was ‘originally made in [Dame Nellie Melba’s] honour by the famous Escoffier’. The dish appears frequently on menus in the Library’s collection from railway meals to dinner at the Menzies Hotel, Melbourne. The combination of succulent raw materials to create a culinary masterpiece is also emblematic of the singer’s career, transformed into a world-class soprano through European influence. In this sense, the dish is also symbolic of a time in Australia’s history when our identity unwaveringly sought guidance from, and was shaped by, Europe. More recent menus seize the opportunity to rediscover our diverse cultural heritage. Some, such as Lillipilli in the Rocks, reflect Australia’s Aboriginal heritage through the use of traditional Indigenous foods in its dishes and Indigenous terms in its descriptions. Just one of many offerings is ‘Grilled Stingray (umpara) strips served on a bed of wild rice, with a delicious bush lemon butter sauce’. Its inspired use of styles and symbols from Indigenous artwork is evident in the presentation of its meals. In the menu for a meal celebrating Sir Donald Bradman’s 90th birthday, all the elements converge to honour not only a great Australian but also to laud the concept of great Australian culture itself. The menu does so by combining a great cricketer, a great oval (Adelaide Oval) and great Australian produce. Perhaps the greatest and most revolutionary aspect of the Australian identity, symbolised by menu items such as Asian-style Barramundi with coriander and chilli glaze or French-inspired Yalumba Barossa Bush Vine Grenache, is that it is increasingly unafraid of experimenting with the flavours and styles of other cultures and traditions. Multiculturalism on the menu is a relatively recent occurrence. A notable exception from the French dominated cuisine is a 1930s menu for the Eastern Cafe, Melbourne. Dishes are listed in both Chinese and English and feature stereotypical Asian staples such as noodles, duck, water chestnuts, fried rice and black bean. The continuing effort to render menus pertinent to a multicultural readership has produced interesting results. In recent years, Japan Airlines have separated their menus, offering patrons flying between Australia and Japan a choice of Western or Japanese meals. Not compromising the different traditions, these menus present diners with the opportunity to stay within their comfort zones or try a radical change. However, 1980s menus from Japan Airlines reveal an early attempt to appease everyone with fusion-style meals. For instance, one Japan Airlines menu offers Chicken Brochette Japonaise Sauce with buttered rice and Fillet of Beef Stroganoff with buttered noodles and glazed carrots.
Fusion food of a more complex nature is increasingly prevalent in Australian restaurants. For example, the menus of Cheong Liew, chef at The Grange, Adelaide, accentuate staple Australian produce with Asian ingredients, resulting in dishes such as ‘Red roasted barramundi, green chilli, coriander snow-pea shoots, calamari shavings’. Fusion food does not claim to originate from any one locale. Rather, it explores present and future possibilities, instead of slavishly attempting to authentically recreate the past. In this way it avoids the debate in which menus offering a specific cuisine are embroiled: should they use local produce to recreate the traditional dishes of Australia’s ethnic and migrant populations? Or should they satiate Australia’s appetite for ‘novelty’ food by presenting an adulterated, westernised version of the ‘real’ thing? Fusion food has, however, attracted its share of criticism for bastardising national cooking styles through the ‘mindless’, orgiastic combination of techniques and ingredients, creating a globalised, homogenous cuisine. Looking through the National Library’s collection, it is evident that Australian excitement over exotic cuisine is rivalled by advances in the profile and credibility of once maligned Australian produce. Offering ‘a taste of the territory’ to adventurous visitors, Scotty’s Tavern & Restaurant, Alice Springs, dishes up slabs of Australian meat, such as crocodile, emu and camel, in a Texas steakhouse style menu, boasting 400-gram steaks and heavily loaded platters for fierce hungers. As movements espousing the environmental, economic and health virtues of organic, home-grown, seasonal produce gain popularity, it has become increasingly common for the emphasis of the menu to be on the origin and quality of its ingredients rather than the style of cooking or presentation. This is evident in the main courses offered on the menus of Doyles Seafood Restaurants, with fish sourced from all corners of the continent. Here, the provenance of the raw material takes proud precedence over the chef’s interpretation of it: the wholesomeness of the antipodean catch is such that it needs no dressing to supplement its beauty. Waving the flag for Australian produce is not solely the domain of public dining. The domestic cook cannot escape the duty of promoting local produce. We are exhorted by Dick Smith to buy locally produced peanut butter and incited by celebrity chefs to shop at farmers’ markets. The humble kitchen table is to be transformed into an international exhibition platform for our edible ocker riches. For instance, one dinner menu in Australian Gourmet Menus, comprising of ‘mussels with white wine and gremolata, seared kangaroo with beetroot and braised leeks, vanilla soufflé with caramelized pineapple’, is accompanied by an editorial note urging the cook that ‘showcasing, as it does, our seafood, kangaroo and tropical fruit, it’s … a good one to bear in mind if you have guests from overseas’. We are no longer the poor relations, slaving away to replicate the gastronomic mores of distant cuisines which appear within reach but remain elusive, incompatible with our unique landscape and climate. As Australians we have finally found our feet and are holding our heads high in the culinary world, notching up a string of successful food events like Tasting Australia and institutions that include the School of Gastronomy in Adelaide. With our palate we have begun to argue for a place on the international stage in our own right, recognising a decreasing Eurocentrism and increasing pride in Australia’s multicultural and Indigenous origins. SARAH OLIVE is Research Associate on the ‘Changing Families, Changing Foods’ program at the University of Sheffield. She was a Norman McCann Summer Scholar at the Library in 2003 |
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