“Film” cuisine

When the word “film” is used as an adjective in Spanish, it is inferred that what is being talked about, whether it be for its richness, beauty or luxury, seems to belong in cinematographic fiction rather than in real life. The arrival of film is what gave motion a photographic image. And, what’s most extraordinary: this autonomous motion is no more than fiction, a trick with which the Lumière brothers deceived the minds of the first spectators—with the speed of projection, the still photographs that compose a film are perceived as motion.

Are there similarities between film and gastronomy? Perhaps the most enlightening sentence to treat this subject was pronounced by psychologist and philosopher Hugo Munsterberg at the start of the 20th century: “As painting is the art of the eyes and music that of the ears, film is art of the mind.” This is because it masterfully combines the light and color of painting, the scenes of theater, the literary script and the sound of music. We do not believe culinary art reaches quite so far. It is close to the most instinctive of senses; it excites because in it, above all, the aromas, flavors and tactile sensations on the palate intervene. Motion is not important; in fact, the film that records the work of a great chef is his restaurant’s menu, captured in the tasting menu; where each heading (appetizers, starters, fish, meats, desserts) is a scene and each dish one of the frames in the film.

For some time now, certain famous chefs have been obsessed with incorporating motion to their recipes. Some through restarting the ancient practice of cooking in front of the diner, where the motion comes from the cook mixing the ingredients on the plate. It is an attempt to revive this perverse, already virtually disappeared practice that caused French cuisine to produce crêpes flambées or steak tartare in the restaurant dining room.

Today, analogous examples are the balls made with alginate to obtain melon caviar, and ice creams and cocktails (nitro-green tea with lime mousse by Heston Blumenthal; nitro-caipirinha by Ferrán Adriá) made with liquid nitrogen in front of the entranced guest, who becomes practically hypnotized by the drops or the smoke, and the rhythmic motion of the performer’s hands. Pure spectacle, and photography for becomes insufficient to document it; one wonders, “why not make a video?”

The latest thing, done mainly to leave the diner flabbergasted, is to create movement in the food itself—an idea already present in some traditional Japanese dishes, garnished with ultra-fine slices of dried bonito or tuna that flap with the vapor rising from the underlying pasta or eggplant. Of course, the process is so subtle that a still camera is worthless.

Some Spanish restaurants are experimenting with similar effects. The performer, usually a waiter, does nothing except start the process. The astonished client observes or, at most, collaborates to start the show. Whether it be freeing carbon dioxide vapor from dry ice at –50ºC at the base of a pastry cylinder to cause a cascade of bubbles as in Arzak’s ostentatious magical fruits; or confectioning a stunning flavored bulb from blown caramel and powdered gold or silver that must be broken, as does José Ramón Andrés in his Washington restaurants; or breaking a caramel sphere made by the Roca brothers to allow the previously inserted smoke to escape over aromatic grilled cep ice cream at El Celler de Can Roca. There is still some doubt as to whether video will have enough quality and resolution to capture all of the details. We should make a film. Without a doubt, film cuisine. But, let us be careful not to overdo it with the show! Because, though all is valid in God’s realm, let us not allow the aromas, flavors and textures to become secondary to the show. If, for the good of all, “the show must go on,” remember that gastronomic emotion is not just a question of sight.