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Is cooking an art form?
Dan Rottenberg
Is cooking an art form?
DAN ROTTENBERG
In our Cross-Cultural section, the food and wine writer Lynn Hoffman takes me to task for failing to grant his chosen field the same level of respect that Broad Street Review accords to the performing and visual arts. Hoffman wants me to elevate food and wine to a category all its own, just like Music, Theater, Art, Dance and Opera.
Yes, you read correctly: Instead of sucking up to me and my exalted position, which I have trampled so many rivals to achieve, this goofball gourmet has the temerity to question my editorial judgment and, by implication, my fitness as cultural czar of Philadelphia and all the lands and seas beyond. Having gorged himself on truffles, fois gras and pistachio-crusted seared ahi tuna with a balsamic reduction on a bed of polenta and arugula with imported goat cheese while half the world starves, this galloping glutton emerges from his vomitorium with the ludicrous claim that a man can feed his soul by feeding his stomach! Has such arrant nonsense ever before been foisted upon ladies and gentlemen of high culture?
Come to think of it— guards! Seize him! Teach this gastronome gasbag what becomes of those who challenge the editor of the Broad Street Review!
Sorry— all that power must have gone to my head. Where was I? Oh, yes:
Broad Street Review merely functions as a forum in which arts critics and connoisseurs can speak their minds. I assign no articles, reviews or stories; I’m entirely at the mercy of my contributors. Why they give me such erudite commentary is beyond me, especially considering our limited fees. If Lynn Hoffman or anyone else would like to engage in discourse about the culinary arts, please— be my guest.
And to demonstrate my appreciation of the role of fine cuisine in a cultured community, please consider this column of mine written in Spring 2001, when I edited the dining guide for Philadelphia Style magazine:
How the great chefs saved Philadelphia
Return with me to the Dark Ages—specifically, 1990. Communists ruled the Kremlin. Negativism and a seemingly hopeless fiscal deficit ruled Philadelphia. There was no Convention Center. Few Philadelphians believed a new orchestra concert hall would ever be built. The city had a single luxury-class hotel (the Four Seasons). Georges Perrier was content with Le Bec-Fin. Stephen Starr was running a nightclub. Neil Stein was working for a lobster chain.
Early that year McDonald’s opened a restaurant in Moscow. It was just another plastic fast-food unit, but to Muscovites it was a revelation. Never before had they encountered such non-socialist salutations as “May I help you?” and “Thank you for coming!” A year later, the Soviet Union collapsed.
Also in 1990, four new luxury-class hotels (the Rittenhouse, Bellevue, Ritz-Carlton and Omni) opened in Philadelphia. To our fumbling, angry city, these oases of civility offered friendly doormen, accommodating waiters and chambermaids trained to say a cheerful “hello” to everyone they passed.
Hotel industry analysts worried that Philadelphia couldn’t support five world-class hotels. (These were the same people who worried seven years earlier that Philadelphia couldn’t support one world-class hotel.) But civic boosters argued that this critical mass of upscale hotels would attract affluent tourists who previously avoided Philadelphia.
Well, looking back at Philadelphia’s hotel/restaurant explosion since then, we can see that the game wasn’t about attracting tycoons and celebrities. It was about making Philadelphians feel like tycoons and celebrities.
At these hotels and restaurants, you don’t have to be a millionaire to enjoy world-class treatment. For less than $50, a couple can dine at the Swann Lounge in the Four Seasons or downstairs at Le Bec-Fin. Lunch at Chin-Chin costs less than $15; the bar lunch at Cuvée Notredame runs a mere $5. A seat in the stunning Ritz-Carlton lobby is free, for goodness’ sake.
And it’s impossible to set foot in a luxury hotel or restaurant without feeling better about yourself and about Philadelphia. “What one plastic McDonald’s could do for discouraged Muscovites,” I predicted in the Inquirer in 1990, “five luxury hotels could do for discouraged Philadelphians.”
That’s pretty much the way things worked out, except now we have hundreds of great restaurants spreading good feelings as well.
Two miracles occurred in Philadelphia during the 1990s: The city’s deficit vanished, and so did Philadelphians’ negative self-image. You may give the credit to Ed Rendell, David L. Cohen and John Street. But all that first-class one-on-one pampering has made a difference, too. Next time you enjoy an uplifting meal, don’t just thank the chefs for their cooking. Thank them for saving our city.
To read responses, click here.
DAN ROTTENBERG
In our Cross-Cultural section, the food and wine writer Lynn Hoffman takes me to task for failing to grant his chosen field the same level of respect that Broad Street Review accords to the performing and visual arts. Hoffman wants me to elevate food and wine to a category all its own, just like Music, Theater, Art, Dance and Opera.
Yes, you read correctly: Instead of sucking up to me and my exalted position, which I have trampled so many rivals to achieve, this goofball gourmet has the temerity to question my editorial judgment and, by implication, my fitness as cultural czar of Philadelphia and all the lands and seas beyond. Having gorged himself on truffles, fois gras and pistachio-crusted seared ahi tuna with a balsamic reduction on a bed of polenta and arugula with imported goat cheese while half the world starves, this galloping glutton emerges from his vomitorium with the ludicrous claim that a man can feed his soul by feeding his stomach! Has such arrant nonsense ever before been foisted upon ladies and gentlemen of high culture?
Come to think of it— guards! Seize him! Teach this gastronome gasbag what becomes of those who challenge the editor of the Broad Street Review!
Sorry— all that power must have gone to my head. Where was I? Oh, yes:
Broad Street Review merely functions as a forum in which arts critics and connoisseurs can speak their minds. I assign no articles, reviews or stories; I’m entirely at the mercy of my contributors. Why they give me such erudite commentary is beyond me, especially considering our limited fees. If Lynn Hoffman or anyone else would like to engage in discourse about the culinary arts, please— be my guest.
And to demonstrate my appreciation of the role of fine cuisine in a cultured community, please consider this column of mine written in Spring 2001, when I edited the dining guide for Philadelphia Style magazine:
How the great chefs saved Philadelphia
Return with me to the Dark Ages—specifically, 1990. Communists ruled the Kremlin. Negativism and a seemingly hopeless fiscal deficit ruled Philadelphia. There was no Convention Center. Few Philadelphians believed a new orchestra concert hall would ever be built. The city had a single luxury-class hotel (the Four Seasons). Georges Perrier was content with Le Bec-Fin. Stephen Starr was running a nightclub. Neil Stein was working for a lobster chain.
Early that year McDonald’s opened a restaurant in Moscow. It was just another plastic fast-food unit, but to Muscovites it was a revelation. Never before had they encountered such non-socialist salutations as “May I help you?” and “Thank you for coming!” A year later, the Soviet Union collapsed.
Also in 1990, four new luxury-class hotels (the Rittenhouse, Bellevue, Ritz-Carlton and Omni) opened in Philadelphia. To our fumbling, angry city, these oases of civility offered friendly doormen, accommodating waiters and chambermaids trained to say a cheerful “hello” to everyone they passed.
Hotel industry analysts worried that Philadelphia couldn’t support five world-class hotels. (These were the same people who worried seven years earlier that Philadelphia couldn’t support one world-class hotel.) But civic boosters argued that this critical mass of upscale hotels would attract affluent tourists who previously avoided Philadelphia.
Well, looking back at Philadelphia’s hotel/restaurant explosion since then, we can see that the game wasn’t about attracting tycoons and celebrities. It was about making Philadelphians feel like tycoons and celebrities.
At these hotels and restaurants, you don’t have to be a millionaire to enjoy world-class treatment. For less than $50, a couple can dine at the Swann Lounge in the Four Seasons or downstairs at Le Bec-Fin. Lunch at Chin-Chin costs less than $15; the bar lunch at Cuvée Notredame runs a mere $5. A seat in the stunning Ritz-Carlton lobby is free, for goodness’ sake.
And it’s impossible to set foot in a luxury hotel or restaurant without feeling better about yourself and about Philadelphia. “What one plastic McDonald’s could do for discouraged Muscovites,” I predicted in the Inquirer in 1990, “five luxury hotels could do for discouraged Philadelphians.”
That’s pretty much the way things worked out, except now we have hundreds of great restaurants spreading good feelings as well.
Two miracles occurred in Philadelphia during the 1990s: The city’s deficit vanished, and so did Philadelphians’ negative self-image. You may give the credit to Ed Rendell, David L. Cohen and John Street. But all that first-class one-on-one pampering has made a difference, too. Next time you enjoy an uplifting meal, don’t just thank the chefs for their cooking. Thank them for saving our city.
To read responses, click here.
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