A look into the anything-but-bland origins—and the fiery future—of a famously bland cuisine.
If you grew up as I did — an American Jew with little faith but lots of historically informed anxiety — you have a “When they come for the Jews” plan. Because, well, at some point, they always come for the Jews, and while you might not get to enact your plan (escaping to Israel, say, or arming yourself to go underground) before they come for you, at least you can say you had a plan. In any case, it gives you something to think about between meals. And at mealtimes. And when you lie awake at 2 a.m., unable to sleep, wondering when they’re going to come for you.
Lately, my plan is this: When they come for the Jews, I’m moving to Copenhagen and opening a Sichuan restaurant.
On its face, I know, this sounds ridiculous. But we have good family friends there, and while Denmark has been ambivalent about refugees in recent years, it protected Jews during World War II, so I’m relying on that. Also, I’m halfway decent at Sichuan cooking. My mapo tofu is highly satisfying, I’ve got a secret recipe for water-cooked fish, and a friend of mine recently pronounced my chili oil “f*cking delicious.”
And maybe that’s the most ridiculous thing: spicy Sichuan food in Denmark?!? Because while Denmark has, over the last decade, transformed itself into a top culinary destination (thanks in large part to Noma, the Copenhagen “New Nordic” restaurant often ranked the best in the world), it remains a land almost untouched by the chili pepper.
This is weird. The chili pepper is, by most accounts, the world’s most popular spice, an essential component of cooking from the Americas (it originated in what’s now Bolivia, and was first domesticated in what’s now Mexico) to all over Africa and Asia, and much of Europe — think Spanish pimentón and Hungarian paprika. And that conquest took place in just the last 500 or so years, as sailors who’d encountered this New World fruit spread it to every corner of the globe, aided by Arab spice traders, botanically minded monks and aristocrats, the occasional military invasion, and migratory birds (which are unaffected by capsaicin, the chemical that causes chilies’ signature burn). And yet Denmark, along with a handful of other…
The article you mentioned delves into the intricate history and cultural evolution of cuisine, particularly focusing on the intriguing origins of blandness in contrast to the fiery potential of Sichuan cuisine in Denmark. It interweaves personal anecdotes with culinary observations, exploring themes of cultural identity and culinary migration. Here's a breakdown of the concepts involved:
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Cuisine & Cultural Identity: The article navigates the author's identity as an American Jew and the historical context of Jewish apprehensions, intertwining it with the realm of cuisine as a marker of cultural heritage and a source of comfort. It raises the idea of utilizing food and culinary traditions as a refuge in uncertain times.
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Migration and Culinary Influence: The notion of migrating to Denmark amid hypothetical turmoil and introducing Sichuan cuisine reflects the concept of culinary migration. It underlines the influence of migration on culinary diversity, how people carry their food culture across borders, and how it becomes interwoven within new cultural contexts.
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Culinary Transformation: The contrast between Denmark's historical lack of chili pepper use despite its global prevalence showcases the transformation of culinary landscapes. It highlights Denmark's recent culinary renaissance while noting its absence of chili pepper in contrast to its widespread usage globally.
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Culinary Globalization & Historical Context: The article touches on the history of the chili pepper's global conquest, tracing its origins in the Americas and its subsequent spread worldwide due to various factors such as trade, exploration, and cultural exchanges.
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Culinary Geography: It discusses the global presence of chili pepper as an essential spice in diverse cuisines, ranging from the Americas to Africa, Asia, and Europe, pointing out Denmark's relative untouched status by this culinary phenomenon despite its geographical spread.
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Culinary Appreciation: Lastly, it touches on the appreciation of specific cuisines, like Sichuan, in a context where they might seem out of place or unfamiliar. The author's proficiency in Sichuan cooking highlights the universality of culinary appreciation and the potential for diverse cuisines to thrive in unexpected locations.
The narrative skillfully weaves personal experiences with broader cultural, historical, and culinary themes, showcasing the interplay between food, identity, and global culinary trends.
