Aesthetic Preference is a Recognition of Craftsmanship
Something David Ryan wrote about dark art and wanna-be-sophistos has had me thinking for a while – first about whether valuing civility and the desire not to offend keep us all trapped in a glass fortress (they do, but there’s a trade-off, of course) – then about why we like the things we do. In terms of the latter, after considerable thought and up until recently, I had embraced some species of nihilism; the idea that aesthetic preferences are merely expressions of political power seemed a bit too Marxist for my sensibilities but still close to my then default position. I remain fascinated yet skeptical of neurophysiological attempts to explain aesthetic preferences.
For some time I continued to believe that building a coherent, simple aesthetic was impossible. I knew I had no good reason to like the things I did and that the various things I liked seemed to be connected in no objectively-meaningful way; but something I saw a few days ago on Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations provided the ah-ha moment I’ve been needing.
Bourdain was set to dine at a small shop in Tokyo that served only old-style unagi (eel). The restaurant had made no changes to its one-item menu for sixty-some-odd years: the eels are sliced-up nose-to-tail, folded on themselves, skewered, covered in sauce, and grilled yakitori-style. Before he had even tasted the unagi, master chef and seasoned world traveler Bourdain commented that he greatly appreciated that that establishment did exactly that one thing – based on the experiences of thousands of years times many more thousands of diners – so exceptionally well that it could remain open continuously without any significant changes for so long. That is to say, Bourdain recognized that restaurant’s craftsmanship and took the weight of all of that into account before sensuously experiencing the food, judging, and being satisfied.
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Recently, I have seen my tastes in many things go through some dramatic changes. I’ve been getting into red wine – something I never, ever saw myself doing. A knowledgeable friend recommended I start with Bordeaux, and I’ve since gone on to enjoy a wide range of Pinot noir, Spanish and Sardinian reds, Napa Valley Cabernet, and Chianti. My musical tastes are changing too: I’m actually starting to like some pop and R&B. I’m no longer too cynical to honestly evaluate American Idol contestants, but I have just enough cynicism remaining to continue to honestly evaluate the judges. Finally, in my adult life I hated fantasy up until I started watching Game of Thrones (don’t worry, no spoilers), but if I had more free time at this stage of my life I’d seriously consider locking myself in my room and reading the kinds of fantasy series Erik has been recommending, which took up a large chunk of my childhood.
Some of my preferences, like some of your preferences, derive from the fact that our society is supersaturated with art, combined with some random set of botched or stellar (first) impressions. Humans this day and age are bombarded with information, and we rarely have enough time to process it all. We tend to make quick judgments about entire categories of things before moving on to make more quick judgments.
The first few times I drank red wine were at weddings and other large functions, which tend to serve cheap wine that’s there for only one reason. Up until recently, I thought the language sommeliers used to talk to each other was a form of conspicuous consumption or bourgeois signalling or even bullshit*, until I realized it was a shorthand not dissimilar from that of the ancient scribes who gave birth to written language itself: “cherry” and “tobacco” do not actually signify “cherry” and “tobacco”, just as the letter “a” does not signify “ox“. Sommeliers spend years training their noses and palates to recognize hundreds or thousands of unique tasting notes, just as pianists spend years training their eyes and fingers to recognize written musical notes. And just as expert musicians can just look at a piece of sheet music and hear the harmonies and timbres, sommeliers can just speak to each other and experience flavors, aromas, growing conditions, yields, sunlight, and rain from all over the world. It’s amazing what sublime complexity and subtlety thousands of years of a culture has brought us.
Likewise, one of the major problems I have with most fantasy literature is that “magic” is often evoked licentiously as a cure-all to both pander to readers and cover plot holes. Things looking down? Well, hey, there’re these ghosts who owe like the hero’s ancestors and stuff a huge favor, and they’re ghosts so like they like can’t be killed and stuff so at the very end they just come in and kill all the bad guys just at the right time and everyone lives like happily ever after and stuff and wizards and dragons. The end.
Thrones doesn’t do that. The series continues to surprise and horrify me, and as much as I despise infant murder and prostitute torture and the constant deaths of characters I care about, I keep watching because George R.R. Martin has created something beautiful and complex in Arya Stark and Jon Snow and even Cersei Lannister. They are not senseless archetypes but something new entirely. For me and for my aesthetic, appreciation for Game of Thrones, the performances of Jessica Sanchez, and the tastes of certain red wines comes from their craftsmanship. And just as sommeliers communicate with each other through the currency of tasting notes, so too do artists communicate with their audiences through the currency of thoughtful creation.
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* My favorite so far: “A banal sloppy joe flavor and mild albuterol overtones are mixed in the 1776 Semillon from Mussolini Bros Vineyards.”
My problem with the Bourdain scenario is that his experience in the shop was colored specifically by what he knew going in: he knew it was a landmark, he knew it was beloved, he knew it was important to a community. And wouldn’t you know it, he ended up liking the food. Had he disliked it of course, we never would have seen the segment, but more importantly, what would he have thought about that eel if he’d simply had it devoid of any of that additional information? Would it have been as good? As sensuous? As immaculate?
The problem with these things is that they rarely survive blind tastings. People are influenced not just by the thing, but by what they know ABOUT the thing. As a result, their reaction to the thing is actually their reaction to the thing plus their reaction to everything they know about the thing plus their own individual histories. I don’t know why we have to pretend like that isn’t happening.Report
“My problem with the Bourdain scenario is that his experience in the shop was colored specifically by what he knew going in…”
…which is kind of the whole point of the show, so I’m not sure how your criticism is valid. Nobody’s “pretending like” the context is not part of the experience. Quite the opposite, in fact.Report
Does the eel taste good because it tastes good, because he wants it to taste good, because he likes places like that, or because of some combination of these factors? Would he have reacted to the food in the same way, in other words, if he hadn’t known where it came from or who made it?Report
“It’s a naive domestic eel but I believe you’ll be amused by its presumption.”Report
Make that, “It’s a naive domestic eel without any breeding, but I think you’ll be amused by its presumption.”
Should have fact-checked first.Report
It’s the naiveté that makes the eel’s fat so scrumptious.Report
“Would he have reacted to the food in the same way, in other words, if he hadn’t known where it came from or who made it?”
See, I understand that you’re going for a “he thinks it’s great because he paid nine thousand dollars for it” argument, because you subscribe to the anti-intellectual belief that liking a thing independent of context represents some kind of aesthetic honesty. But the thing is, that’s not the point of the segment in question. Yes, if you just handed Anthony Bourdain a piece of grilled eel he might not enjoy it as much, but the purpose of the piece was not merely to put grilled eel inside Anthony Bourdain; the intent was an aesthetic experience which happened to include grilled eel.
Sure, the kind of tea they use in Japanese tea ceremonies probably wouldn’t “survive a blind tasting”, but if you think that the intent of a tea ceremony is to drink tea then you’re badly missing the point.Report
If there was anything intellectual about what was going on, it could be replicated in blind tests. That it can’t be seems to indicate that something else is going on, something that ought to be understood and acknowledges, instead of pretended away because it’s nicer to believe that experts really are what they claim.Report
“If there was anything intellectual about what was going on, it could be replicated in blind tests. That it can’t be seems to indicate that something else is going on…”
Yes! Something else IS GOING ON! That’s exactly what I and Carr and Bourdain and the show’s producers and the restaurant owners have been saying all along.Report
So we’re both making the same point then. These judgments are influenced by all sorts of factors beyond the item itself and ought to be understood as such. Thus, it isn’t that the eel served at that stand is the most superior in all the kingdom, but rather, if you like historical venues and lifetime masters and eel served over a fire and etc etc etc, then this eel might be meet your needs.Report
So is that a problem, then, as you first described? I don’t get the sense that Bourdain was ever saying anything but “I’m paying for an experience, not just an eel”.Report
The last time I said that I was arrested.Report
I think Sam’s spot on here: The thrill of the high price lasts long after the quality is gone.
http://www.slashfood.com/2011/04/15/blind-tasters-cant-tell-cheap-wines-from-expensive/Report
Yes, I saw that, and my conclusion was that people who’d spent their entire lives driving the same Honda Civic probably wouldn’t be able to understand why a Lamborghini was so great if all they got was a five-minute test drive.Report
DD,
A Lamborghini isn’t so great if you’re looking for a reasonably priced car that’s going to run reliably for 10-20 years while giving you a place to safely put your children and your groceries. It’s only great within particular contexts, none of which is superior to any other.Report
the point is to have “kisses at a distance”…
unless my reading of manga has led me astray…Report
I believe these conclusions are limited in utility.
There’s a lot of stuff by Yes that is impeccable craftsmanship that is utter crap to my ears.
Pepe Romero is another one that comes to mind.Report
The length of time a craftsman successfully plies his craft or an institution fulfills its mandate is indicative in many cases of quality. Long life is a useful heuristic when evaluating a thing. The author of this piece makes this observation and then incredibly leaps to lend credence to the bullshit that surrounds the wine evaluation industry. Makes me laugh.
http://www.marketplace.org/topics/life/freakonomics-radio/freakonomics-do-wine-experts-or-prices-matter
http://www.nytimes.com/1990/05/23/garden/wine-talk-847190.html?pagewanted=all&src=pmReport
I think Keith is on to something here and said much that I wanted to say. I like good food and I don’t care if it’s in a white tablecloth environment or not-the quality of the food is paramount. I also like fine dining. When I go out and dine fine, I’m paying for “the whole experience”. Yes, I want to enjoy quality ingredients, artfully prepared. I also want to enjoy quality service, and have staff that can help me select a wine that will fit with the food ordered and that will appeal to my tastes.
All the non food elements are key indicators, but not guarentors, of the quality of the food.
Aside: I’ve had real japanese tea ceremony tea. It’s essentially green tea that’s kinda soupy and frothy. It’s actually not that bad. Since it’s concentrated it’s a bit astringent, but it has a purity of taste that is quite refreshing.Report