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10/25/2019
Konsalik
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Konsalik
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27
The problem of molecular cuisine
"We were at this new place yesterday. They now also offer molecular cuisine."
"Oh, what was it?"
"We just had a snack from the little lunch menu."
"So?"
"Yes. There was NATO sandwiches."
"Excuse me?"
"Liver sausage barbed wire on pumpernickel grenades in butter camouflage. In addition an accompanying olive gas attack and forks dipped in fir resin for the culinary bivouac feeling."
"Well, how was it?"
"Interesting. A synaesthetic experience."
"I mean: Did it taste good?"
"I don't know."
-----
Don't worry, I don't plan on doing clumsy molecular kitchen bashing. That would be quite 2010 on the one hand and unfair on the other: this branch of creative cuisine certainly still has its right to exist today. The small dialogue is merely intended to point out the dangers of creativity that has degenerated into an end in itself, which, having become stupid out of sheer feasibility, goes on in unrestrained combinatorics without ever considering a well-formulated goal apart from crooked metaphors.
"Ile Pourpre by Les Liquides Imaginaires has a similar problem. The combination of dry dark earthiness with cold sweet berry fruit (ice wine from the sparkling wine cooler) fits well in theory to the eponymous "purple island", on which wild, night green vegetation alternates with exotic, alien fruit stock. However, this connection always remains rational, without really inspiring the imagination of the smeller. The picture does not self-adjust and thus seems strangely clever and constructed. This is probably also due to the quite common modern base, which shimmers through the earthy-fruity undergrowth after only a short time and makes one think more of an office than of a mystically dazzling island in the distance.
I'm not saying an artificially heaped island can't have any appeal. But it is a rather technical and landscape attraction and not a genuine olfactory-imaginative one. Therefore, I recommend to anyone who feels addressed in theory by the purple temptation to sample a few milliliters before he or she commits to a longer-term (and not quite cheap) holiday on this island.
"Oh, what was it?"
"We just had a snack from the little lunch menu."
"So?"
"Yes. There was NATO sandwiches."
"Excuse me?"
"Liver sausage barbed wire on pumpernickel grenades in butter camouflage. In addition an accompanying olive gas attack and forks dipped in fir resin for the culinary bivouac feeling."
"Well, how was it?"
"Interesting. A synaesthetic experience."
"I mean: Did it taste good?"
"I don't know."
-----
Don't worry, I don't plan on doing clumsy molecular kitchen bashing. That would be quite 2010 on the one hand and unfair on the other: this branch of creative cuisine certainly still has its right to exist today. The small dialogue is merely intended to point out the dangers of creativity that has degenerated into an end in itself, which, having become stupid out of sheer feasibility, goes on in unrestrained combinatorics without ever considering a well-formulated goal apart from crooked metaphors.
"Ile Pourpre by Les Liquides Imaginaires has a similar problem. The combination of dry dark earthiness with cold sweet berry fruit (ice wine from the sparkling wine cooler) fits well in theory to the eponymous "purple island", on which wild, night green vegetation alternates with exotic, alien fruit stock. However, this connection always remains rational, without really inspiring the imagination of the smeller. The picture does not self-adjust and thus seems strangely clever and constructed. This is probably also due to the quite common modern base, which shimmers through the earthy-fruity undergrowth after only a short time and makes one think more of an office than of a mystically dazzling island in the distance.
I'm not saying an artificially heaped island can't have any appeal. But it is a rather technical and landscape attraction and not a genuine olfactory-imaginative one. Therefore, I recommend to anyone who feels addressed in theory by the purple temptation to sample a few milliliters before he or she commits to a longer-term (and not quite cheap) holiday on this island.
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