Plating: Procurement to Plate, the Joy of Partaking III

Why do we bother to imagine and intend how a plate presents?  It's the food that matters, right?  It's the  components  we bothered to prepare that get our saliva started, bile juices turning, that promote the digestive process.  What does it matter what it looks like as long as my body and a meal are in gear?

We humans discount the impact of subtle (and gross) impressions on our being.  Impressions are a food unto themselves.  They satiate a deeper hunger, a hunger that isn't always at the forefront of ourselves.  I saw this when I was a nurse in a hospital.  Patient's fragile states and reduced appetites were often impacted not by the food so much as the presentation.  I saw patients lose their appetite if the meal was huge (imposing, overwhelming).  Countering this, I saw patients gain an appetite when color, care and balanced portions were presented.  It's an energy thing, I think.  A patient's energy is so sensitized due to their illness; they pick up on, register (possibly assume?) the energy of the plater, the server, the preparer of the meal.  When it is mechanical, uncaring it's unappetizing.  Institutional food is not unappetizing solely because it's mass produced, but also because it's mass delivered in an often coarse way.  The automatic and unmindful way we partake of meals or food as a general population has become commonplace.  And so it is reflected in our institutions.  When we become more sensitized to the sacred event in a meal and all the parts thereof,  the event becomes something else.  We become something else other than food shoveling automatons.  A meal is (could be / should be) a sacred event; a nurturing of our being through deep nourishing impressions and thoughtful, balanced nutrients.

When imagining a meal, the long view of how it will be served and how it will end up on a plate is necessary.  Whereas three components on a plate are traditional, a fourth (or more) component makes it a party, a feast.  Keeping intact the original shape and size of at least one component supports the other components which have undergone chopping and/or shrinking (a transformation).  Alternately, if all the components are roughly the same size and whole, it is less interesting and appealing than when one or two have been altered in size and/or texture.

It might be helpful to look at the components of a meal as playing a role.  There is the "hero" on the plate and the supporting players.  The supporting players enhance, even elevate the hero.  They are sometimes the sublime foil for the hero or each other.  They do this through complimenting color, texture, size and shape and of course flavor.  An example of this would be the sweet/sour/pungent accompaniment to meat, such as a chutney or a sauce/gravy.  This is a complex foil.  Complex in color and flavor.  Often the simplicity of a steamed vegetable unadulterated, brings relief to one's gastronomy when the other offerings have more complexity.  

As far as plating goes, harmony and balance are achieved in a meal when proportions are considered in relation to the whole, when colors are complimentary, when texture and shape are varied.  This might seem like a lot to consider and possibly fussy.  Fuss happens when tension moves in.  In a relaxed state, the right everything is available.  There is no hyper considering, worrying, over-concern.  Hence, no fussiness.  Considering the relationship of the meal's components as full and dimensional as well as being sometimes complex, is not the same thing as being overdone or fussy.  Overdone can be loading a pancake with so much fruit, that it does not allow the complex carbohydrate to have a voice of its own.  Or drowning the hero (protein) in a sauce that overbears upon the prime attraction.  Too much.  Not enough thought, restraint, or care-- or perhaps a capitulation to impulsive desire.  The food's end result will always show us the truth of the matter.

There are always surprises in cooking.  The colors you thought you were going to get don't happen or aren't pleasing.  Something shrinks in cooking you didn't expect.  The relationship of the components isn't finding balance on the plate.  Wonderful quandaries!  It allows us to reconsider what is required.  It asks us to sensitize ourselves to what is and to move from there in an open inquiry.  Quite often, the simplest of things like a leaf of parsley, a sliver of orange rind pulls everything together.  What to use?  How to decide?  Relationship should be what dictates the creative impulse.  If parsley was used in one of the components-- to have parsley at its simplest, expressed on another component would speak volumes.  It would be sublimely related. We aren't bringing something entirely foreign, but something, somehow related.  It's an interesting study to soften and open to what is and what the plate asks for.

photo credit:  Lalu Danzker

Service is an interesting consideration.  Do we plate before reaching the table, attempting to  control the received impression?  Or does the meal call for a family-style delivery?  Platters and bowls of the meal's components on the table to individually serve from?  This latter prospect invites a sense of abundance and also a different type of interaction among the meal's participants (things have to be passed to others, conversation ensues).  Every meal calls for its own type of service.

This post and most of the posts I write on food (hopefully) invite you into a sensitization, a receptive mode:  this state is the human gift.  All people have this as a propensity, it is part of our human inheritance.  Receptivity to impressions of food is just one facet of the prism of our existence.  It's a good place to practice the process of opening, sensitizing and receiving impressions and will carry over to all relationships (inner and outer) as its value is recognized.