Food provides many pleasures, of which aesthetics play a significant part. Think of the smooth, taut skin of a purple aubergine; the combination of oil and balsamic vinegar when swirled around with a slice of bread; the distinct blistering of freshly baked sourdough and the crackling of crust as it contracts during the cooling process. Cooking is full of tiny moments of beauty. Taste alone doesn't cut it — we couldn’t operate through life with just one of our senses. What we see and smell informs what we taste.
I think people believe that the food we eat in the summer is always the most beautiful, the most colourful. The array of radishes that adorn bright green leafy salads, the deep pink that runs through wild salmon or baby pink stained fingers after eating strawberries with your hands by the punnet. Think of gold, sundrop cherry tomatoes that burst with a sweetness akin to grapes. Everything feels like there is a delight in the colourful and simple.
The dishes of autumn and winter have a different kind of aesthetic quality. These are the brown foods of the world. The stews, the slow-cooked meats, the dark soupy mess that, when eaten, can make you feel at home. These are often ignored, relegated to the category of “pub food” at best. And it is a hard one to defend admittedly, especially when you’re not sure what you’re looking at. But I’m a firm believer of the idea that, just because it doesn’t look good, does not mean it doesn’t taste good.
At first glance, brown food can often seem unappealing — meaty liquid turns to oily glassiness and the pot most certainly looks dirty rather than the epitome of a delicious flavour profile. But the pleasure often lies in its flavour. All the richness, the warmth, the seasoning that melds together, cannot be captured with even the best camera.
In my kitchen, you must always pass the taste test. I’m not one to force you to eat a dish if you truly put up a fight, but I always ask you to try the dish before you bring any judgement to the table. The dish may look unphotogenic; a mushroom bourguignon, for example, looks rather lumpy and liquidy when laid over mash. However, when eaten on a cold day, it does everything to warm you from the inside out. It is a dish where seconds are often in demand. And you would be remiss if let your eyes dictate what you should eat.
I never grew up eating stews. Having spent the majority of my childhood in Asia, the only equivalent dish I could perhaps compare it to is congee, a savoury rice porridge. My mother used to make it for me when I was ill; she’d top it with shredded chicken and a salted duck egg. I’d push the dish away, my nose wrinkled in dismay; a lumpy, glutinous thing in a bowl, but now, it reminds me of home. Something that I could eat every day if given the choice. Maybe that is why brown food is given its bad reputation; thousands of memories of tough beef with a salty sauce and uncooked potatoes have destroyed the traditional greatness of stews and slow-cooked meals.
Despite its comforting nature, a bowl of brown doesn’t exactly grab attention as a showstopper. In a world where everything seems to demand constant attention, including ourselves, brown food doesn’t follow suit—it invites us with a gentle hand rather than a bold declaration. While vibrant, splendid, and lively dishes all have their place at the table, they shouldn’t overshadow the charm of cosier, quieter pleasures.
In the end, I’m really just here to tell you to make sure you try brown food; to try all foods, really, regardless of what it looks like. So much of my favourite foods are not suited for instagram; risotto in a green pesto sauce, wine-braised short ribs, Indian curries, cheung fun (肠粉)— a dim sum staple. I hope you always keep an open mind, you never know what will surprise you.
Great piece. I’m going to go read it again it was so good. Thank you!