It must have been some time in the '80s when ergonomics became a popular design feature and marketing tool, a buzzword applied to everything from automobiles to toothbrushes. It’s simply defined by how well a product or system physically interacts with the consumer- a seat molded to perfectly fit ones posterior, or a vegetable peeler with a pleasing, effortless grip. In such a case, function usually wins out over form. One of my favorite examples of where the two coexist is Breuer’s famous Wassily Chair- its cold, spare design offers little clue as to its surprising comfort. In fact, many of the Bauhaus pieces do more than just flirt with practicality; they maintain a timeless modern aesthetic. I wonder just how uncomfortable life must have been before industrial designers and their consideration of human anatomy. Perhaps we’ve become just a little bit spoiled by our own progress to notice how pampered we are.
As it relates to eating, the classic shapes of our utensils and cooking tools likely evolved more from functionality than beauty, though one can hardly deny a certain sexiness in the curve of a spoon, or the slender tines of a fork. And we’ve all likely appreciated a light-weight knife like a Global, the blade feeling like an extension of one’s own hand. Not always the prettiest tools in the drawer, Oxo’s Good Grip line has proven wildly successful over the years as well.
A different notion of ergonomic sensibility conforms not so much to the human as it does to the object of its functionality. Wine glasses, for instance, have become fashioned into finely tuned vessels, their designs capturing distinct features of a wide range of grape varietals and winemaking styles. Sure, it’s just grape juice, but in the proper glass, it comes alive with just a swirl and a sniff. With regard to serviceware in general, especially after the Crucial Detail pieces made for Alinea, it’s not unusual for the shape of an actual dish to follow the concept of the ‘dish’.
But what of the food itself? Can we apply the same term, or at least one that conveys the same idea? True, I’ve recently seen some inventive bonbon molds, with purposeful indentations for picking up with the fingers. And let us set aside the obvious accomplishments in food design rooted in portability- the sandwich, the ice cream cone, and really, anything served on a stick. Individual parts and pieces of a dish could also speak to ergonomic pleasure, or if flawed, provide ‘discomfort’ on the palette. Perhaps the one singular dish, or type of dish, that best illustrates a sense of ergonomics is pasta. Indeed, the shape is as much about function as form, and ultimately responsible for how its sauce clings and its garnishes interact as a whole greater than the sum of its parts.
But I guess I’m thinking more along the lines of a composed presentation, and how we actually experience it. I’ve often used the phrase, ‘it eats well’, to describe how several components gel, both in flavor and texture. This might refer to a compact structure that combines just the right proportions of ingredients and tastes, or blown out compositions where the diner must build the perfect bite themselves- a little of this, a bit of that. Is one style or approach to plating inherently better, or easier on the eater? While they might not always pop visually, I have a respect for simpler, layered compositions that emphasize such function. There’s a definite architectural skill required to find just the right balance of crunchy and creamy, or sweet and tart. The hidden element of surprise can also factor into such a calculated assembly.
But so too do I appreciate the modernist template of presentation- that lateral splaying of random components as opposed to an ordered, often vertical layering. That’s not to say there isn’t intent in such a style, but possible downfalls do exist. One common strategy is to balance the elements in such a way that the guest will intuitively know ‘how’ to eat the dish, that they know the acidity of a sorbet is meant to punctuate and contrast with a rich cream when taken together. The problem is, you can’t control someone else’s eating experience; if anything, one has to assume that each piece of that complex puzzle will be consumed one by one and out of context. Therefore, each component must stand on its own. I admire the thought that goes into such dishes, but in the end, they sadly often appear as fragmented piles of this and drips of that with no explicit connection. And no matter how skillfully each component has been executed, or how artfully arranged, it often seems, quite frankly, a bit unfinished.
I’m not a hater, believe me. It’s a ‘look’ that I fall for all the time. But I’ve been starting to challenge myself lately, trying to envision a dish more as a unified whole, a deliberate construction, less ‘obvious’ as a collection of flavors, and perhaps more austere in appearance next to a scattered landscape of complimentary ingredients. Perhaps it was Philippe Conticini who found the right balance in assembling several separate components in bowls and glasses; his flavors readily unified in a sort of harmony, but in an indeterminate way. Genius, really, at least in his hands.
Some might say I’ve only scratched the surface in terms of an ergonomics of eating, or sensory juxtaposition. We could surely pare things down to a purely physiological perspective, reducing the idea to examine how our brains receive and interpret the chemical compounds that comprise flavor and aroma. There are surely more than a few folks out there doing just that, viewing flavor combinations through such a lens.
Of course, any or all the elements of a dish can ultimately dictate how we eat it. But if we spin it just slightly to apply the idea of ergonomics, all of a sudden eating becomes an experience, or interaction with what it is we’re eating. It seems obvious, but the more I wrap my head around it, I begin to see food in a whole new light.
