CURRENT INTEREST
The Peking Man Cooks Fusion

By K. E. Miner

We are indebted to Peking Man for inventing roasted meat in 250,000 B.C. That he had the inventiveness to put a raw carcass on a stick and hold it over an open fire changed the way our early ancestors ate their kill. Peking Man was the first haute-cuisine chef. Once he invited neighbors to his fire pit, he ran the very first Chinese restaurant. Peking Man was not a genius, of course, he was a clumsy oaf who lazily dropped his kill too close to the fire, despite Peking Woman's objections, and found that roasted game is more flavorful and easier on the digestive system than raw meat. Bravo for him!

Peking Man's contribution to food preparation was a legacy that would stretch out over centuries. The Chinese proved to be both innovative inventors of food preparations, that represented their Taoist beliefs and observant Fusionists, who used the crafty techniques of other cultures to improve their own kitchens.

As inventors, the Chinese made the first prepared mustard, much to the chagrin of the French, who have had a hard time letting that one go. They, also, invented Sushi and Sashimi, no matter what the Japanese may say on the matter. The Chinese invented meatloaf, for some reason I cannot fathom, and yeasted breads. The Chinese observed Mongol invaders cooking in their metal helmets over open fires and deduced that the helmet was an efficient use of fuel and from this observation, they invented the wok.

The Chinese invented and perfected the process of drying foods and in so doing, enabled the proliferation of trade routes between the East and the West. The trade routes opened in pre-Christian times enabled the free exchange of silk and spices, as well as ideas, food items, techniques, preparations and dining rituals. The Chinese were the forefathers of Fusion food.

Blending East and West food on the plate is the reconciliation of two distinct ways of being and thinking. Fusion, in its most harmonious form, mediates the contrived individualism of Western tradition with the creation-centered and communal order of Eastern ideology.

Western dining traditions are marked by the use of separate plates, demonstrating the value put on independence and privacy. The Chinese eat from a large common bowl set in the middle of the table, illustrating the importance placed on community and sharing. Until the last twenty years, there has been almost no "private food" in Chinese culture. The "Soup For One" phenomenon is reserved for the Western tradition where individualism, independence and a growing lack of recreational time makes dining alone a habit born out of necessity.

Eastern food traditions are a product of the Tao, the belief that there is a natural way of being in the universe and that moving with the flow is more important than crudely manipulating something into being. This is illustrated in the work of the Chinese chef and his relationship to the tools of his craft. A Taoist chef does not have to repetitively sharpen his knives because he is taught the intricate mapping of the carcass in front of him and is able to easily section it off, moving effortlessly around joints and bones. He is not forcing reality but moving deftly within that reality.

Western food is marked by rich and flavorful sauces that are often the centerpiece of a plate. We are inclined to prepare one-dish meals where food elements are prepared together in one container, such as stew and boiled dinners. Eastern food traditions forgo hiding food underneath imposing flavors and opt for light sauces that support and underscore the food. The casserole dish is unheard of in Eastern culture, where food elements are often prepared separately and then, combined at the last minute in the wok for greater texture and flavor.

The dining tradition of Westerners is mitigated by a rigid set of etiquette rules that prevent such travesties as the boarding house reach and episodes of burping. Western tradition dictates a certain provincialism surrounding our food. We may eat but we don't want to look like we're eating. Chinese diners, on the other hand, are not prone to confusing civility with eating and as such, their dining experience is centered around the process of eating and all that entails.

The Chinese were aware of the knife and fork before they adopted the use of chopsticks. Their decision is an extension of Taoist ideology, that the forceful cutting of food is uncivil, almost savage. The chef cuts up all the food in the kitchen leaving the diner free to move simply and cleanly through the meal. The knife and fork in Western cuisine symbolizes our need for rapid efficiency and individual independence.

Contemporary fusion cooking, at its best, seeks to marry these distinct ideologies; not simply the cooking technique from one and the ingredients from another. Successful fusion accounts for a multi-dimensional understanding of food and the practical application of culture on the plate. It is the interpretation of change set against history, tradition and people. It is both sensitive to legacy and to the persistent shifting of the New World.

Peking Man may have been the inventor of the spit roast but, alas, like a man with a new corvette, he could not keep his discovery a secret. He must have met a nomad along the road and told him about his warm meat, maybe invited him over for a nibble. The nomad, truly the door-to-door salesman of his day, took the roasted meat theory on the road and the next year, Homo Sapiens all over the globe were spit roasting their meat and toasting the brilliance of Peking Man with clubs raised over their heads. The first Fusion Food was born.

The celebration of Fusion cooking in this decade, I believe, is a by-product of our new economy. The first traders moving East to West and West to East understood the concept of a changing world, and shared, adopted and stole from the customs they saw before them. Faced with our own new world and our shrinking globe, we, too, are searching for a way to blend the old and the new, and the strange and the familiar. We are driven by our fractured sense of security and our robust excitement for the possibilities that lay ahead, just like the traders before us. Fusion Food is merely one chapter in the story of that journey.

I shamelessly lifted much of the historical data in this column from Jeff Smith's books. As a kid, I watched him religiously on TV as the Frugal Gourmet and I blame him solely for forming my perception of food as the centerpiece of community and food as ritual. He was post-modern before the term was defined. Jeff Smith, in his work, embraces the elegance and grandeur of the feast by remembering history and tradition and because of this, he reminds us that food is simply a story about people.