Nehaveigur

This morning, I had Cinnamon Toast Crunch with milk and I liked it better than any of the four steaks (two mignons, one sirloin, one New York strip) I ate on a trip to the cattle latitudes of the United States. These steaks were served in steakhouses selected by colleagues who made a great effort to ensure that we spend our dining allowance as well as possible. I know the steaks were excellent because I remember discussing them with my foodie colleagues, yet they left so little impression that I can’t now remember anything about them. I believe that our dining allowance’s inclusion of drink expenses is only partly to blame.

It’s not that I don’t care about food. I miss Austrian food, which isn’t available in California. When I go to a restaurant and they have something I haven’t had before, I’ll try it. I even enjoy reading about food if the writing is good. It’s just that for me, great food is nice to have but not much more. Under no circumstances will I stand in line to get into a restaurant. I rarely pay attention to restaurant reviews. Until recently, I didn’t even know there was a Michelin starred restaurant a few hundred feet from my house.

For many, seeking and enjoying good food is a big part of their lives. I worry that this pursuit, while pleasurable, is futile because it lacks the other things that make life worth living. The pursuit of good food lacks meaning, but worse, the bland, standardized dining experience at good restaurants also means that it’s not interesting. Fine dining isn’t that different from watching a high-quality Netflix series.

I was bro’t up in such perfect inattention […] to be quite indifferent to what kind of food was set before me, and so unobservant of it, that to this day if I am asked I can scarce tell a few hours after dinner what I dined upon

Benjamin Franklin

Related: On eating badly, eating too much and eating ice cream, and drinking fizzy water.