Food For Thought: Coming To Our Senses

The vanishing wisdom of cooking and eating with all our senses

One of the first things you learn in culinary school is that there is rarely a “set time” for anything to cook.  When you ask the Chef how long something should roast, bake, boil, steam, or any other cooking method the answer is, almost invariably, “Until it’s done!”  It’s frustrating at the beginning, but by the second term you snicker when the newbies ask “Chef, how long should I cook it?”

How quickly we forget.

Rarely are there two ovens the same, two identical pieces of meat, or two carrots cut to the exact spec – there are always variables.  With repetition techniques and recipes become almost instinctive because of repeated exposure to the signs that something is ripe, something is done, or that something’s gone wrong.  These signs may be explicitly learned but are often the subconscious results of the endless practice. You know when it’s done because of the give of a twisted bone, the pattern in the batter as it drops, or when, as that same Chef would say, “the butter sings to you” as the water boils away leaving only crackling butterfat.

But, of course, most home cooks don’t make the same things over and over again, at least not in the way professional cooks do.  I used to joke that I roasted as many chickens in month as many people do in a lifetime, and it wasn’t an exaggeration.  Professional cooks have the advantage seeing the same things happen over and over to the point that they are predictable and the steps almost muscle memory.

To build that fluency with food (or anything else really) requires deep connection with our senses.  We often think that food is mostly about taste, smell, and appearance but there’s a lot more to it – the sound and the feel have equal and often greater value than we appreciate.

Toddlers understand this – they squish and smear their food and relish the joyous splat and clatter as they launch it off their trays.  But as we get older we become more concerned about what others (if only our parents) think and the mashed potato volcanos, bouncing peas, and chocolate milk bubbles are replaced with table manners and polite conversation. 

It’s too bad really - those sensations and messes teach us so much about the properties and potential of our food.

The crunch you hear inside your head is as important as the taste when you eating chips (just ask the folks who invented Pringles!) and the sound of popcorn exploding is a trigger of movie night nostalgia. Imagine the icy kiss of a popsicle or the tingling fizz of a cold beer and you can probably taste them from memory alone.

There are so many ways to use our senses when we cook and eat.  The freshly-baked cookie smell of a roux that’s almost done.  The soft give of a ripe mango when you press it with your thumb.  The slapping sound a dough makes against the sides of the bowl as it comes together in a mixer.

You could use a timer and a thermometer to check if your bread is done, but it also makes a hollow thunk when you tap it. A ripe watermelon makes a hollow ring - can you hear the difference between them? You can buy boneless fish, but you can learn exactly where to slide your finger over a fillet to find the stubborn pin bones. You can cut into a pancake to see if it’s wet in the middle, or you can learn to press it gently with a fingertip. A perfectly medium rare steak feels different than a well done one - no thermometer needed.

We outsource a lot of our sensory knowledge not only to timers and thermometers, but to the companies that produce and package our food too. Is the milk still good? We look at the date before we trust our nose. We order groceries on a delivery app and let someone else pick us the perfect orange or the ripe pineapple. Salad comes pre-washed, pre-chopped in a bag - was the lettuce brown around the edges? You’ll never know.

While I absolutely do not begrudge shortcuts if they help to get a decent meal on the table, it’s worth considering what we give up by when we use them.

It’s very much to the benefit of the companies that process our food that we’re wary of our senses: we rely on them to tell us when something is good or bad, and that makes us buy more. Has that ground beef gone off? It’s been in the fridge for almost a week - it’s expired! Yeah, but has it gone bad? How would you know? And would you trust yourself to know? Toss it, they say. Better safe than sorry and all that.

That can of beans expired in 2016 - are they still okay? There’s mold on my cheese and my berries are shrivelled and soft - will they make me sick? There are different smells when something is beginning to turn, and knowing the difference means you might have something for dinner tonight or something to throw in the bin.

Regaining and training our senses to observe the signs of ripe produce, a fresh fish, or a perfectly proofed dough are key to becoming a great cook. You needn’t become a professional chef or go to culinary school to learn: careful observation and mindfulness about the doing and the eating are when you begin. So slow down - look, listen, touch, smell, and taste - and recapture that same curiosity of a toddler at the table.

Next time you cook, shop, or even just take a bite of your favourite meal, think about the senses you’re using and what they are telling you. Let the butter sing to you, feel the gentle give of a ripe mango, and use your nose before you check the date on your milk. You might be surprised at the wisdom of your senses.