Hungry Meditations

As a self-professed foodie, I suspected that much of my October Break in Florence and Bologna would be spent leaning over hot bowls of pasta and strategizing how to eat as many meals in one day without sporadic bingeing. And this is generally how I do remember my trip now back in Prague. Each morning in Florence I woke up and walked the few meters to the San Lorenzo market for a cappuccino and samples of cheese and salami offered by some vendors. Sustenance in hand, I walked through the maze of shoppes eyeing unfiltered olive oil, plump balls of mozzarella, skinned lamb heads, and countless (really, blissfully never-ending) counters of cured meats. Anyone who somehow did not how important food is to Italian culture would be sufficiently educated after a half hour in San Lorenzo market. I spent the rest of the mornings trying to trick myself into hunger, and by noon I was usually successful enough to have lunch. I am drooling now recalling the beef tartar, swordfish ravioli, margarita pizza, and spaghetti carbonara. And of course, a bottle of wine. Dinner followed many hours later and was a wonderful, larger portioned variation on the pastas, pizzas, and risottos offered at lunch. I left Italy satisfied and slightly bloated; maybe five pounds fuller but happier than I had been in months. 

While it may play a small part, my love of food does not stem from a purely gluttonous desire to eat. I think what you put in your body determines how you feel. Eating isn't just refueling or merely imbibing calories for energy. There should be joy and pleasure in the act. The Italians, much like the French, understand this. For them, food isn't only important to the individual, but to the community and the culture as a whole. These values, still somewhat unadopted in America, are even less precedented in the Czech Republic. The Czech's, in my understanding, take no pride in their food. The tradition of food as cuisine rather than nourishment is unknown here. Typical Czech dishes (goulash, bread dumplings, potatoes, sausage), while not tasteless or inedible, are simply not alive with flavor, creativity, or passion for the ingredients. These specialities are simply meant to be eaten, not enjoyed. As such, my culinary experience in Prague has been dominated by food of different origins- pasta, tacos, chicken masala. And not because I especially dislike Czech food or have not tried enough of it. I have given it a fair chance, but after even a couple weeks, my palette craves something with more flavor, excitement, and frankly, thought. While Italy was a wonderful reprieve from the mundanity of uninspired food I'd been eating, it also emphasized my rather sad conviction that most Czech's simply did not have a passion for food. (This is, of course, withholding the few exceptions that I've had the pleasure to discover. Homekitchen, for instance, serves delicious, organic soups and rustic Czech bread and it is clear that they not only take pride in their restaurant, but genuinely love to cook.) 

Like so many cultural differences, I am tempted to explain the Czech Republic's lackluster cuisine as a unfortunate leftover from Communist days. I do think there must be some truth in this interpretation. Not only was the variety and quality of food more limited during those times, but a culture of eating out, of fine dining, and of indulging in gourmet or simply more interesting (thus more expensive) food was surely discouraged by Communists. However, the traditions of Czech cuisine were established long before the Communist coup. A more convincing explanation would take into account the Czech Republic's climate, agriculture, customary livestock, etc. and perhaps consider that many its neighboring countries (Germany, Austria, Slovakia) share the Czech palette. I think the truth must lie somewhere in between. The concept of food serving an esthetic and emotional purpose has only taken root with the majority of our society recently. For food to be elevated beyond its purpose to fill empty stomachs, there must be a certain level of wealth. It is when few are starving, that kitchens begin to produce creative and delicious food. Perhaps the Czech Republic merely missed this step under Communist control. Lacking the resources of other countries, they did not experience the same culinary growth shared by modern nations. But perhaps, this is process currently underway. Now over two decades since the Velvet Revolution, the Czech Republic not only has amassed capital, but benefitted from exposure to foreign cultures. This will (eventually) alter the general attitude toward food and radically raise standards of quality and creativity. And from the few really surprisingly wonderful meals I've had (at Homekitchen and Clear Headed), I think this change must already be simmering beneath the surface. Until it reaches a full boil, I'll drink the beer. Na zdravi!