This spring I created an online version of my “Food and Power” undergraduate course at KAIST, which I’ve taught here in South Korea twice now, once in Spring 2015 and then in Spring 2016. I created the online version to share with other food studies scholars, students, and anyone interested in diving deeper into the politics of food, including the cultural and technological features of our modern foodways that shape our choices at the supermarket.
The course is a work in process and an offline class I continue to teach periodically, so I welcome your thoughts on ways to improve it or add new materials to it. My hope is that my peers and colleagues out there can get teaching ideas from it, or share their ideas with me. And that any of you “students” out there taking it can share your thoughts about food, science and society in the comments here, or in the comments on the YouTube page where they are posted.
Oh, and please remember that I don’t get paid for this work. If you really like it, please repay me with a kind comment below, or even better, please help me to promote it with other people you know who might enjoy it. If there is enough interest, I might try to create more video content for it later.
All of these course materials can be found up-to-date on this page HERE.
Because of time constraints, some classes are offered in video while others in PDF only. (If you express interest, and should time permit, I’ll upload more I promise!)
I. Introduction (Please be patient with me on these first videos… I was still getting used to the camera)
— pt. 1) Why food matters (now)? An intellectual and material history of food studies [VIDEO: 12 minutes]
— pt. 2) Introduction to two key course themes [VIDEO: 16 minutes]
—— Part 1: Ethical Eating ——
This first part of the course focuses on food as a moral and ethical subject, encouraging students to reframe personal ethical choices within broader collective and political contexts.
—— Part 2: What is Edible?—— This second section of the course explores the way in which food as a liminal object between body and environment is routinely the subject of cultural and political debates about purity and risk.
Me discussing the language games in English we use to mentally separate the messy, fleshy animal from the tasty, cultured food.
—— Part 3: Scale and Infrastructure ——
In this third section we explore ways to think about the role of scale in debates about food, looking at the tools and technologies of foodways and infrastructures that make daily food production, distribution, and consumption possible.
—— Part 4: Food and Imagination —— In this final section we consider the role of imagination in shaping food culture through institutions such as marketing and branding, or future predictions about where innovations are taking food.
I got my PhD in history and social sciences at MIT, a science and engineering school. And now I’m teaching lessons drawn from history and social sciences at KAIST, a science and engineering school. Because of this, I’ve long been interested in the lessons or toolkits the sciences can use from the humanities, and vice versa. This past fall I attended the 3rd World Humanities Forum here in Daejeon, the theme for which was “Humanities in the Era of Transformative Science and Technology“, and the main debate was over what role, if any, could the humanities play in our modern technological present and future. Speeches by two keynote speakers in particular, historian of science Peter Galison and novelist Chang-Rae Lee, got me thinking about the relationship between the “Two Cultures“, and I found myself writing an essay listing what I saw as the key “products” that the humanities excel at creating which scientists and engineers (and policymakers) need. (I was also inspired by my dissertation advisor‘s op-ed last year in The Boston Globe, “At MIT, the humanities are just as important as STEM”, laying out arguments for way STEM needs the humanities.) The result was an op-ed piece published this month in the History of Science Society Newsletter here (on pages 11-14).
In the hopes of getting a wider readership, I’ve posted a copy of the article on my Academia.edu account here.
I encourage you to read it in its entirety. But to summarize, I argue that different fields of humanities (history, anthropology, philosophy, literature and art) offer a variety of methods for cultivating creativity, moral imagination, humility and an ability to identify with “the other” (those who are not like us), and that these are necessary for scientists and engineers in their work because of how it shapes society more broadly. I then turn to the trickier question of how to bring the humanities to the sciences, tackling two separate challenges: how to build university curriculum and policies that incorporate both humanities and sciences perspectives, and how can humanities scholars build bridges through new media and technological platforms to reach a technology saturated techno-savvy public?
You can read the article for my arguments about the first, but here I wanted take advantage of the blog to highlights some of the interesting projects I’ve seen my colleagues in STS conduct in the spirit of taking their intellectual tools to the people and engaging the public or public policy with ideas from the humanities that have relevance to the social and political challenges of today. One such example is my friend Alex Wellerstein‘s excellent blog, “Restricted Data: The Nuclear Secrecy Blog“, which uses the history of the nuclear bomb and cultures of secrecy to explore governing assumptions today about the bomb’s legacy or myth-conceptions about what lessons we can draw from its history. Alex made a fun and provocative online app NUKEAPP, which allows users to visualize an atomic bomb detonation on a map of their hometown. It got picked up the media and went viral. Suddenly his blog went from hundreds of page hits to millions, and he was pulled into all kinds of interesting media interviews about what did the public’s fascination with the app suggest about our relationship to the bomb.
Two other interesting online projects by my colleagues, which I’ve been following with interest being over here in Asia and teaching in a policy program, are Teach Sewol and Teach 3.11, both an exercise in how to transform a disaster and tragedy into a teachable moment. Teach 3.11 is an online web resource developed by Lisa Onaga and others following the 2011 Fukushima earthquake and nuclear meltdown. Lisa wanted to teach a class on disasters for her students who were trying to make sense of it, and she and others started to compile resources for the website to help others interested in teaching about it, too. Teach Sewol reflects a similar motivation to provide tools for educators wishing to make sense of a complicated, not to mention emotional social, economic, legal, and technological event. Chihyung Jeon and others, working with a design firm, have developed online readymade classes and discussion questions (in Korean) that Korean university and high school teachers can use to teach about the 2014 Sewol Ferry disaster. The idea of both projects is to elevate the public discussion to better consider policy contexts for risk and responsibility and to better make sense of the strong feelings that surround these and similar events.
This week was the one-year anniversary of the Sewol Ferry sinking, and students at KAIST organized a very moving “Read-In” where they read out loud documents and key texts relating to the tragedy and its aftermath. This photo I took last fall of a memorial in Seoul, which shows the signature yellow ribbons worn here in Korea to remember the event.
In addition to these educational strategies, some humanities scholars are more directly engaging in public policy and policy debates. Here many examples come to mind, but I’ll limit myself to two. The first was an edited volume published by a group of anthropologists who asked the question: why are we letting overconfident, thin analysis and pat observations scare us away from policy discussions? The result was the 2005 book “Why America’s Top Pundits Are Wrong: Anthropologists Talk Back“, where anthropologists engage common myths and misconceptions perpetuated by pundits in American news on complicated social issues they study, including globalization, ethnic violence, social justice, the biological roots of behavior, consumerism, the welfare state, and violence against women. Among them, Hugh Gusterson in particular has continued to write prolifically in public newspapers critiquing the assumptions about expertise or other cultures that mislead American policy abroad.
Janet is no stranger to public engagement on policy matters. She also penned articles on space policy back when she was studying the Mars Rover project and remote sensing.
For my other example on how STS scholars are engaging public policy in creative ways, sociologist Janet Vertesi took the trick of “participant observation” to a new horizon: she attempted to opt out of the private surveillance systems of big data that monitor our purchasing behavior in day-to-day transactions. The hook in her story was the she sought to hide her pregnancy from Facebook and other social platforms, only to discover that in order for her and her husband to do so, they had to go to social extremes (buying everything with cash or gift cards to disguise baby products) and inadvertently triggered national security protocols for criminals and terrorists. (Who else, after all, would want to hide from internet surveillance?) As one of her Facebook friends, at one point I and others were even hushed into silence about posting congratulations to her on the news, in case it affected the results of her study. Read about it here, it’s fascinating. The larger lessons she drew from her personal experience were that there was Big Data monitoring of almost everything we do, and that this has been happening with little public discussion about what opt in or opt out rights we as citizens, users, or consumers should have.
And this is just a handful of examples of what directions the humanities are taking in the era of transformative science and technology. To summarize Peter Galison’s talk, new technologies and sciences are transforming our world in ways that raise core human questions that cut across disciplines. The humanities have as much, or arguably more of a roleto play today in giving people the tools they need to question, to doubt, to wonder, to marvel, and perhaps most importantly, to comprehend these transformations.
This week we started a new chapter in the “Food and Power” course, focusing this month on the question “What is edible?” by examining debates about GM foods, mad cow anxieties, and vegetarian campaigns against meat-eating. I opened with a lecture on the usual interest this topic raises in food studies – food taboos; however, I focused on a slightly unconventional aspect of it, the role of disgust. The reason I wanted my students to think about disgust was because of how it is both something experienced physically, and yet clearly also a mental process. We can imagine ways that a mental thought that disturbs us can cause a physiological reaction (our stomach drops); and, conversely, how a physical reaction, nausea at a off-putting smell, for example, can lead to a psychological reaction (moral disgust). Disgust is therefore a wonderful way to explore the intertwined nature of biology and culture, a subject of great interest to STS scholars, which sidesteps tendencies towards simple biological or cultural reductionism.
I screened for my class this infamous live octopus eating scene from the
Korean filmOldboy (2013), to ask whether Sannakji (산낙지) was “disgusting”.
My own entry into the world of food and disgust is guided by the work of Paul Rozin, professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania, and the person who first theorized the concept of “the omnivore’s dilemma”, later plagiarized popularized by Michael Pollan. Rozin and his colleagues argue that, while many animals are food specialists and are therefore born knowing what to eat (curious fact: vampire bats have a substantially reduced sense of taste because all they eat is blood), humans as omnivores have to learn what is good or bad to eat. We gain the advantages of flexibility and adaptability to new environments, but at the cost of being exposed to potential new toxins or suffering unanticipated nutritional imbalances – what he so wonderfully calls “fearful interest”. (If you would like to read more about Rozin and his work, check out this interview, and I highly recommend the article “Why We Eat What We Eat, and Why We Worry About it”.)
Rozin argues that disgust is learned as a mechanism to temper food novelty or thrill-seeking, thereby reducing our risk. It is thus both cultural, in that it is learned, and biological, in terms of motivation and experience. (One point of evidence he offers is how feral humans raised alone in the wild do not exhibit disgust.) When studying disgust across cultures, they find that there is “universalism without uniformity”: all human cultures have some form of disgust and food taboo policing threats to the self and “body as temple”, but they reflect differences in local cultural institutions (i.e. social hierarchies, notions of purity and contaminations, etc.). Rozin’s approach allows us to explore the uneasy but significant relationship between our moral values and our justifications for disgust with certain food taboos.
I asked my students, when should we regulate from disgust? In my own studies of the FDA, I came across the so-called “Filth Guidelines“, a policy where the FDA would close a company for failing standards of hygiene even when there was no explicit health violation. We can think of germ theory reasons for wanting restaurant workers to wash their hands before handling food, but mostly it is just disgusting to us that they might not. What activities should be left to personal opinion and what disgusting habits warrant institutional policing?
Dale Petersen’s very thought-provoking book Eating Apes, about the problems with bushmeat markets in Africa.
I chose the readings for this week to be a bit provocative, to see if I could get myself and my students “out of our comfort zone”. For this reason I had them read two pieces: Emily Anthes’s ‘modest proposal’ in The Guardian that we all learn to eat insects as a solution to the “Malthusian trap”: “How Insects Could Feed the World”; and “Chapter 4: Flesh” from Dale Peterson‘s excellent book Eating Apes. In Korea, many people eat silk worms as street food (“Beondegi”), so I imagined this would be an opportunity for the students to laugh at my squeamishness, and to explain to me why I should get over it, in the name of diversify my tastes and thereby saving the planet.
Indeed, my Korean students were less bothered than most Americans with the idea of discovering a bug in their produce, indicating it was a good sign that the vegetables hadn’t been overdosed with chemicals. On the other hand, they would agree it’s disgusting to find a bug in one’s food at a restaurant, or even to spill their drink on their food… even if “it’s all going to the same place”. (I used this as an opportunity to discuss Mary Douglas‘s famous definition of “dirt” as “matter out of place”, a fundamentally culture-based definition.) This got us speculating as to whether artificially and excessively sterile environments, or particularly narrow diets (i.e. American fast food), might cultivate an especially sensitive disgust-prone person. (On one slide I had put large images of Hitler and a cockroach, two stimuli that Rozin said provoked the strongest reactions of disgust in his western subjects. My students weren’t especially bothered by it. I think I would have had Americans squirming at the cockroach image.)
Will the traditional Beondegi (번데기) snack food survive the McDonaldization of Korean diets?
Not surprisingly, however, students willing to eat the familiar Beondegi Korean street food, balked at the idea of many of the insects proposed in Anthes’s article. (As good environmentalists and experimentalists, they were, however, intrigued by the idea of using insects as an ingredient, instead eating whole bugs.) I went around the room and asked students to describe when they first tried Beondegi, and what they thought of it. Many described being tricked into eating it as kids, without knowing it was an insect. And then being told by their parents repeatedly “it’s tradition” to eat it as pressure to like it. Some admitted that they’ve stopped eating, because they still think its gross, even though the flavor was nice. At some level they were all aware of the fact that as an insect it was disgusting, and that the disgust had to be overcome.
When I asked them the same question for seafood, however, they looked at me startled. One of the students replied, “I can’t even remember the first time I ate seafood”, and the others nodded as if it was an odd question. As I Texan and formerly picky eater, I did remember. And when I told them of my story of overcoming my strong aversion to seafood, which look like sea insects, to eventually discover that I could like it, many light bulbs switched on in their heads. At this point a previously silent student had the confidence to admit that not only did she love Beondegi, but that for her it was like seafood, completely normal, nothing disgusting whatsoever. (Anthes, in her article, comments on how the example of Americans’ previous aversion to raw fish, a.k.a. sushi, is a rallying point for pro-insect-eating enthusiasts: after all, insects are just “land shrimp”.)
The death of Bambi’s mother scarred generations of children, stigmatizing hunting as a cruel activity. But is that just romantic sentimentalism? Why is domestic meat more ethical than game meat?
One of the student discussion leaders picked up on this issue of familiarity and nostalgia to draw a link between eating bugs and arguments made by Petersen about tradition and “cravings” for bushmeat in Africa. I assigned the reading on ape meat because I wanted a case study where my students and I were in agreement about it being taboo. I also like Petersen’s book because he includes very detailed, graphic descriptions of how the ape meat is prepared from dead, hunted corpses, including recipes and discussions about the taste for game meat versus domestically bred meat. The detail makes it very real for the reader. Once you get the students agreeing about the moral status of the ape, you can then explore the slippery slopes arguments… why eat pigs, then, which are very smart? Are horses fair game, or not? And what about man’s best friend, the dog? (More on that below.)
That moment when the professor realizes he’s getting old: I also screened
this infamous scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984),
only to discover that none of my students had seen it. I used it to talk about cross-cultural stereotyping and Orientalism, but also balancing the
ethics of whether to eat what your host serves even if
you find it morally reprehensible.
My goal in this class was not to arrive at some moral agreement about the need to “get over it” and diversify our diets, or to reach some opposite consensus that one food habit is disgusting but another not. Instead I wanted students to be conscious about the kinds of rational justifications we use to support or debunk our disgust with other people’s dietary practices. A great “teachable moment” came when a student pointed out the parallels between hunting endangered apes for meat in Africa, seen to be bad, but the tolerance of Eskimos Inuits’ traditions hunting endangered harp seals. Using a teaching trick I’ve learned from my law classes, I turned the analogy into a legal thought experiment: imagine you’re a lawyer arguing a case against eating apes in an international law court. The opposing counsel has made this claim to precedent, that previous courts have accepted Inuit hunting of an endangered animal as protected “tradition”. What counter arguments could you make that hunting apes is different? Students quickly came up with several:
Nutrition and diet: the seal forms the center of the Inuit traditional diet, whereas ape meat is merely a special supplement. Maybe bushmeat more generally is central to their diet, but apes in particular no.
Speculation over whether apes were keystone species, unlike seals. In other words, the ecological damage of killing apes would be greater
Drawing on an argument from Peterson in Eating Apes, a student pointed out that bushmeat hunting in Africa is no longer subsistence, but has become commercial; unlike Inuit hunting which follows traditions that are more sustainable
Tellingly, my science and engineering students hesitated to mention what I saw as the most obvious argument against eating apes compared to seals, the moral one: 4. Unlike seals, apes are very similar to humans, and arguably are sentient and therefore deserving of similar moral protection. (We had discussed Peter Singer‘s utilitarian arguments to this effect the week before.) It never ceases to amaze me how much scientists and engineers shy away from what they see as subjective and emotional arguments, instead preferring economic or environmental appeals. But I asked them: if you had two plates in front of you —one with seal meat the other with ape meat— and had to eat one, which would you choose? They overwhelmingly chose the seal meat. When I asked them why, they admitted it was because of the moral difference. As a lawyer, I said, they had to consider the persuasive value of this moral argument in their effort to convince the judge.
Of course we had to talk about the most famous food taboo… cannibalism. Why does it disgust us… because it’s deviant or primitive? And under what conditions could we overcome that (i.e. survival cannibalism)?
Finally, Korea is an interesting context to explore these cross-cultural dimensions to disgust and judging others for food taboos, because Korea suffers a stigma in the West by its association with eating dog meat. This is a topic which many, I suspect the majority of Koreans find embarrassing, since eating dog meat today is very uncommon here. (And Koreans can be especially self-conscious about being perceived as backwards by the West.) But a minority of Koreans do view it as “cultural” and thus legitimate. These locals could argue: foreigners, “get outside your comfort zone” and try it! Indeed, in a gesture that baffles the mind, a group of Koreans offered dog meat to the U.S. Ambassador following the recent attack on him here in Korea. (Are they really so naive about Western sentiment to not realize he would find that disgusting? He, in fact, is a proud dog owner.) Westerners, on the other hand, share horror stories on social networks about the barbarity of Koreans eating pets, laying out a variety of justifications of their disgust: dogs are pets, not food (as if specialization makes it taboo); the dogs are not bred in sterile, safe environments (really a food safety argument more than a moral one), dogs raised for meat suffer (ignoring that the same is true for pigs, cows, and other farm animals).
Lost in translation is right… there is a lesson somewhere in here about the importance of cross-cultural sensitivity.
I, personally, do not intend to ever try dog meat, though I withhold judgment of others who will. The heated opinions and cross-cultural judgments here remind me of another debate I lived through as an expat in Spain: bullfights. Every year American visitors would arrive to Spain and talk of having to see one, even though they agreed it was an inhumane treatment of the bull. And they were surprised that I had never gone. When I said it was because I found bullfights to be unethical, and didn’t need to experience one, they would reply: “How can you know until you try it? You should get outside your comfort zone!” Here in Korea, I can’t help but wonder what those same expats would say if confronted with dog meat soup. I can imagine efforts to differentiate disgust over one from tolerance of the other: because food is necessary whereas bullfights are unnecessary spectacle, or, because bulls are bred for this kind of treatment, but a dog is a loveable pet.
Putting aside essentializing rationales, the scholar in me can’t help but wonder, when does the tradition-defying, or global-modern ethical norm like animal rights or environmentalism triumph, and when does “it’s cultural” justify “going native” and doing as the locals do? Where would you draw the line?
This week I had my “Food and Power” students do an interesting experiment: to keep a food diary of everything they eat (and drink) for 7 days. I asked them to take photos, email me two (one pic of their most representative food, and a second of their most special food that week), and on Thursday for our class I made a slideshow from the photos for discussion. I opened with Anthelme Brillat-Savarin’s famous statement, “Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu es” (transl: tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are). And I asked them: What does the food you ate this week tell you about yourself?
This week the course topic was “Gluttony”, and more specifically nutritionism and the so-called obesity epidemic. So to make their assignment more complicated, I ask them to calculate their daily calorie intake, which, if you’ve never tried it, you might not know is very difficult to do. Indeed, my secret goal of this assignment was to show them how difficult it is to keep precise track of every calorie you eat. In discussion this challenge came up quickly. One student laughed and said all her pictures were of half eaten food, because she only remembered to take them after the fact. Several students said it was hard to remember to include liquid calories (fruit juices, sodas, etc.). One of my students said coffee was her most representative food, an interesting claim since coffee is a beverage, which she defended by pointing out that a cup of black coffee has an average of 20 calories. And we all agreed that it will be difficult calculating the calories for many sauces and dips (e.g. mustard, BBQ sauce). We discussed these different types of “invisible calories”, and what Brian Wansink calls “Mindless Eating“, the ways we eat without noticing that we are eating that sometimes contribute to our eating too much.
I used this challenge of recording each and every food item to talk about the limits of diet epidemiology. One of the recurring themes I return to in the class discussions is: How do we know what we know about food? (It’s a question I first heard stated by Alan Brandt: how do we know what we know about… anything?) In medicine the presumed “gold standard” for knowing something is the Double-Blind Randomized Clinical Trial. Yet, some things are more amenable to this kind of study than others. Pills, for instance, are easy to do: you have an experimental group take the real drug, and a control group take the placebo, and nobody knows which is which. But imagine trying this with food. Who do you think you will fool when you give one group the low-fat food, and the other the normal one? (Surgery is another area where RCT is not an option: it has been decades since “sham surgery” was allowed as an ethical option for a control group.)
Moreover, in studies testing some specific change within a diet, epidemiologists say it is a nightmare trying to get exact information about what exactly their participants are eating day to day. Either they rely on surveys, whose reported information is dubious. (Ask yourself, what did you eat yesterday, and see if you can give a good answer.) Or, they have participants keep a diary, and then nurses are tasked with calling them to remind them to keep the record. And invariably participants don’t, and the size of the study gets smaller and smaller. Bringing us back to my students’ challenge this week.
Of course, there are certain special people who do manage this kind of nutritionally obsessive work day to day, and we talked about them. Diabetics have to be very careful about the quantities of foods that take in, for sugars. People with food allergies or celiacs, who are in my experience those who most carefully read a food label. Pregnant women are also increasingly getting pulled into this kind of biomedical model of managing one’s diet. But these are the exceptions that prove the rule. They are unusual in that their diets are not so much framed as food choices, and therefore are not about “will power”.
Two other types of people obsessed with diet fit into what Robert Crawford so elegantly identified 35 years ago as “healthism“: athletes and vanity dieters. Indeed, last Sunday, as it happened, I ran my first marathon (the Seoul International Marathon in 4:45:29!). So when I described my representative food for the week, I introduced it as “carbs”, falling into the nutritionism trap. Why consider spaghetti carbonara to be the same as Chinese noodles with blackbean sauce when they hail from completely different cultures? (According to RunKeeper, I burned 4,000 calories during the race. I asked my students, what does this mean?) But these kinds of lifestyles demand an abnormal level of will power. (I simply refuse to live my life as a health-conscious marathoner. One time, sure, but as a constant state of being, no way!) Do we really expect ordinary mortals to track their eating in such a careful, deliberate manner? Not really. But it’s a problem for scientific eating.
My Food Dairy was completely distorted by the fact that this week I ran my first marathon, and was therefore obsessed with “carb loading”.
Gary Taubes, science journalist and all-around science debunker crank, wrote a New York Times article in 2002 titled: “What If It’s All Been a Big Fat Lie?“, where he basically assaulted the lipid hypothesis and argued that because there were no solid RCTs on it, it wasn’t good science. But then Taubes, and later Michael Pollan, fell into the regular trap of putting forward some other theory (evil carby diets), ignoring the fact that there wasn’t “good science” by his impossible definition for that either. Thinking about Taubes and his ever elusive Gold Standard, and how even my brilliant capable KAIST students found it difficult keeping a scientific record of what they eat, I wonder if there are certain things that are just not “knowable” scientifically. Rather than lapse into Taubes’s absolutism or some equally unproductive opposite relativism, I used this example to caution my students to approach diet science advice with care. In general, if someone tells you some diet thing is “science”, odds are they are trying to sell you something… it might be the food, or it might be their expertise (or in Taubes’s case his expert-debunking expertise), but they’re selling you something. In which case, buyer beware!
Putting aside these issues of nutrition, the food diary was also a good class experiment for other reasons. It got them to think about what and how they eat, and how everyone is a little different. Some have small snacks regularly throughout the day, others 2-3 periodic meals which punctuate their daily schedule. One of the big questions for my college students, to skip breakfast or not. And in my Korean class there was the other interesting question: Western breakfast or Korean breakfast? The class experiment had a collateral benefit: to get to know the students better, and encourage them to relax and enjoy the class. (One student said his roommate, not in the class, thought it was a neat idea and also tried it, which I will interpret to mean the project is fun to do.)
I’ve given them a take-home survey, to draw out these observations made in class discussion. It has the questions discussed above designed to get them thinking about their diet generally, and about the things they didn’t notice about it: What was your most representative (normal) food/meal? What was your most special (significant or unusual) food experience? Were there any foods you documented that you hadn’t really “noticed” before this “experiment”? (e.g. liquid calories, snacks) I wanted them to think about the differences in eating alone versus eating with people, both because we tend to eat differently (and thus digest differently), and, to anticipate a theme we are going to take up later in the course, because these social influences or constraints are often more important than the myth of the individual eater making a choice in isolation, when determining how and what we eat: What time of day do you get most of your calories? How long does your normal meal last (are you a rapid eater)? Do you eat with friends/family or alone?
Lecture slide where I get students to think about other factors, other than nutrition, that motivate us to eat a food. I also ask the students: what are other ways that we talk about food and health, without using nutrition. (E.g. organic, wholesome, what mom used to eat, seasonality, freshness…)
But I also added some questions to get them to think about the experiment itself: Did you change or modify your diet as a result of the “experiment”? How? In general, students said they didn’t change much. (A relief for me, because Guthman in Weighing In describes her class as having triggered her students’ dieting obsessions.) Though several said that they didn’t take snacks at students socials, because it would be too complicated to calculate the calories, which we all laughed about. I used this to highlight the challenge in any human experiment that social scientists call reactivity: the tendency of human participants to change their behaviour in response to being measured or study, usually to best conform with the experimenter’s desired results.
Ah, and if you are curious what the class results were, there were no big surprises: they are college students. Cafeteria food and instant noodles are what they eat, supplemented by the occasional special restaurant meal out with friends.
I encourage all of you teaching a food course to try this Food Diary Experiment with your students. Write to me if you have questions about it, or would like me to forward you materials. And leave comments below if you have any suggestions or ideas about how to improve on it. Thanks in advance!
While the idea for this blog is quite old, the blog itself never really got off the ground. However, this Spring I’m pleased to say that I’ll be teaching an undergraduate course at KAIST Science & Technology Policy (STP) on “Food and Power”, and I’m using that as an excuse to reboot the blog around the topics of the class.
I’m here at KAIST STP on a two-year postdoc, which started last September, and it has been a wonderful environment to take my training in Science and Technology Studies and apply it to policy issues of concern in East Asia. The idea behind how I’ve organized this “Food and Power” class is to take many of the most salient political issues in food and agriculture today (e.g. GM foods, food security, nutritionism, industrial versus natural foods, vegetarianism, locavorism), and examine them using a variety of social science and humanities analytic tools, to consider the intersection of science and technology with human values. (That was a mouthful!)
Couldn’t resist including this book. For Westerners, nothing’s more Asian than noodles. But for food studies, it makes for an interesting case study on global, industrial food.
Teaching a food course in a foreign country is always fun, since food is an easy topic with which to get students to talk about their own culture and what makes it like or unlike other cultures. Everybody eats, so everybody has something to say. Plus, you get a lot of great recipes, and food and dining recommendations! One of my principal challenges was how to adapt the syllabus to a Korean context. Some decisions were easy – include readings on instant noodles and globalization, or the mad cow debate, which prompted a historic 2008 public protest in Korea. Some reflect my own provocations – a reading on eating insects by an American, since I’m curious what my students will think about Westerners’ views of how Asians eat insects, like silk worms as street food (“Beondegi”) in Korea. And some choices would surprise outsiders, but not Koreans – like an entire week on coffee culture, because coffee is BIG right now in Korea.
The real experiment and innovation in my class, however, aren’t the readings, but rather the assignments. I decided I’m a little bored with the standard humanities requirement of a term paper. Instead, I’ve developed a series of projects intended to push students to see the ways that food and food politics surface in everyday life. Here are the assignment ideas that are “works in progress” for this Spring course:
Keep a food diary for one week (take pictures of the food you eat with your mobile phone; note time of day) —> calculate total daily calorie intake. We’ll hold a class discussion, reviewing people’s most representative (normal) food/meal versus most special (unusual) food experience? After class discussion: fill out a follow-up survey and write up your experience in this experiment.
Interview a food prep person (i.e. cafeteria, parent, restaurant) about their daily challenges in preparing a menu, including consideration of routine versus special meal occasions, as well as balancing cost versus taste and healthiness.
GM food profile: Research a specific genetically modified food. Write a short statement of what the public should know about your particular GM food. Bring it to class with some notes on your specific example: how it was made, and the pros & cons of its use.
Final project, one of the following:
1) Evocative food/eating/agriculture/cooking object essay: Inspired by Sherry Turkle’s book, Evocative Objects: “We think with the objects we love; we love the objects we think with.” Pick a food-related object and write a 5-page essay about it considering both its emotional, subjective significance and the political, cultural contexts that shape it.
2) A food blog: maintain a food blog during the course, discussing issues raised in the class or in the news, linking them to your own opinions or experiences.
[I plan to run my blog during the course, as a model for the students.]
3) A documentary short: a 5-10 minute edited video that describes some food-related issue using visual materials and (if needed) interviews.
I’ll report back to you about how the class projects work out. And I welcome your thoughts on interactive teaching projects you’ve developed for food or STS classes, to move beyond the standard research paper. Share your experiences here!