Neat or on the rocks?

Anyone who has ever ordered a whiskey or even seen it ordered should be familiar with this question, because the seemingly simple fact of ingesting anything is so beautifully complex from the sensory point of view that it provides for a lot of possible adjustments. Tasting any food is primarily a combination of tasting (centered on the tongue) and smelling (coming from nose, which not only is located close to and above the mouth, but even connected to it at the end of the palate): the fruitiness of a wine, for instance, is actually not a flavor, but a smell, so it is its combination with the acidity and the bitterness what gives the wine its particular taste.

However, the care for the things we eat is so crucial to our survival that in fact all our five senses gravitate around the mouth to ensure (within our means) that we do not eat anything that might harm us. You do not have to be a follower of the mindfulness movement to realize that  the act of eating starts the moment you scan for food with your eyes: if there are several apples to eat you will be inclined to grab one which is ripe but not too much, possibly plucking it from the branch instead of picking it from the ground. Then you hand informs you about the weight and the softness of the apple: if it is too light it might be hollow or dried out; if it is mushy it might be rotting inside. This first tactile impression gets complemented with a second round the moment you bite into the apple: the feeling on your teeth through the mechanics of cut and the textures of the pulp while you chew will inform the chemical aspects of flavor and aroma, and even your ear will contribute with the perception of the crunch and shear between your teeth. Once you swallow it, the aftertaste, as the chemicals start dissipating in your mouth and nose, will be accompanied with the readings from you self-sensory system, telling you (in an admittedly crude manner) that the bite actually went down your throat and into the stomach and reporting on how full it is.

Photo: Dominick Guzzo

With so many steps involved, it is obvious that the number of possible combinations is enormous. Even if we only consider the temperature of our whiskey, three different sensory aspects are affected: a warmer drink will give you a stronger small, it will have a stronger flavor and it will not counteract so much the burning feeling of the alcohol in your mouth. In fact sake enthusiasts go far beyond cold, warm and room temperature and consider up to ten different temperatures when it comes to picking the right setting for a given drink. Then you have the level of dilution (with water, soda or something else), the glass you use to drink it, even the lighting can change your perception of the drink.

The sheer number of combination leads unavoidably to the problem of choice: beyond a certain point a higher variety does not contribute to a more sensible pick but only to increased anxiety and defaulting to the known options. The situation is so difficult for some people that some venues are actually aiming in the opposite direction. Some restaurants offer a no-choice menu, where you just eat whatever they have to offer. This has the advantage of exposing you to dishes that you might not pick by your own choice and possibly surprise you. Some bars are focusing very strongly on gin & tonic drinks, which still leaves you a lot of choices but at least you know it is going to be the mix of one gin and one tonic water. Yet another popular trend these days is dark dining, where the customers do not see the food they are eating, resulting in heightened sensory experience in all the other channels.

In case you have not noticed, I have focused on the sensory aspect of food and explicitly avoided both the temporal and the social dimensions. The build-up to a highly anticipated experience will necessarily become part of the experience once it happens. The same applies to the tempo: if the dishes are served in rapid succession the effect is different that if they are spaced apart. And as the time goes by, your memories of the event will change, possibly amalgamating several instances if you are a repeating offender. And then there is the company.

Being social animals, we establish relationships not only talking to one another, but also sharing experiences. An excellent example of this can be seen in the aptly named episode "The Friendship Algorithm" of the American sit-com The Big Bang Theory, where nerdy Sheldon tries to befriend Kripke, a fellow scientist, by undertaking some hobby together. It turns out that Kripke is at the moment into rock climbing which, combined with Sheldon's fear of heights, leads to hilarious situations, but the point still stands: the shared memories of an activity together act as a glue, giving the participants something in common to talk about.

Food is not an exception to that rule. Whether you bring someone to your favorite restaurant or the two of you discover a different one together, the sharing will become part of the situation: some perceptions will be similar for both of you and inspire joy, while some others might differ and spark debate. However, it is also clear that sharing a meal is not necessarily enriching: if you happen to have misread the tastes of your friend, you might have subject them to an experience they completely dislike; or the venue can be objectionable (too fancy or too shabby, too crowded or too lonely). And this could turn a perfectly blissful plan into a frightful nightmare, as always happens when trying to second-guess someone else's opinions.

A few weeks ago I was reminded of my old custom of going to the movies alone: during my college years one of the cinemas nearby offered heavily discounted tickets on Wednesdays, which allowed me to go almost every week without having to pay too much attention to the cost. Also, because I was on my own, I did not have to worry about anybody else's interests or sensibilities, so I got to sample a very wide range of genres. This range became even wider because, not wanting to waste the trip to the theater, in more than once occasion I ended up picking a movie that I would not have watched otherwise.

Living with Karen for more than 20 years now, trade-offs are daily business. We mostly focus on the many genres that we both like, leaving for individual viewing those where we do not overlap. The coronavirus has meant that I have completely stopped traveling, so both her and my own opportunities of watching movies that only one of us likes have shrunk significantly. Still, there are book clubs and lunches with friends when the occasion arises to our delight, because watching a movie alone (especially in the theater, but also at home) has a different, unmediated feeling. Give it a try if you have not done so before. Have a nice weekend.