Picture a universal, classic scene in American life: family and friends gathered to watch a sport -- usually football -- tightly packed around the living room television. There may be shouting, thrown drinks, and other such ways of venting frustration. The table is piled high with food, and the event will likely last deep into double overtime. Everyone present is glued to the twists and turns of the game. Now, imagine it with one minor change: the channel is tuned to the Food Network.
This may sound unlikely, but now more than ever is it the goal of cooking shows to be seen as a sport in America. Viewers are enthralled by groups of chefs competing with bizarre, unrealistic disadvantages, marking a departure from the informative shows favoured by an older generation. Gone are the days of Julia Child instructing the viewer on how best to prepare crêpes suzette. Now, stars are instructing viewers how to prepare said crêpes suzette in fifteen minutes, with one hand tied behind their back.
Julia Child’s original intention with her groundbreaking cooking show The French Chef was to broaden the horizons of American palates. She was lauded for succinctly teaching the nuances of sophisticated dishes. She was hailed as a cultural icon. Having successfully transformed American kitchens, she forced a problem upon her successors: How could the culinary attitude of the States be shifted once more? Producers were challenged to find new ways of satiating the public. From the wholesome and educational roots of 1960s culinary television grew two equally outlandish branches: the competition show and the food documentary. Julia Child, the down-to-earth teacher, was no longer the favoured blueprint. Instead, the likes of Bobby Flay or Guy Fieri, professional showmen, gained the spotlight.
Julia Child, the down-to-earth teacher, was no longer the favoured blueprint. Instead, the likes of Bobby Flay or Guy Fieri, professional showmen, gained the spotlight. Both built their careers by either showcasing the grotesque or capitalising upon competitive stress. Food no longer needed to be good to eat, or pleasing to the eye. Food was now required to be performed, preferably in the most intense circumstances imaginable. Cutthroat Kitchen, a popular Food Network show, challenged guest chefs to create their own utensils out of tinfoil, stand in a children’s ball pit while cooking, or even create a full course meal using only a rope hammock as a workspace. This spectacle was obviously ridiculous, but it nonetheless captured the attention of American audiences. Perhaps amateur home chefs found it comforting to watch a professional counterpart struggle on television. Food Network may have struck gold by choosing to showcase incompetence instead of proficiency.
On the opposite end of the same spectrum lay another culinary phenomenon: the food documentary show. Programs such as Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives brought new light to American food with an ironic lack of taste. Monstrously large burgers, oversized hot dogs, and mountainous fried foods were highlighted as the sickly core of must-visit fast dining in the States. This, if nothing else, proved that Americans were no longer interested in their own kitchen tables. One cannot help but draw a line between the obesity epidemic and the sudden oversaturation of sugary, fatty, artificial gimmicks gracing the prime-time programs. Food Network even found a way to combine both evils, organising competition shows revolving around who could create the most shocking confection.
Think of Cake Wars, where competitors fight to build towering, oversized desserts made mostly of borderline-inedible fondant and rice krispies. Or even Chopped, where contestants are given outlandish ingredients such as Marmite or Oreos and told to make a three course meal. More often than not, judges would taste these thrown-together dishes and find them unappealing or simply gross, which seems more the fault of the materials used than the talent of the chef.
No dish that appears on the modern Food Network would ever land on one’s dining room table. Therein lies the problem, as food becomes entertainment and nothing more. Imagine inviting your inner circle to dine in at your home, then producing an absurd five pound triple-bacon-cheeseburger, or a dish that you challenged yourself to prepare with a blindfold on, or even a main course featuring gummy worms as the star ingredient. American kitchens, it seems, could do with a reality check.