Food as Material, Material as Food
We have developed a funny design language based on tasting what you see,
Crispy
Delicate
Bland
Buttery
Creamy
Crumbly
Earthy
Glazed
Luscious
Pickled
Flaky
Sizzling
are words that apply both to food and material. When you work with a lot of material, whether it be chopping onions or aluminium, you can go one of two ways. You can be blinded by the monotony of a task, and begin to drift, the material in your hand could be anything, and your body is in control. Or you can look closely, and hone into various details and sensations of that action. The change of texture as you chop an onion and it releases water, or how the pitch of the aluminium changes as it's cut. The more observational moments are of course isolated, a good day is a mix of the two. But in a state of focus, if a piece of wood smells like a double-decker chocolate bar, your mind is open to that fact.
We try to encourage a phenomenological perspective when we are designing. This means we try and take situations, objects, and materials (food included) in for what they seem to us to be in a specific moment. So they are not laden with what others think of them or what intentions others had for them both in the design and use. The idea of this is to mess up the categorisation of things and it allows us to apply our own meaning or use at that moment. We similarly want to contribute to this pool of things by designing objects that dont just propose a use, but are open to being interpreted in use and idea. It’s being resourceful and encouraging resourcefulness. It’s all material, it’s all up for grabs. It might not be the new WD40 but a bit of coconut oil may just help you open your rusty bike lock.
We have teamed up with the lovely team at Hato to talk about their new Studio Cookbook which is the third in a wonderful series started back in 2010. The book is an examination of the way we – artists, photographers, designers, creators – eat while we are working. Together and alone. Often with limited cooking equipment, ingredients, and electricity, but perhaps with access to a good bakery. Also included are some lethal cocktails served by photographers to their teams at the end of a long day of shooting.
What’s the story of how The Studio Cookbook came to be? How does it relate to the work you are doing at Hato?
The first volume of the Studio Cookbook came about in 2010, while I was interning at design studios in London. These internships just made me realise how lonely lunchtimes could be, so I set out to make a book to promote social eating and cooking.
We adopted this practice of cooking for one another since we founded HATO and it’s something we still do regularly now. The Studio Cookbook welcomes others into this creative exchange, bringing together an international community of designers and makers we admire in a similar way.
The Veggie Reuben by Isabel & Helen.
What’s the story of how The Studio Cookbook came to be? How does it relate to the work you are doing at Hato?
Several of our contributors, based both in the UK and further afield, make a conscious effort to reclaim eating communally; to break up their working schedule, and rediscover a sense of ritual around the central meal of the day. Ryan Gander, for example, writes about this loss of ceremony – he counteracts it in the Cookbook by preparing an elaborate Japanese Yaminabe, or ‘dark hotpot’. This involves preparing a basic broth, to which each guest adds an ingredient, without revealing it to the others; the dish is eaten blindfolded.
It also became clear, compiling this volume, that how artists, designers, and makers work and eat has changed significantly in just the last few years, with more of us than ever working from home. This has redefined for many what a working lunch can be. Alfred Bramsen, for example, works primarily from his dining room table, and so makes full use of his kitchen to make his work lunch the biggest meal of the day.
Just as meaningful though are the more pragmatic recipes that advocate for personal twists on a classic. These are often adapted to accommodate limited space or resources, revealing something of the contemporary creative workspace’s impact on our working lunch culture. We do what we can, with what we have.
JACOB LILLIS – Welsh Rarebit
This book reminded us slightly of the 1930s Futurist cookbook by Marinetti. Are you aware of this reference?
Of course. One of the greatest draws of the cookbook as a medium is its ubiquity; it’s such a practical resource that it lends itself to interpretation. From the Futurists to Salvador Dalí, artists have long used books about food as a vehicle for provocative messaging. There’s a playfulness to that approach that we subscribe to – you’ll find a lot of bread-based snacks in the book, insights into the artistic practice disguised as step-by-step recipes. But unlike Marinetti, we’re great fans of pasta.
