Framed Food
There’s a subgenre in narrative arts that feels like no other: the cooking comic
I don’t think I’m the only one in saying this: the way Japanese artists depict food is amazing.
The first time it struck me was watching Dragon Ball back in the 90s when I was a child. I was already used to seeing lots of subject matters translated to the animated medium, but Goku, the main character, devoured dozens of bowls as they were the spinach that made Popeye strong — with the difference that here food had no use in the plot. It was not the surprise of seeing a cartoon character eating so much that had an impact on me, though… It was how mouth-watering the food seemed.
I didn’t even know what those dishes were made of in its day, but my stomach was growling just the same.
With time, I realized that this wasn’t something exclusive of Toriyama’s most famous work, but a very distinctive feature of these comics and their animated adaptations. I also discovered a trope among many of their main characters: the way they enjoy eating so much.
I wish I knew more about Asian culture and their philosophy around food… Nevertheless, what I do know is that if there’s a common denominator among every human culture, that’s cooking. And coming from Spain (although I suspect that anyone who comes from another Mediterranean country will feel exactly the same), where food is treated almost like a religion (scratch that — it IS a religion), I couldn’t but empathize and envy those characters.
In fact, Spain has its own share of food-lovers characters, being Carpanta by Josep Escobar the most famous of them all. But cartoonish characters such as Carpanta usually were a reflection of the picaresque novels; a social critique that depicted the starvation of the deprived people of the Spanish post-war era. It wasn’t “pleasure” what they obtained when they get to sink their teeth into their much-desired food, but the luxury of surviving one more day.
Furthermore, even when the food was a key element of those comics (or at least, its function as a McGuffin), those stories weren’t really about it.
Some years after I saw Dragon Ball, following a phase in which I was put off by Japanese comics because I mainly consumed the same teen-targeted stories again and again (that’s your Shonen and your Shojo), I found by chance a new genre: the Cooking Manga.
Tired (at the time) of battling demigods and magical girls, discovering that comics could also portrait everyday lives was incredibly refreshing. And for the first time, gastronomy was at the heart of the story.
This particular “work manga” came out in the 1970s, when the economy had a rapid acceleration and the middle class had the possibility of eating out and trying new and exciting flavors.
Among the titles that are part of that specific genre, there’s one that is practically an institution in Japan and that turns out to be one of the longest-running series in the history of the medium; Oishinbo, also called A la Carte.
As a work, it is pretty straightforward and with a friendly and cartoonish art dressing, but as I mentioned before, the food shines with its own light. Its structure is also delicious, as they are usually self-contained chapters in which a specific dish or ingredient is discussed. The premise is simple: a couple of food critics must find Japan’s “ultimate menu”, and in each episode, they meet and help chefs and foodies to discover a new culinary aspect so we, the readers, can learn about it too.
That said, it seems that it has a similar approach to a Netflix documentary, but it has its part of drama as well, not far from how it is embodied in a Shonen. In particular, there is a “villain” with more experience and power than the protagonist who also wants to get the most idiosyncratic menu of the country. And as you could expect… He is the father of the protagonist.
I told you that there was drama…
Not every cooking manga is about competitiveness and honor, though. My personal favorite has to be Kodoku no Gourmet (translated in some countries as Solitary Gourmet ) written by Kusumi Masayuki and illustrated by the master Taniguchi Jirō. In it, story development is reduced to a minimalistic excuse: a salesman called Inogashira Gorō looks for restaurants and food booths when he’s hungry.
But where the plot is just the seasoning, the emotion becomes the main dish.
I remember it was my father who bought this manga, attracted by the simple fact that Japanese food was at its center. At first, I thought that it was going to be very similar to Oishinbo; and yes, you can find in Solitary Gourmet a similar educational or cultural purpose. There are panels that explain with careful detail each one of the dishes, its price included. But what left an impression on me was that the artist devotes himself to draw the necessary space and detail on every page to make you feel the same as the protagonist. It portrays the food as something that soothes the main character's soul, and in the poetic lines and framings of Taniguchi, his emotions are directly projected to the reader.
Few literary works can have the power to make you savor a soup or a stew, but this manga absolutely succeeds at it. And as happens with the titular character, you feel better afterward.
Little by little, I’ve been finding more comics about food in the West too, some of them inspired by the Cooking manga genre or the Asian culture. It’s the case of Anthony Bourdain’s Get Jiro! or his latest, Hungry Ghosts, where the renowned chef expressed his love for Japanese folklore and gastronomy to write an anthology of short horror stories.
Disgust and nastiness are another way to explore how we interact with food. It’s about how it makes us feel at a visceral level, but it doesn’t always have to be pleasant.
However, where I think this culinary comic subgenre has flourished regarding how it displays food and emotion is in its digital form.
There are LOTS of webcomics in which food is an important ingredient of the story. Some of them even challenge the very conception of the medium (like Drawing Recipes — is it a comic or is it an illustrated cookbook?), but they usually share the love for cooking. This new form of gourmet comics is a perfect match of another genre that thrives in this newest expression of narrative arts, and that’s the slice of life. As it happened in this Japanese genre, it’s only natural that a new generation of creators wanted to express themselves by depicting the most mundane scenes. And, as it also happens with its manga ancestor, most of the time it doesn’t even rely upon an elaborate plot.
Feelings are as centric here as the food itself, making an interesting mix. This way you can learn new recipes for your repertoire but at the same time, you empathize with a character. Like in Solitary Gourmet, the stories depicted in these comics nourish our minds because the artists who craft them act as passionate chefs that pour nothing but soul into their creations.
This always makes me remember that cooking and comics are artifacts of cultural transmission; food can act as a story (depending on the vegetables of the season, the origin of the ingredients, temperature…) and, likewise, narrative art can feed our spirits with messages that are vital for our survival.
If they are genuine and sincere, they both have something to teach us and make us feel and be better.
These comics have become something beyond eye-candy for me, and what I have discovered is that I especially enjoy them because ultimately, they are about creation.
Because that’s how any creative process is like: a set of techniques, practices, cold sweats, and self-doubts in pursuit of achieving the necessary harmony between all the ingredients to imbue the result with purpose and sense.
As happens with cooking, comics are something magical — alchemical — when it all comes together, but it’s not about having the best possible final product…
It all makes sense when it’s destined for others to enjoy.
They are as much about producing something to be proud of as it is for sharing a part of yourself.
After all, a good meal always tastes better with company.
