From the Executive Director
The Art of Cauliflower Soup
By Teresa Eyring
The job portfolios of the gods tended to be well diversified. Apollo was god of music, medicine and prophesy; Demeter promoted peace and nutrition; Artemis was both saver and killer of animals. So there is nothing unusual about the fact that theatre's origins are tied to a deity, Dionysus, who also smiles upon wine and agriculture. Still, the idea of "The Food Issue" of American Theatre generated some quizzical looks among TCG friends—immediately followed by curiosity and excitement about what AT's writers might discover when examining theatre through this lens.
We got a little carried away, of course. There were test kitchens in the homes of TCG staff, a requirement from the art department that our editorials include recipes, and more ideas, stories and angles than could possibly fit in a single issue. By focusing on a topic ostensibly unrelated to theatre, a whole new theatre continent emerged.
This alimentary investigation begins to recognize and complement an energy in the artistic environment that is hurtling toward anti-containment, dismantling of silos, rediscovering theatre's interconnectedness with all parts of life and community. Someone someday will study this phenomenon and explain why it is so. Perhaps it's one sign of a massive yearning to replicate, in real life, the borderlessness of the virtual world, which has made so many things possible in people's relationships, creative lives and identities.
Coincidentally, there are some similar art-and-food conversations taking place these days outside of TCG. In this issue, Eliza Bent writes in "Stage Fresh" about Stolen Chair Theatre Company of New York's operational model, inspired by Community Supported Agriculture. And Minnesota's Springboard for the Arts blog recently ran a post by Noah Keesecker about a new effort called Community Supported Art, which creates "shares" of art that are supported by the community. The post encourages readers to pick up some art to go with a meal, and invite friends over to touch, smell and taste for themselves. Here's an excerpt from that blog:
How much more valuable do you find an artist you know than an artist you don't know? Certainly owning a [Damien] Hirst piece is pretty valuable, but how does that compare with being able to walk into an artist's studio on your way home from the grocery store and pick up a pair of prints to go with dinner? How does that Silver Oak Cabernet taste when paired with the new album you just bought from a local band you just saw? When you make dinner, do you always cook for an army from New York, or do you cook for a couple friends that share studio space and bring a performance to dinner instead of a loaf of focaccia?
Another strand of thinking touches on food production and distribution—and its similarities with theatre production and distribution. Both are very local. Neither, as of this moment, can be physically distributed beyond their place of origin without a system of transport—a trailer, a truck or some other oil-guzzling vehicle. Meanwhile, the Slow Food and Slow Money movements, which mimic the place-specificity of theatre by championing investment in local enterprises with local impact, have been taking hold over the past few years.
In addition to the inspiration that food provides for thinking about organizational models and support, it has also clearly inspired many artists in terms of content, aesthetics and delivery. Some cases in point are discussed in this issue. But it's a global phenomenon. One of my favorites is the Colombian writer and director Manuel Orjuela, who developed a carry-out theatre—you could call up and order a play delivered and performed at your home.
Of course, new ideas are often old ideas in disguise. One of TCG's original member companies was the Barter Theatre of Virginia, founded during the Great Depression, which traded theatre experiences for excess produce from local farms. The Barter had a couple of pertinent slogans: "With vegetables you cannot sell, you can buy a good laugh," and "Trade some ham for Hamlet."
The following recipe is for the night you run into an old friend on the street and invite her over for dinner, but when you get home it turns out that all you have in your refrigerator is a head of cauliflower and an onion. And maybe a little butter. And there's a blizzard outside, so all of the stores are closed. And you really want to impress this friend, who is a fantastic artist and a discerning gourmet. What to do? Make this cauliflower soup. It's really good.
Ingredients:
1 lb. cauliflower, separated into florets
1 small white onion, thinly sliced
2 tsp. salt
3 cups hot water
2 tbsp. olive oil or unsalted butter
Instructions:
In a heavy pan that has a lid, melt butter or warm the olive oil over low heat.
Add onion and cook gently until softened, not brown, 15 minutes.
Add cauliflower, salt and cup water.
Raise the heat to medium low, cover tightly with a lid and cook for 20 minutes.
Remove lid, add remaining water and simmer over low heat for 20 minutes more.
Leave to cool slightly before blending in a blender or food processor until super-smooth.
Return to the pan to heat before serving, thinning with more water if the soup is too thick for your taste.
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