What happens when the food on the plate in front of you starts to have something to say? According to Marije Vogelzang, all of it has something to say. There are stories upon stories behind every facet of that plate in front of you, where the food came from, who made it, how they made it, where they learned it, why they do it, where you’re eating it, and what all of it means. All of that context not only creates the meaning behind what you’re eating, she wants you to know that it creates how it all tastes. One way to talk about what Marije Vogelzang does is through those stories. At her restaurant and laboratory in Rotterdam and Amsterdam respectively, Proef, meaning both to taste and to test in Dutch, it seems that’s where the design is seated. From there it’s about the food, all the way from originating in nature to the moment you return it.
I prefer (to be called) ‘eatingdesigner’ because I work from the verb of eating. So I like to be inspired by harvesting, cooking, sharing food, digesting, and pooing.
She has been asked a certain question for some time now and people have been given a few different answers. The question is, “What do you do?” To clear it up for a moment, she’s an eating designer, both for heavy hitters like BMW and L’Oreal, but mainly for people. Some of the other titles that could be ascribed are food designer, product designer, and though less formal amidst the everything attached to these titles, chef, cook, caterer, party oraganizer, and occasional wedding host. But the best way to sum all of that up is an eating designer, meaning what, she will design how you eat? Yes.
It’s like the Chinese Denny’s. That’s what I always say. When I’m out with my Chinese friends, and it’s like you gotta eat after drinking. This is where you come in the middle of the night, in the morning. It’s like the Chinese Denny’s… Actually, that’s what they could use here, a Denny’s. - Rob
There’s that “down the rabbit hole” quality when being taken to a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, one that wouldn’t be found without a guide of sorts. This one is secluded in a mini-Vegas style. Drive through winding streets without much light, wait for an entrance to open up, follow the unending glow of neon. This restaurant is actually a row of restaurants but it’s difficult to see where one begins and the other ends. It has some qualities that restaurants around the world are starting to employ. It’s ironic to me that there is so much copying done by China and then some of the hippest restaurant qualities are found right here. And they are remarkably colloquial.
A street animation painted on public walls in Buenos Aires. He comes from the wall. He eats himself. Then he births himself. Then he eats again, himself and paper.
If Colonel Sanders and Bruce Lee took each other on, I would think that Bruce would have the upper hand in all things Kung Fu. However, in fast food, the man in the white suit still reigns supreme, even in China. This might be Kung Fu versus Kentucky Fried.
It’s the simple concept that a particularly enlightened being could exist on nourishment from air and sunlight. Another term for it is Inedia. The idea is not new, having been the forte of Eastern Mystics and Catholic Saints, but the concept held a new sway in the latter half of the twentieth century. All science and nutrition aside, this is one of the accounts of Peter Leslie’s brush with Breatharianism.
Before the interview begins, I think it best to let you know that Pete has the capacity to tell stories that get told by other people. That can sound very simple but it’s complex in that Pete unknowingly perpetuates a sort of folk lore of his own stories. True, half-true, or completely false, it never seems to matter. As the stories unfold, I always get the feeling that whether they’re true or not, I don’t care. I’m far more fascinated with what’s happening in the story and usually tears of laughter have gathered.
I met with Pete over a few drinks where we discussed his encounters with Breatharianism. The interview follows.
Visionaries rarely get their due and supermarkets are fascinating.
Whenever making it to a new country, it seems the sightseeing I find myself engaging in wanes from the epic and grand, instead turning to the mundane and ordinary. Enter the supermarket. Through a tumultuous past and half way across the world, the supermarket stands firm in China. A photo gallery is located at the end of the article.
It’s simple to end up in a place in Mumbai that is insipidly chic, ambiguously pulsating, and completely full of itself. I will find myself at parties or bars and inevitably things will drone on and wit in conversation will seem like something from a dream. When that happens, stepping away to have a cigarette, there’s another inevitable moment. Eye contact, head nod, a half formed hindi “Do you mind?” question, and I am off to hang out with the help.
That being, I end up again at a kitchen that perfectly personifies the people using it. Like an earlier article, Norman’s Kitchen is a Cabinet, Friday Night Rush is part of an ongoing collection of kitchens. Here, the space and the individual using it become inseparable, and when that happens they become more than function or form, they come to be about everything else.
I spent Friday night in the middle of a dinner rush at the popular local, the Yacht Club.
