When I was in Shanghai, I used to avoid a certain alley that lay on my way to the subway. There was always a terrible, simply unbearable stench – as if someone had left a sewer manhole open. I could never identify the source of the smell until one day I realized it came from a bustling eatery at the beginning of the alley.
The signature dish of this establishment was 'stinky tofu' – a fermented soy product served with a mash of meat, vegetables, and sour milk. To many Westerners like me, it's hard to even imagine bringing such a nasty thing to one's mouth without feeling nauseous. Yet there was always a huge line at the eatery for it. And now I know that many Chinese feel exactly the same disgust at the thought of cheese.
Recently, dairy products have become more common in China, but locals still can't understand why you would spoil milk and then add salt and additional bacteria to it. Even a mild cheese like cheddar seems completely inedible to them. According to them, if you put it on bread and melt it, it becomes a bit better, but still, as my Chinese friends say, this product is by no means considered a delicacy here.
Such discrepancies in perceptions of what is tasty and what is disgusting are found everywhere once you start comparing the food cultures of different peoples. For some, the yeast spread 'Vegemite' is a successful addition to a morning sandwich, while for others it is a salty-bitter mass that gives the impression 'as if someone tried to cook food but ruined it.' That's how a child from the US described it. For some, beef offal is a delicacy sold at street stalls and best paired with noodles, while for others it is inedible rubber with a faint smell of a public toilet.
In a way, such contrasts shouldn't be surprising: we learn from those around us what is edible and what to avoid, and these concepts vary by region. But somehow, the reminder that there's no accounting for taste invariably surprises us.
Trying to characterize the main differences between peoples' ideas of tasty and healthy food, nutritionists rely on flavor profiles – spices and seasonings that seem familiar and homely to people. The combination of tomatoes, garlic, oregano, and olive oil inevitably suggests Italy, while the mix of dried shrimp, chili peppers, ginger, and palm oil recalls Brazil. For Germans, 'home taste' is associated with dill, sour cream, mustard, vinegar, and black pepper, while for Chinese, it's soy sauce, rice wine, and ginger.
This flavor profile determines the foods that, from our perspective, can be consumed without hesitation. For example, when asked about their food preferences, Chinese tourists in Australia noted that, except for Chinese dishes, food often seemed tasteless to them. 'I always hope there will be soy sauce in the kitchen,' noted one study participant. 'Then, even if I don't like the food, I can add it to rice.' If unfamiliar ingredients were cooked in a Chinese style, they seemed tastier.
However, these are just general categories that show what is familiar, not what is edible. In more extreme cases, cultural differences can be so strong that perceptions of delicacies can be directly opposite.
In her memoir 'Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper,' Fuchsia Dunlop, who writes about Chinese food and cuisine, notes that there are vast areas in the country's gastronomy that do not attract even the most curious Western gourmets. For example, properly prepared goose intestines and sea cucumbers have no taste at all, and their texture resembles rubber tubes. However, sea cucumbers are a delicacy that can cost over a hundred dollars each, and at least partly this is because some people find them truly delicious.
Dunlop explains one important factor: 'The sea cucumber attracts eaters solely by its texture.' She then writes about how important texture is in Chinese cuisine, and how many words exist for what we would simply call 'rubbery' or 'gelatinous.' 'A Chinese gourmet can distinguish the springy jelly-like texture of sea cucumbers from the stickier, slimier jelly-like texture of reconstituted dried squid and the firm jelly-like texture of reconstituted pork leg tendons,' the writer assures us.
Surely everyone can learn to enjoy such food solely for its texture, as Dunlop herself has learned. But it's pointless to deny that these products are unlikely to become a favorite treat for a Western gourmet.
Comparing the taste preferences of different peoples may seem like mere fun, but it's not just entertainment. Just imagine someone enthusiastically devouring something you wouldn't touch, and a chasm opens between you.
'The difference between the concepts of edible and tasty is perhaps most clearly manifested in our attitude toward consumers of the respective products,' writes food cultures researcher Lucy Long in her book 'Culinary Tourism.' 'Someone who eats something inedible seems strange to us, perhaps even dangerous, and certainly not one of us, whereas someone who likes something not tasty is simply said to have no accounting for taste.'
Perhaps this gap can be bridged if we recall that many of our favorite treats are not entirely natural for humans. For example, it is believed that bitter taste receptors evolved to prevent the consumption of bitter foods that may be poisonous. Young children react sharply negatively to bitter taste – not at all like they do to sweet. However, many people have gotten used to drinking coffee daily, and gourmets prefer bitter chocolate.
Charles Zuker, a biologist at Columbia University (USA) who studies taste receptors, believes that our current fondness for bitter foods is explained by a desire to explore the new and unusual, and perhaps even the dangerous. Paul Rozin, a psychologist studying a phenomenon he himself calls 'benign masochism,' categorizes bitter foods alongside hot peppers and sad movies. All of them send a signal of danger to the body, but the realization that they will cause no harm brings a special pleasure.
Many tourists try local cuisine when traveling. But is it possible that a more extreme gastronomic tourism will develop in the future? Would you be tempted by a trip that involves tasting foods that initially seem completely inedible?
Perhaps a more acceptable option would be this: if you eat a new product that seems strange to you once a month for several days in a row, it can surprisingly quickly become familiar, or even tasty.
So, looking at a person with pleasure consuming something that in your opinion is inedible, think: how elastic are the human taste organs after all, if representatives of the same biological species are able to eat rotten tofu, Vegemite, sea cucumbers, and even cheese so disgusting to our Chinese friends.