The Provençal Rosé Paradox

It was during the course of a massage that I learnt about her recent trip to Thailand. I asked her about the food, whether she enjoyed it and what her favourite dish was.

She mentioned that she thinks that non-Thai people cannot cook Thai food, and that no matter how hard they try, they just do not get it right. Their food just does not taste the same.

This made me think: I cook a lot of Thai food and although I am most certainly not native-Thai, I do have a pretty good understanding of their ingredients, techniques and flavour profiles. Yet, if I am honest about my (Thai) food and the dishes I had in Thailand, I must admit she does have a point: mine never tastes exactly like theirs.

But what makes this even more intriguing is that none of my diners, who had never been to Thailand, seem to agree with me. They have all eaten Thai food before and claim to know an ‘authentic’ Thai dish from a non-authentic one.

So this got me thinking: how is it possible that two cooks using exactly the same ingredients, exactly the same techniques and exactly the same recipes to cook exactly the same dish but in different parts of the world will produce two noticeably different eating experiences?

As it turns out, this phenomenon – The Provençal Rosé Paradox – has been identified before. In short, it entails the following: Whilst on holiday along the French Riviera, you are having a glass of crisp, ice cold Provençal Rosé wine. It is the most glorious of sunny days and you are having the most spectacular seafood dish to go with your wine. The setting and view are nothing short of breathtaking. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the idea is forming that this could well be the best Rosé you have ever tasted. So when offered the chance to purchase a case of wine, you cannot believe your luck. With great difficulty you drag the case of wine with the rest of your luggage for the remainder of your holiday and all the way back home. Here, you open the wine with great anticipation only to find with great disappointment that it has lost its allure. It is the same wine, yet it tastes nothing like the wine you had that special day on the French Riviera.

The answer to this paradox seems to lie in the atmosphere of one dining location over the next. Simply put, Thai food tastes better in Thailand than in Windhoek. Just in case you wondered: the same applies inter alia to Mexican, French, Italian, German and Namibian food.

In the same vein, research has shown that when asked to blindly-rate the same simple dish (chicken á la king and rice) in a number of different dining settings, diners preferred the dish served in a fine dining restaurant over the same dish served in a university staff cafeteria, an army training camp or boarding school hostel. It is proof that often it is not what you eat, but where you eat it that enhances the dining experience. As in real estate, it is all about location.

Studies have furthermore found that: giving a restaurant an ethnic theme (say Italian) shaped the diners menu preferences (pasta over fish) and had a positive influence on diners view on the ‘authenticity’ of the meal. Italian décor on the walls and tables of a British restaurant made all the difference. Playing ethnic music seems to have the same effect on the quality of the dining experience. Can you imagine eating authentic Indian food whilst listening to zampoña music from the mountains of South America? Most likely this kind of mismatch of atmosphere and food will be discomforting at best and utterly annoying at worst.

After my rather prolonged contemplation over my non-Namibian ethnic cooking, I have now sufficient proof that it is time to stop agonising, unless I move to Thailand or Mexico or India or wherever, there is not much I can do. I am also viewing some of our family ‘classics’ in a whole new light: my version of grandma’s melktert is never going to taste the same, no matter how hard I try. My kitchen is not the same as her kitchen and I am no longer the excited little boy who flourished under her care and comfort.

So if I can venture a little advice: if you happen to be in a wonderful location, and maybe share it with good people and if the food is good, eat to your heart’s content, because it might just be one of your best meals ever. But leave it over there, do not bring it home, so says the Provençal Rosé Paradox.

With spring’s arrival, I thought a cold soup might be in order. If you have never made or had a gazpacho, this is one to try and be brave, give it that real chef’s twist with a savoury sorbet made from goat milk cheese.

Beet Gazpacho with Goat Cheese Sorbet

Ingredients

Gazpacho

• 450 grams beets, scrubbed

• 1 fresh tomato, halved, seeded and cut into cubes

• 1/2 cucumber, halved, seeded and cut into cubes

• 1/2 red bell pepper, cored, seeded and cut into cubes

• 70 grams wholemeal bread, crusts removed and cut

into cubes

• 1/3 cup raw, unsalted pistachios, deshelled

• 1 cup extra virgin olive oil

• 1/2 cup water

• 1/4 cup Balsamic vinegar

• 3 tablespoons Dijon mustard

Goat Cheese Sorbet

• 1 cup fresh goat’s milk

• 115 grams fresh goat cheese (chèvre)

In an age of information overload, Sunrise is The Namibian’s morning briefing, delivered at 6h00 from Monday to Friday. It offers a curated rundown of the most important stories from the past 24 hours – occasionally with a light, witty touch. It’s an essential way to stay informed. Subscribe and join our newsletter community.