written by Abby Reimer
As an editor for a campus food publication, Carolina Eats, I follow the fried egg and fig trends, scoff at frozen food and ponder the merits of organic and local produce.
I decided to study abroad in Copenhagen, Denmark this past summer with visions of ex-Noma chefs feeding me mushrooms or foam or whatever they have gleaned from Scandinavian forests that day.
As an editor for a campus food publication, Carolina Eats, I follow the fried egg and fig trends, scoff at frozen food and ponder the merits of organic and local produce.
I decided to study abroad in Copenhagen, Denmark this past summer with visions of ex-Noma chefs feeding me mushrooms or foam or whatever they have gleaned from Scandinavian forests that day.
I knew coming in that most of Copenhagen’s renowned food was far out reach, but I didn’t realize that most everything was out of reach. A cup of black coffee set me back $6.
I went to dinner at Mother, a supposedly cheap Italian restaurant in Copenhagen’s meatpacking district. $20 and 2 protein-free pieces of pizza later, I stared at my empty plate. I was starving.
I looked at the posh British friends sitting next to me, lavishly eating bruschetta and their own personal pizzas. And cocktails!
What do these people do? I thought, incredulous.
A visor-and-tennis-shoes American couple left half a bottle of wine and scraps of pizza on their table. Could I grab it without anyone noticing?
I found myself missing cheap and delicious burritos, free-refill coffee. Even Chapel Hill’s expensive restaurants paled in comparison to a dinner out in Copenhagen.
Yet as I sat coveting the pizza-next-door, I realized the hypocrisy of my self-pity.
The foodie-set, and I guess that includes me, has always been accused of living lavishly and demanding that everyone follow certain food-rules: all local, all organic, all homemade, all vegan or all gluten-free.
In our celebration of food-culture, of restaurants, and of quality food, a lot of us have missed the point—that eating like we do is a privilege, a delicious luxury.
There are strong ethical frameworks behind many current food trends—a closer relationship to farmers, better treatment of animals, supporting local businesses.
But our current economic and social landscape means that most people cannot access or afford these trends. To demand a universal acceptance of these practices isn’t just unrealistic, it is unethical.
Whether you are eating at a white-tablecloth restaurant or at a McDonalds, the food on your plate could always provoke someone else’s envy. This perspective is largely missing in frenzied food debates that often confound moral laws with personal choice.
I went to dinner at Mother, a supposedly cheap Italian restaurant in Copenhagen’s meatpacking district. $20 and 2 protein-free pieces of pizza later, I stared at my empty plate. I was starving.
I looked at the posh British friends sitting next to me, lavishly eating bruschetta and their own personal pizzas. And cocktails!
What do these people do? I thought, incredulous.
A visor-and-tennis-shoes American couple left half a bottle of wine and scraps of pizza on their table. Could I grab it without anyone noticing?
I found myself missing cheap and delicious burritos, free-refill coffee. Even Chapel Hill’s expensive restaurants paled in comparison to a dinner out in Copenhagen.
Yet as I sat coveting the pizza-next-door, I realized the hypocrisy of my self-pity.
The foodie-set, and I guess that includes me, has always been accused of living lavishly and demanding that everyone follow certain food-rules: all local, all organic, all homemade, all vegan or all gluten-free.
In our celebration of food-culture, of restaurants, and of quality food, a lot of us have missed the point—that eating like we do is a privilege, a delicious luxury.
There are strong ethical frameworks behind many current food trends—a closer relationship to farmers, better treatment of animals, supporting local businesses.
But our current economic and social landscape means that most people cannot access or afford these trends. To demand a universal acceptance of these practices isn’t just unrealistic, it is unethical.
Whether you are eating at a white-tablecloth restaurant or at a McDonalds, the food on your plate could always provoke someone else’s envy. This perspective is largely missing in frenzied food debates that often confound moral laws with personal choice.