Bourdain does not equivocate. He calls us to a community table where humans can embrace the wisdom and experiences of others. He does this indirectly–modeling an adventurous spirit in travel while eating the most bizarre things a culture can think to make into food. Bemoaning the downside of having written a book about eating adventurously, Bourdain knows that people want to “see [him] nibbling on the nether regions of unusual beasties ... chawing on small woodland creatures ... dazzle [him] with turtle parts you didn’t know existed, chicken feet, hundred-year-old eggs, snake snacks, [and] fried bugs.” Yet, this somewhat stomach-turning list stems from his recognition that, in other cultures, “the driving engine is the need to transform the humble, the tough, the unlively into the delicate and sublime, or to figure out what was good about an ingredient all along” (p. 103). With an open mind and an iron stomach, he delves into the unknown, and respects the ingenuity, creativity, and uniqueness of what these places, and foods, have to offer. Through him, we do, too. Sometimes his lessons on tolerance are not so subtle. A collection of scathing diatribes criticizing narrow-mindedness make up a solid foundation of his work. Fear of food–and fear of immersing oneself in the food of a culture while travelling–clearly connects to Bourdain’s “fear for the planet.” To him, reprehensible individuals use clout and celebrity to encourage others to turn “away from the fabulously diverse and marvelous planet” (p.170). For him, food is about welcoming the unfamiliar. Celebrating strangeness. Opening minds. Food allows us to learn the ugliness of hegemony, and the joy of diversity. Through food–and Bourdain–we see the potential power of hermeneutically studying new texts. Application to ELA Classrooms The process of developing a case study exemplar from something that simply interested me has reinforced the jammed-packed potential of redefining “text” in the classroom. The possibilities seem endless – examining Adam Levine’s celebrity status on The Voice, the lyrics to Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, or whatever else students might (appropriately) imagine. I am certain their meaningful “texts” have richer content than we realize, encouraging us to teach the “language arts” part of English. In fact, I believe my students are as interested in their texts as I am in my own. Perhaps it is not Anthony Bourdain, but something feeds their interests. I suppose there are young people interested in nothing; but, I have never met one in 17 years of teaching. No matter where we teach, I am confident our collective teacher-conscience points us toward a shared vision of readying students to navigate amorphous tomorrows. Although we try to predict what patterns the tumbling kaleidoscope will reveal, commonsense tells us we serve our children better by preparing them with skills to decipher this world of possibilities and challenges that come with change. These changes demand that we alter the way we do business.
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English Practice Vol.56 No.1 2014