Anyone Can Cook: 10 Great Meals On Reels
With Thanksgiving coming up, I've written about the films that make my mouth water.
“Food captured on-screen can have a particularly seductive appeal,” the introduction to Criterion’s Food on Film collection reads. Indeed, depictions of food in popular media are often idealistic, and constantly evolving technology and formal techniques mean movies can make anything look more alluring than it is in real life. Food is no exception, even if the appeal of seeing it onscreen often comes out of an attempt to accurately recreate the illusive tastes and smells we hold near and dear.
I’ve always been fascinated by the ways in which food can be used to capture a mood, tell a story or characterize subjects. With Thanksgiving, aka Sangiving, aka “Turkey Day” approaching, I thought I’d write about some of my favorite on-screen depictions of food. Whether accurate or romanticized, here are some of the most alluring, most thought-provoking and most original culinary interpretations you’ll ever come across.
Tampopo (Juzo Itami, 1985)
Savor the aromas. Jewels of fat glittering on the surface. Shinachiku roots shining. Seaweed slowly sinking. Spring onions floating. Concentrate on the three pork slices. They play the key role, but stay modestly hidden... Apologize to the pork by saying, “see you soon.”
Almost 40 years after its release, Tampopo remains one of the weirdest and most wonderful films ever made about food. Centering on a man who helps a struggling widow improve her ramen business, the famous noodle soup is filmed to stunning, mouthwatering effect over the course of two hours. But rather than going the conventional route and sticking to just one narrative or sensation, writer/director Juzo Itami sprinkles in additional stories that are presented almost as anthology shorts, interrupting the main narrative at random moments. These stories explore food through sight (a boy who isn’t allowed to have sweets is tempted by an ice cream cone), smell (a man who eats too much sugar has a rotten tooth removed), sound (students at an etiquette class loudly slurp their noodles), touch (an elderly woman gets in trouble for ruining supermarket produce), and eros (a couple regularly uses food as part of their intercourse).
There is so much that makes Tampopo unique, from Itami’s unorthodox narrative to his surreal visual sensibilities. Often dubbed the first “ramen western,” the film takes a few aesthetic cues from the likes of Sergio Leone but ultimately remains impossible to categorize as just one thing. For that alone, it’s hard to trust anyone who says it’s not their flavor.
Pig (Michael Sarnoski, 2021)
Many films have dealt with the disillusionment of realizing the field you ventured into isn’t what it used to be, but few are as achingly honest as Michael Sarnoski’s Pig. Situated in Portland, Pig centers on a former chef who gave up his business to live in the deep Oregonian forest after suffering a personal tragedy. When his beloved truffle pig gets stolen, he ventures into the now-gentrified city to retrieve her, enlisting the help of a young luxury supplier whose father is a powerful business mogul. So begins a meditative story about loss that likens our destruction of art with that of nature.
The film's chapters are aptly titled after the food its characters prepare and consume, evoking nostalgia and earthy allusions. Part I, which introduces the recluse protagonist’s lifestyle, is dubbed “A Rustic Mushroom Tart.” Part II, which slowly unfolds Rob and Amir’s backstories as they search for the stolen pig, is “Mom’s French Toast and Deconstructed Scallops.” Part III involves a pressing dinner invitation in which “A Bird, a Bottle and a Salted Baguette” are to be served.
Whenever food appears on-screen in Pig, it’s to embody characters, locations and perspectives. But although many of its themes are universal, Sarnosky’s location-specific case study of Portland’s gastronomic scene is one of the most compelling things about it.
Ratatouille (Brad Bird, 2007)
You may have already heard about the lengths the crew of Ratatouille went in order to replicate realistic food textures for their Oscar-winning animated darling, but I’ll go ahead and remind you. Director Brad Bird and part of his crew went to Paris to familiarize themselves with the city and its cuisine. They consulted gourmet chefs in both the U.S. and France. They had animators attend cooking classes in order to properly depict the inner workings of a commercial kitchen. Producer Brad Lewis interned for Thomas Keller. It sounds ridiculous for a movie about a rat who wants to be a chef, but fourteen years later those dishes still look edible and the film boasts some of Pixar’s most impressive animation to date.
It's easy to see why Ratatouille remains one of the most universally beloved pictures from the studio that gave us Soul (2020), Coco (2017) and A Bug’s Life (1998). The film focuses on gourmet food, but its repeated reminder that “anyone can cook,” is such a simple yet revolutionary statement when we consider how often people feel humbled by fine cuisine. Its most famous scene — in which the titular dish transports a grumpy food critic back to his childhood — is such an unexpected but wonderful display of pathos, and a reminder that food really is the way to the heart.
Bao (Domee Shi, 2018)
Pixar’s knack for depicting the sensory pleasures of food can’t be overstated, and although the pasta in Luca (2021), the pastries in Brave (2012) and the dumplings in Bao may owe a lot to Ratatouille, their existence prohibits me from including only one project from the heavyweight studio on this list. The latter — a magnificent short film about the strain between a mother and her child told through a literal dumpling metaphor — is one of the most exquisite things they’ve ever done, and a testament to how far computer animation has come since its inception in 1995.
Directed by newcomer Domee Shi (who reportedly drew inspiration from her own experience growing up an an only child), much of the dialogue-less film’s power lies in its ability to transcend the boundary of spoken language and tell a near-universal story.
“[My mother] would hold me close and be like, ‘I wish I could put you back in my stomach so I knew exactly where you were at all times,’” the director said in a Vogue interview. “I wanted to play with that idea of loving something so much that you never want to let it go—anywhere. Even outside your body.”
Blue Is the Warmest Color (Abdellatif Kechiche, 2013)
Years after watching Blue is the Warmest Color, one experience from director Abdellatif Kechiche’s incendiary lesbian odyssey has stuck with me more than the rest. It’s not the ridiculously overlong sex scenes, nor understandable but still very much overblown controversy following the film’s release. No, I’m talking about the ways this French coming-of-age drama triggers non-visual sensations of taste by using the aesthetics of food to explore sexual politics and class dynamics between the two leads.
If you’re able to look past Kechiche’s problematic involvement in Blue, you’ll find it’s actually a raw and compelling coming-of-age story told with aching accuracy. Over the course of the film, Adèle’s carnal desires are repeatedly matched with her indulgence of food. She voraciously consumes gyros on her first date with Thomas and chews chocolate nougat open-mouthed while sobbing in bed after they break up. Her first kiss with Emma is only shared after the two eat cold cuts during a picnic. Like the film’s most erotic moments (which never shy away from depicting the sloppier, ostensibly unflattering aspects of sex), love and youth are shown to be messy — and so is food.
Many will point towards the film’s infamous spaghetti scene (in which our protagonist grossly devours the pasta), as an example of the film’s hyperrealistic approach. However, this is just one of two complementary dinner sequences Kechiche uses to illustrate the class dynamics between Adèle (a middle-class high schooler with simple aspirations), and Emma (an art student from a family of high-class intellectuals). When Emma is invited to Adèle’s house for dinner, they have a hearty, low-cost meal which the latter indulges in with gusto. When Adèle meets Emma’s family, she is served oysters — a delicacy. And once the two move in together, Adèle is shown managing the household whereas the intellectual pursuits are afforded to Emma.
The Lunchbox (Ritesh Batra, 2013)
The story of Ritesh Batra’s The Lunchbox is simple enough: a lonely Indian housewife tries rekindling her marriage by preparing her husband a surprise meal for work, which she sends him through Mumbai’s famous dabbawala delivery system. When she finds out the lunchbox has been delivered to another cubicle worker by mistake, she sends the stranger an apology note, which he replies to with gratitude. The two become pen pals of sorts, and she continues to cook him lunches he is more appreciative of than her partner. What ensues is an understated yet beautiful romance about renewed possibilities.
The way Batra captures his country’s delectable cuisine — paneer kofta curry with seasoned rice, flatbread, cooked eggplant, spring apple subzi, etc, etc, etc. — makes this the kind of film you don’t want to watch on an empty stomach. Both the cooking and eating sequences (complete with Saajan’s glasses fogging up as he opens those cans of steamed vegetables), are mouthwatering. As in real life, The Lunchbox does a wonderful job showing how a good meal is frequently the best part of one’s day.
Mostly Martha (Sandra Nettelbeck, 2001)
American Rom-Com Protagonists: I brought my boss to a family reunion and we pretended to be engaged, and now we’re in love!
German Rom-Com Protagonists: I’m a gourmet chef with poor interpersonal skills. My sister just died in a horrible car accident, and now I’ve taken in her child, who hates me. There’s this new Italian guy at work whose confidence makes me question my own abilities. Sometimes I hide in the freezer to cry or to be alone. He’s kinda cute tho.
Maybe I’m over-generalizing. But leave it to the Germans (in this case, writer and director Sandra Nettelbeck), to take a potentially depressing story, and turn it into comfort food. Following your typical genre beats albeit the refreshing twist, Mostly Martha maneuvers its warm and cold tones in ways most of its American counterparts only wish they could. As with any cooking-themed movie, many of the most exciting scenes occur in the kitchen, as characters bond over food or scramble over a difficult order. Naturally, Mario (yes, that’s his name), romances Martha through food as well. A surprisingly sensual scene involving a blindfold, some soup and a kiss is guaranteed to get a swoon out of the biggest grouch.
Babette’s Feast (Gabriel Axel, 1987)
A great meal isn’t just about the food. It’s also about the experience: the preparation, the decoration, the people you share it with. It’s to be enjoyed. In Babette’s Feast, a French housekeeper decides to thank two Danish women who took her in during the Paris Commune of 1871 by preparing an elaborate feast. Now living in a remote protestant village on the coast of Jutland, the elderly sisters and their highly devout guests fear what they believe might be a sinful indulgence. But because they love Babette — whose past is marked by great trauma — they decide to participate, if only to please her.
Gabriel Axel’s film is beautiful because it’s largely about repressed desires. Through the dinner Babette prepares for them, the guests begin to ease and so does the tension in the room. Age-old arguments are resolved. Mutual declarations of love are made. Expensive wine becomes too good to feel guilty about enjoying. For just one night, they allow themselves to indulge. And by the end of the film, we learn that the preparation of this meal — an art she hadn’t practiced in over a decade — served a cathartic purpose to the cook as well.
In flashbacks, the elderly sisters are shown to have been given an opportunity at a better life through men who allowed them to dream of what lies beyond their pious little village. Babette does the same. But by allowing her to prepare that full-course meal and appreciating it thoroughly, they return the favor.
Waitress (Adrienne Shelly, 2007)
I Hate My Husband Pie
Bittersweet chocolate pudding, drowned in caramel.
I Don't Want Earl's Baby Pie
Quiche of egg and Brie cheese with a smoked ham center.
Pregnant, Miserable, Self-Pitying Loser Pie
Lumpy oatmeal with fruitcake mashed in. Flambé, of course.
Juggling an unwanted pregnancy, an abusive husband and a raunchy affair, Jenna from Waitress echoes her day-to-day frustrations into pie recipes for the diner she works at — the only place that provides an escape from her turbulent home life. Marking her film with a refreshingly lighthearted tone that never fudges its delicate subject matter, director Adrienne Shelly supports her colorful vision of the American South with theatrical sets, highly saturated hues and scalding feminist dialogue. From flaky crust to glossy, gelatinous filling, the pies our protagonist makes are perhaps its biggest draw, though. Even when the pastries aren’t on-screen, their tangible descriptions are enough to stir our senses.
“Nobody makes strawberry chocolate pie the way you do,” the restaurant’s curmudgeonly owner tells Jenna in a moment of bliss. “It’s downright expert. A thing of beauty, how each flavor opens itself one by one like a chapter in a book. First the flavor of the exotic spices — just a hint of it. Then you’re flooded with chocolate, dark and bittersweet like an old love affair. And finally strawberry the way strawberry was always supposed to taste but never knew how.”
Before the film’s triumphant finale, pies are the only thing Jenna has any autonomy over; a source of confidence for herself as well as love and admiration from others. It’s only fitting that they’d look equally tempting to us viewers.
The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson, 2014)
Wes Anderson’s quirky humor and staggering attention to detail have made him one of America’s most distinguished contemporary auteurs, but the inclusion of food in his work is still criminally under-discussed. From the adorable sushi-making sequence in Isle of Dogs (2018), to the elaborate, full-course meal in The French Dispatch (2021), charming depictions of food frequently take the cake in his movies. Never more so than the towering cream-filled pastries featured in The Grand Budapest Hotel, which have been recreated endlessly by fans since the film’s release.
On the surface, Mendel’s Courtesan Au Chocolat may seem like just another stylistic gimmick from Anderson, who is known for his distinct, elaborate style. But while The Grand Budapest Hotel doesn’t revolve around food like other films on this list, the dessert comes into play on several occasions. It’s through Mendel’s Patisserie that our protagonist, Zero, meets his love interest Agatha — the source of much of the film’s emotional core. Later, the two hide digging tools inside the pastries as part of an elaborate plan to help the hotel’s concierge, Monsieur Gustave H., escape from prison. And in the film’s climactic shootout sequence, Zero falls from a very tall building — only to have his fall broken by a Mendel’s delivery truck.
One of my favorite scenes in The Grand Budapest Hotel involves Gustave sharing a Courtesan with his fellow inmates, all of whom are implied to be of lower class but equally as appreciative of the confection. Such fineries, the film seems to argue, are for everyone. ■
This is a beautifully written piece, your words on how these films use food is just as emotionally engaging as the food in the films themselves.
Lovingly written. I could feel your emotional and gustatory attachment to these films, and found myself hungry to watch the ones I haven't seen (most of them!).