It’s a matter up for debate as to whether good taste is on the decline, and it is not the argument I wish to engage in here. However, in a world connected by the internet, rife with images and video content, it can be assumed that everyone has access to the same ideas and information, and as such, there are obvious condensations of style. Whether it be TikTok’s ‘Clean Girl’ aesthetic or ordering from a menu based on the most Instagrammed dishes, we are liable to fall into ruts of influence that take the personality out of our choices. Of course, this is not so much to do with the advent of the internet – we as humans have always had an innate urge to identify with each other based on shared ideologies, categorising each other so that we can understand ourselves better as part of a bigger whole. The internet has just made this easier.

This thought can make life seem a little bit too derivative for my liking, so this is where the matter of taste enters the fray. The concept of taste is somewhat elusive. It is not purely aesthetic, although that does have a large part to play. It is an instinct; an eye not just for craftsmanship, but one that requires personal judgement. To have taste is to back yourself, to have a strong opinion, and to stick to it. It takes, and also creates, verve, zest, pizzazz. It does not need to be rational, but it is based on exposure and experience. It is a cultivated intuition. Interestingly, it is wholly subjective, but can apparently be judged objectively. Taste is as much about what you do not like as what you do. This is where some may shy away, as you are allowed to be contentious here, and in doing so may ruffle some feathers. Do not be concerned with this, as taste is not who you are as a person, though it may give some indication. Your taste safeguards you against sameness. As the Australian chef and cultural icon Stephanie Alexander said, in her wonderful first book, Stephanie’s Menus for Food Lovers, “a recognisable personal style seems to me to be far more stimulating and exciting than attempting to tack onto some ‘school’ or ‘movement’ or fashionably identifiable trend.” We must nurture and cherish it.

Personal style, as we can imagine good taste to be, extends to many parts of our lives: our fashion choices, decorating our homes, in crafts, and in conversation. As a professional chef, it is most obvious to me in cooking and eating, and I would argue that the realm of food is a fabulous place to exercise skills in good taste. Conceptual and theoretical, decisive and divisive, practical in all senses of the word – cooking is done with our hands, but we also must eat to sustain ourselves. Cooking and eating with confidence and purpose is a nuanced art, and it acts as a case study for good taste because it gives us the power of judgement to live well.

The thing about cooking is that anyone can do it well, it merely requires attention. There are obvious gradients in our abilities, a great example of this being family recipes. When your grandmother makes a certain veal croquette, it has a distinct quality that, try as you might, even if you have a very detailed recipe, you cannot make them exactly the same. The final product is missing a certain je ne sais quoi. There are no shortcuts here, repetition and care are the tools you have to explore all the idiosyncrasies of the recipe. There is beauty in the fact that this could take a very long time. I was working with a chef recently and, while discussing a very simple-sounding recipe for a rough puff pastry, he marvelled that “it’s just technique, that’s all it is.” In cooking, and also in life, I find this to be true. It’s not what you do, but how you do it that matters. In cooking, it means having a deep respect for the produce you are working with, as well as for the people who you are cooking with, and for. It means taking the time to really understand a recipe, and all of the micro-processes that it involves. There is also something to be said about the creative freedom that is granted once you are adept at the basics, the ability to add a bit of flair and pomp to your work. Cooking well is often confused with elaborate flourishes and complicated processes, but deliciousness is not concerned with the ability to recreate a Snow Egg. Restaurant cooking and home cooking are two different beasts. You do not need a sous vide machine or a temperature probe to produce something impressive. The most important thing is to start with the basics, they are the building blocks of flavour and will help you to execute more complicated recipes. For example, the slow sweating and cooking of diced onions for the base of a sauce. The simplest of practices. The cooking time and technique for this is almost never written correctly in recipes. Over low heat, with a little salt and oil, cook them with the lid on for 10 minutes, until they become soft and wet. Remove the lid and increase the temperature, stirring frequently, until they are sweet and lightly browned, and completely softened into almost a purée. Taking the time for this step before continuing with a sauce results in a smooth, elegant texture, and a deep and rich flavour. This only requires patience and time to achieve, but makes all the difference in the end result.

One of the great recipes to master is also one of the simplest, and it is that of the humble omelette. Jacques Pepin, the legendary chef, TV personality, and author, has a highly entertaining video on YouTube demonstrating how to do this, in the classic French and also country styles. The differences seem slight between the two – a classic omelette is uncoloured, with a soft curd inside, whereas the country style is browned and has more bite to the cooked egg. The time taken for each is almost the same, but with a few changes in touch we are left with two different results – both beautiful in their own right. To serve an omelette with a green salad and a glass of wine is one of life’s simple pleasures. These two basic examples show that cooking is a combination of ideas, tastes and touches, that are built up over a lifetime of exposure and practice. It’s impossible to write down what a well-kneaded dough feels like under the palm, or the exact technique and sensation of shucking an oyster properly. But these things are beautiful because they can be learned.

In what might be the best first sentence of a cookbook ever written, chef Thomas Keller of The French Laundry and Per Se, amongst others, muses that “when you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving toward perfection becomes clear: to make people happy.” Elaborating on this, he opines that to give pleasure, you also must take pleasure for yourself. For me, this is relishing the smallest of tasks, as this gives you the satisfaction of a job wholly well done, and results in a superlative dish for you and your guests to enjoy. As noted previously, recipes are built from lots of small movements and touches, little tasks stacked on top of each other in a particular direction. Take the soft and sweet onions. They are the beginning of a Neapolitan tomato sauce, but also an essential step to making Vadouvan curry mix, and obviously as almost the entirety of a French onion soup. Recipes are journeys made up of many small ‘hows’, but in their entirety also provide the ‘why’.

It is a maddening and unavoidable truth that, while executing these ‘hows’, we will make mistakes. There will be unforeseen variables – an oven that is irritatingly imprecise, a timer left inopportunely un-set, a custard curdled. We will forget that figs aren’t in season. We will bite off more than we can chew when cooking for friends. Unbeknownst to us, these moments are the ones where we learn the most. Richard Olney, in his iconic cookbook Simple French Food, encourages us – “you must bring freedom, relaxation, knowledge and imagination to the thing and, above all, do not be afraid; a failure is no disgrace and may very often be more instructive than a success.” We tend to have a much sharper memory when it comes to missteps compared to our successes, anyone can attest to the precise cringe when reminiscing on a faux pas we made many years ago. But these feelings that punctuate life, and guide us in the future, really do add richness. The impossibility of perfection, the inescapable nature of failure, of not meeting the mark every time, does not define us as ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Variation is the key element of texture. Perfection is smooth, boring, and placid. Maybe it can be glimpsed at a distance, but this is only possible because the details are blurred. Over time our instincts are refined, and this is only possible by learning from our mistakes.

But this all sounds very serious. Cooking can seem like the most serious thing in the world, but it’s also one of the most frivolous, not to mention magical and surreal. Go to the fish market and marvel at the glittering jewels from the sea, sparkling and ice cold. At your local farmers market, you will find weird and wonderful pumpkins and squashes of every size and texture, lounging next to the drama of a pile of artichokes. It is almost mind-bending that from this earthly bounty we craft the sustenance of our lives. As such, it is of the utmost importance that we respect these gorgeous offerings, as plants and creatures of our planet. To cook well and with attention and precision is to do their sacrifice justice. Waste is an abomination and incredibly uncool. Take time – these things are priceless. Waste is literally costly, and you will also find that shopping seasonally is also fiscally responsible – what is in season will be abundant, therefore cheaper, and more likely to be on special. One of the most liberating decisions you can make is to truly relish in the beauty of seasonality. Of course, we take this into account with our fashion choices from a position of practicality and respectability, but it seems to be something that we are increasingly losing touch with when it comes to food.

There are certain markers of time’s passing that we couldn’t forget if we tried – the summer bounty of Australian mangoes is an example of one such true joy, and I do think that we are starting to understand that tomatoes should really only be consumed in summer months. Attention to the seasons lets us marvel in the slow spin of our planet; living and eating to the beat of our celestial drum. As the sun inches away, we crave warming stews and richness, and we are provided with potatoes and pumpkins, dark leafy greens, and legumes and olive oil dried and pressed in the summertime to satisfy us. The warmer months bring juicy fruits, crisp lettuces, crunchy zucchini and cucumber, just as we begin to gravitate towards cooling salads. It’s not accidental.
If we were all perfect and practical, we would all be wearing the same outfits and reading the same books. If we didn’t care about food and the way we cook it, surely we would all be eating puréed nutrients by now. But we are not. So, let this care imbue your life, whatever your passion may be, and may you be blessed with the good taste to bring richness to your days. It’s not what you do, it’s how you do it. Oh, to live the good life.

Feature image via IMDb.