I think of the plate like an installation space. Sometimes the plate is rudimentary, like for non site-specific installations. It serves a purpose and is the host for the experience but really it could be substituted with any other. Some installations are like that, they can be placed in any space and really the meaning of the piece does not change with its surroundings. A stew, a bowl of chips, a plate of bread...they are all still the same no matter on what they are presented. 

Then there is site-specific installation, usually made with a particular location in mind, possibly even built into the surroundings.  I recall an installation that I endeavoured to create in bushland skirting my university. I wanted to dig a hole, a grave as such. I then invited participants to get in the hole and lie down, looking up at the sky and the trees above. In some ways it could have been done in any location, and in other ways not. For me it was about those trees, looking up as they loomed over you like sombre mourners at your grave site. But I digress.

Plates with Purpose

When I think site-specific I think bento box, particularly Shokado bento, the classic black lacquered bento box, or even the plastic kind you get from a Japanese take-away. Each little compartment is there for a reason. You have your rice, meat or fish, pickle and sometimes a spot for your soy and wasabi. 

Similar is the Indian thali. Most commonly a large round metal tray carrying a number of smaller bowls, which also comes in pressed metal or plastic form. It will hold dhal, curries, pickle, rice and maybe paneer.

Whilst the bento and the thali are mainly a practical creation, they are none-the-less created specifically for what they contain. We now see restaurants moving towards this exact idea, selecting or even making plates to complement or become part of the dish itself.

The first time I dined at Tetsuya's in Sydney, I was served an intense mushroom soup in a Japanese style tea cup; you know, the tall type with no handle. When I picked up the cup I noticed there were indents in the ceramic made especially for your fingers. They were ergonomically placed to allow for maximum grip, and were so well designed you could hardly notice them on the beautifully rustic earthenware. Even though their presence was subtle they added so much to the experience. It wasn't until I was given a copy of Tetsuya's cook book that I discovered he has plates and other ceramics custom made for him by the Japanese/Australian potter, Mitsuo Shoji.

Imagine if art had ended its evolution at drawing, painting and sculpture...we wouldn't have photography, performance or installation. Our lives are richer because someone decided to take it further. Food should be able to stand on its own no matter what it's plated on; but the added aesthetic and practical dimensions of creative flatware would be missed. A round white plate is like a blank gallery space; essential. When you start to get more daring with plates of different shapes and textures it's like setting up lighting, plinths or fake walls to make the gallery space even more special.

The art of food is constantly evolving. We are now at a stage where art itself becomes part of the food experience. The site is now just as important as the installation. How exciting to see where the food journey will go next.

Image Credit: 1 from Gregoire Michaud's book Artisan Bread; 2 courtesy of Tokoro (Langham Place hotel), 4, 5 courtesy Tetsuya Wakuda, plates made by Mitsuo Shoji.