The Oyster at the End of the Road

A few weeks ago, in a publication far, far away, I made a case for finding a different name for what people have been calling “molecular gastronomy.”

“Sci-fi cooking,” I want to call it, basically because the best of this food—like the best of that writing—is not about the razzle-dazzle of technology, but about what that technology can show us or ask us about ourselves.

And one of the questions that sci-fi cooking asks is whether we’re seeing a shift of the Western kitchen’s center of gravity from France to Spain.

It wasn’t long ago—within a generation, in fact—that most “serious” European or American chefs tried to make their way to France. They staged in the Michelin-starred temples. They studied their Sauces Mornay and Maltaise. They may have been proud patriots, but they still drew from France, still felt its pull.

Our current generation of chefs is somewhat more homegrown. Many would rather train in the French Laundry than the French countryside. But more and more, it’s about getting to Ferran, getting to El Bulli.

And who can blame them? Who can blame us for our fascination? When the Spain’s 10 conference was held last October at the International Culinary Center in New York, I gasped more times in two days than I normally do in a great two months. I saw crackers made out of milk, cheese made out of olive oil. Impossible, delicious things. One moment stood out, though.

I was about to taste Quique Dacosta’s Oyster Guggenheim Bilbao, which he had coated in a titanium-spiked juniper gelee and garnished with soaring, shiny crisps. The oyster’s ripples and waves sparkled, looking for all the world like the museum it’s named for. Unsure of how to react, I let out a little gasping laugh.

Ruth Reichl stood next to me, saying breathlessly, “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Daniel Boulud, next to her, looked at it in a subdued, appreciative inquiry. He is perhaps the most French chef in America, and certainly one of the best chefs period. Watching him, I wondered if, in that moment, he saw his life flash before his eyes. I wondered if, in that moment, he saw the end of the road for French cuisine as he knew it.