"Proust Was a Neuroscientist" (Jonah Lehrer)
is ultimately an idea, and that our sensations are strongly influenced by their context. "Even horsemeat," Escoffier quipped, "can be delicious when one is in the right circumstances to appreciate it."Hmmm, solipsism? Sounds familiar. Consider me sold. And yes, my gentle and not-so gentle readers, titling my webzine/blog solipsism is an example of my sort of humor.
This is a suspicious-sounding concept. It smacks of solipsism, relativism, and all those other postmodern -isms.
With impressively clear prose, Lehrer explores the oft-overlooked places in literary history where novelists, poets and the occasional cookbook writer predicted scientific breakthroughs with their artistic insights. The 25-year-old Columbia graduate draws from his diverse background in lab work, science writing and fine cuisine to explain how Cézanne anticipated breakthroughs in the understanding of human sight, how Walt Whitman intuited the biological basis of thoughts and, in the title essay, how Proust penetrated the mysteries of memory by immersing himself in childhood recollections. Lehrer's writing peaks in the essay about Auguste Escoffier, the chef who essentially invented modern French cooking. The author's obvious zeal for the subject of food preparation leads him into enjoyable discussions of the creation of MSG and the decidedly unappetizing history of 18th- and 19th-century culinary arts. Occasionally, the science prose risks becoming exceedingly dry (as in the enthusiastic section detailing the work of Lehrer's former employer, neuroscientist Kausik Si), but the hard science is usually tempered by Lehrer's deft way with anecdote and example. Most importantly, this collection comes close to exemplifying Lehrer's stated goal of creating a unified third culture in which science and literature can co-exist as peaceful, complementary equals.From Amazon.com
more from page 69 -
from where I left off:
But it's our neurological reality. When we sense something, that sensation is immediately analyzed in terms of previous experiences. A demi-glace gets filed under sauce, meat, and ways to serve a filet mignon. As the brain figures out what to tell us about this particular demi-glace, those previous experiences help us decipher the information being received from our tongue and nose. Is this a good sauce? How does it compare to our memories of other sauces? Do we feel guilty for ordering veal? Was this dish worth the price? Was the waiter rude?I think I blogged about this even too (or at least one quite like it, involving Two-Buck Chuck). The page 69 test sold me on the book!The answers to this cavalcade of unconscious questions determine what we actually experience. Before we've even reached for a second forkful, the demi-glace has been ranked and judged, our subjectivity emulsified into our sensation. Thus, what we think we are tasting is only partially about the morsel of matter in the mouth. Equally important is the sum of past experiences enclosed within the brain, for these memories are what frame the sensation.
The most persuasive proof of this concept comes from the world of wine. In 2001, Frederic Brochet, of the University of Bordeaux, conducted two separate and very mischievous experiments. In the first test, Brochet invited fifty-seven wine experts and asked them to give their impressions of what looked like two glasses of red and white wine. The wines were actually the same white wine, one of which had been tinted red with food coloring. But that didn't stop the experts from describing the "red" wine in language typically used to describe red wines. One expert praised its "jamminess," while another enjoyed its "crushed red fruit." Not a single one noticed it was actually a white wine
The second test Brochet conducted was even more damning. He took a middling Bordeaux and served it in two different bottles. One bottle was labeled as a fancy Grand Cru. The other bottle was labeled as an ordinary vin du table. Despite the fact that they were
