As a lifelong gamer and food enthusiast, I was utterly captivated by the Apple TV+ docuseries “Omnivore.” In this series, Noma chef René Redzepi emphasizes that every bite we take is a small vote for the kind of world we want to live in. And I couldn’t agree more!
Towards the end of “Omnivore,” René Redzepi, the narrator and renowned chef at Noma, reminds us of the film’s central idea. He states, “Every bite may not be a discovery, but each one represents a choice for the sort of world we wish to inhabit.”
Based on my personal experiences and observations, I would say that the statement “Whether this is literally true is open for debate; Omnivore does not prescribe any specific actions” leaves room for interpretation and may not be actionable for individuals who are looking to make a difference in the food industry.
You might find yourself deeply desiring that the series’ content is accurate, adding significance to your interest. In today’s society where obtaining food has become an abstract concept from its origins (can you recall when you pondered over the origin of salt?), Apple TV+’s documentary offers a captivating and often appetizing exploration into the human connection found within each rice kernel or ham slice.
Instead of most food-related programs, Omnivore explores essential foods such as corn and coffee rather than renowned eateries, ancient culinary practices, or complex recipes. Despite the seemingly simple nature of its subjects, the show’s goals are grand. Each item serves as a foundation for delving into their histories, cultures, and the values that have influenced their global journeys. The people behind your Tabasco sauce production or banana diversity advocacy are also brought to light.
At times, it pushes itself too hard. The metaphors used by Redzepi about the “human recipe” can come across as overly sentimental, and certain supposedly everyday situations read more like public service announcements than genuine interactions. It’s possible that the Indian farmer’s daughter genuinely wanted to discuss her father’s work with him regarding traditional rice varieties, but the dialogue feels contrived, crafted specifically for “Omnivore” to expound upon the significance of shaping a brighter future for future generations.
Usually, there’s not much to criticize in an episode of Omnivore; instead, I find myself making positive remarks. The eight 40-minute episodes are engaging and swiftly pass by, introducing various intriguing concepts, leaving me eager for more knowledge.
The creation of Omnivore, with its meticulous planning, writing, and editing, is evident. However, the overall production carries an air of casual exploration, as if following an intriguing tale. Sometimes, this journey takes us across continents – like in the premiere’s exploration of pepper production in Serbia, Louisiana, and Bangkok, culminating back in Copenhagen. At other times, it delves deeply into specific topics, observing them for extended periods. A prime example is the entire fifth episode, “Pig,” which focuses on a Spanish town that raises a single blessed pig each summer for auction before its annual slaughter. This episode’s narrative may shift from heartwarming human stories to informative lessons or warnings about critical issues like climate change. Alternatively, it might take us on a fascinating tour of an extensive and uncommon banana collection.
During these investigations, some prevalent motifs surface. The most apparent is the immense joy the show finds in food. The camera meticulously focuses on every ingredient or dish it comes across, be it a towering mound of pristine fleur de sel or a rustic country fair corn cob smothered in butter. Artisans are portrayed as heroes, illuminated by an almost divine light as they intricately cut into a chunk of tuna or delicately season cabbage to make kimchi.
A common theme among these business owners is a deep respect for traditional methods, coupled with apprehension that these time-honored practices may fade in a society that values quickness and quantity over skill and artisanship. In interview after interview, family business leaders voice their concern that the customs they’ve devotedly maintained might ultimately disappear as younger generations are drawn to more alluring, profitable, or less labor-intensive careers.
As a fan of “Omnivore,” I’m intrigued by its perspective on the future of agriculture. It advocates for a fusion of old ways with new technology, yet expresses caution towards the latter. The article mentions the potential of scientists developing rice strains that can thrive in extreme environments like oceans and deserts. But it also raises questions about the unintended consequences of the Green Revolution in the 1960s – was progress achieved at too great a cost?
Although it doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the grim pasts and environmental consequences of our beloved foods, Omnivore‘s predominant mood remains hopeful. The series highlights those making strides towards a more sustainable and ethical food future. For example, in the “Coffee” episode, a Rwandan farmer shares his painful memories of the 1994 genocide that left only four survivors in his village. However, the main theme is how coffee production has become an essential tool for rebuilding their community and economy.
If it’s not the most pointed approach, it’s certainly the more inviting one. To watch Omnivore is to get a better understanding of how much of your grocery list depends on the regularity of the monsoons in India, the containment of a deadly fungus in Colombia, the ancient know-how of pepper pickers in Serbia. It is to reflect upon how many centuries of innovation (and oppression) went into designing the banana you had this morning, how many hands have gone into the labor of turning a berry from the hills of Africa into the perfect cup of coffee. Maybe its lessons will help shape a better tomorrow, or maybe they won’t. But here and now, the show makes a persuasive case that every morsel of food is nothing short of a minor miracle.
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2024-07-18 21:25