Deep Culture: Ivo Furman: Tasseography or the art of speaking the unspeakable

Anyone who has been to Balkans or Near Eastern restaurant has probably tried that little cup of caffeine often presented as Turkish, Greek, Byzantine, Serbian or Armenian coffee. The nationalistic associations aside, coffee functions as the main catalyst of conversation in the former territories of the Ottoman Empire. In these areas, coffee can be consumed at any hour and social circumstance, it functions as a soft drink or a beer would in western societies. In doing so, the coffee itself is subject to numerous traditions and ceremonies generated for centuries in these societies. Amongst these ceremonies, I would like to examine today the act of tasseography, or as it is more commonly known, the act of coffee fortune telling.

Usually coffee is consumed in a social context with more than two people present. When the coffee is completely consumed, the remnants of the brewed coffee remain at the bottom of the cup. This is often called the "mud" or the "clay" at the bottom of the mug. The act of fortune telling often begins with one person taking the role of the fortune teller and the other of the listener. These roles are mutually assumed and are performed within the enchanter/enchanted dichotomy, the "real" power relations inherit between the fortune teller and the listener are discarded under the contract of mutual fortune telling. This contract is implicit and is never mentioned, however the application of the contract often begins with the enchanter uttering something similar to "so let us take a look your kismet." From this point onwards, the ceremony of fortune telling has begun.

The enchanted performs an act (slightly different in every locality) of "enchanting" the coffee cup with a series of pre-defined motor functions and then sets the coffee to rest upside down on a saucer in front of the fortune teller. After a few minutes, the "kismet" of the enchanted is ready, the coffee cup is removed from the saucer and the fortune is revealed. What is said as fortune is very interesting, as usually taboo conversation subjects such as sexuality, relations and monetary affairs can be "discussed" under the guise of fortune telling. The private sphere of the individual can be discussed as the social power structures are cast aside in the act of tasseography. Quite often, the unspeakable is spoken in guise, for example if the fortune teller has some sort of sexual or emotional ambitions towards the enchanted, these can be uttered through phrases such as "I see someone in your near future" or "Someone in your near future will make you very happy." Or if the enchanter wants to warn the enchanter about a third party, this can also be done through this ceremony. So basically, the tasseography functions as a social contract through which both parties can comment on the private affairs of each other.

Naive sounding as it is, fortune telling still plays a huge role in both rural and urban environments. It provides a medium through which social taboos can be sidestepped through a play acting sequence. So next time someone offers to read your fortune, listen carefully to what they say. As we say in Turkish, "one cup of coffee keeps a good memory of 40 years."

Deep Culture: Ivo Furman: Marx on a Plane

So It has been almost three weeks since my last posting. I've been bogged down by a multitude of academic tasks including attending and chairing and academic conference and submitting my term projects. It has been a long and stressful three weeks but I have now returned back to my hometown of Istanbul for X-mass vacation.

When I was flying into Istanbul on a red-eye flight last Tuesday, I was thinking about the experience of the airplane. Flying could possibly be one of the most disciplinary and exhausting tasks an individual undertakes in daily life. We are systematically organized into performing amazingly mundane tasks such as lining up, taking off our shoes and endure sharing a tiny personal space with other individuals. I personally despise the experience despite the fact that I fly approximately 10 to 14 times a year. I will not divulge into a Foucauldian analysis of the airport institution as this is not the object of this blog. What I will do however is to examine the concept of airplane food.

Airplane food is a disgusting experience. Breakfasts are often the worst as catering companies go buck wild trying to recreate western breakfast staples such as scrambled eggs or muffins. Usually the results of such endeavours are disastrous. Flying with Turkish Airlines, the breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and ham. The eggs were a wobbling mess of yellow that resembled something particularly unpleasant (vomit) while the ham could make vegetarians out of the most carnivorous of people. The best of all was that there was an offer of "baklava" with the meal. Who the hell would eat baklava on a plane flight? Eat two and you'll get enough of a sugar rush to perform summersaults on the aisle. My question is who really designs these meals? We already pay so much to fly and yet somehow, since I was a kid, I remember hating the food on offer.

Ryanair seems to have it the best, as it offers no food. To be frank with you, although I really hate all the silly jingles and announcements Ryanair does to promote their goods on the flight, I'd say that paying less and bringing your food is better than eating theirs. Will there be a solution to this problem in aviation anytime soon? Somehow the aviation authorities have complete rights over our bodies as soon as we enter the airport, we are how to behave, how to sit and how to wait. We complain about all this but somehow no one seems to bring up the issue that the authorities also dictate what we eat. Let's examine this problem a little further.

The quality of food that we eat is in essence defined by how much we want to spend on an airplane seat. Theoretically, the more you spend the better service you get. Money is fact a determinant of the level of service you get. Therefore there has to be visible indicators of quality difference. Asides from the size of the seats where else is a better place to show difference in quality than in offered food? So there it is, we are doomed to always have bad food in the economy class as long as business and elite class exists. If not, there would be too little of a difference for customers to make the choice of paying almost twice as much for a seat. We say Marxism is dead but here you go, when you take an airplane to be a self sufficient "society", a Marxian analysis reveals that that the structure of "airplane society" reinforces your miserable existence on economy. So next, the time you fly remember that you have nothing to lose except your chains...

Column: Deep Culture: Whisky Spiritual: Ivo Furman

Globalize THIS

Amongst things I find spiritually uplifting (like listening to Otis Taylor or hearing the muezzin at 5am) I'd say that single malts hold particular importance to me.

Meaning the "water of life" in Gaelic, "uisge-beatha" is a drink that is produced from a variety of grains including, barley, rye and corn. Of concern to us in this article is Scottish whisky, which is made out of a distilled mixture of barley and water. Quite like wine, the taste of single malt whisky depends on the terroir, or location, in which it was distilled. There are four main regions in Scotland, each with a particular style: Speyside, Highland, Islay and Lowlands. As a general rule of thumb, Islay single malts usually have a "peatier" smoky taste to them while Speyside is known for smooth, clean tastes. While the Highlands and the Lowlands both are more geographical definitions rather than particular styles, the Island subregion of Highland whisky is known for its salty "sea" taste.

So enough of my cocktail party trivia; why is it that I find whisky to be spiritual? To begin with, whisky is one of the few drinks that capture the essence of geographical area, every sip conveys the rugged and harsh Scottish homeland. It is honest, unlike most other hard liquors that attempt to standardize the drinking experience (look at the claims of rum, vodka & gin in providing a 'pure experience'), scotch brings along the 'emotional baggage' of its origins. It is a rural personna, proud of its origins and displays this in every turn and sip. I've always liked things with personality, attitude and I'd say that scotch does both with swagger and panache.

Turning our gaze on the global economy, I'd say that the current trends would be of localization and generalization. This is the same with food and alcohol. As international demand for certain products increase, the producers often have to standardize the experience of the product. This often leads a brand creating a concept for the entire market of products. For example, in Turkey, people will often say "Bacardi" while refering to rum products. This is a double edged sword, as it creates associations with brands and not products. This in turn standardizes consumer expectations of these particular products.

Taking a look at all the major alcohol markets will confirm my observations; vodka becomes "Smirnoff", gin becomes "Gordons" and rum becomes "Bacardi". When put togather, I find it strange that all three almost connote the same values of sophistication, hedonism and wealth. Yet it is strange that all these drinks were traditionally considered working class at the turn of the century. It is the case of the noveau riche trying to hide his wretched origins in a cosmopolitan environment.

Major source of Scotland's spirit exports.

On the other hand, certain markets have had an "inward" turn of localization. Whisky is certainly the forerunner of this trend. Until the late 1980s, whisky was under the monopoly of blended scotches such as Johnny Walker, JB and Chivas Regal. Such whiskies blend single malts from various regions to create a uniform tasting experience. With the advent of globalization, peripheral distilleries in Scotland (just look up Talisker distillery on the web and you'll understand what I mean) began finding markets for their own localized style of scotch previously isolated from the rest of the world. It is no great suprise that the market share of blended scotch has been steadly declining with the rise of single malts. So hence the second trend of products offers a "local" experience, which is essentially devoid of the connotations present in global brands. The image of the farmer, the peasant speaking in his local dialect is the image conjured up in such products.

In conclusion, no, I do not feel like an anti-globalist revolutionary when sipping on some single malt. The rise of the single malts depends on globalization just as other brands do. However, what single malt whisky offers is a metaphor for a more positive attitude on globalization, where the local can be democratically introduced to the international populace.

As a final touch to our little conversation about the nature of whisky, I'd like to recommend two that I hold very dear to my heart. Next time you visit the bar, ask for a 10 year Laphroaig ("beautiful hollow by the broad bay") [15 year is also recommended for this very peaty whisky] or a Auchentoshan Three Wood ("the Christmas pudding of whiskies") and hold a toast for globalization and the wonderful people of Scotland. Cheers.

Ivo Furman

Column: Deep Culture: The Bourgeoisie of the Sea or Why I Don't Like Salmon: Ivo Furman

Amongst the plethora of titles for half written articles I've planned for this blog, "why I don't like salmon" struck me as a humorous antidote to spending half a day listening to a health care researcher talk about eroticism and death in hospices. Hence I've decided to stick with the title and deconstruct that jolly and wise creature - the salmon.

So why is it that I despise salmon? If tuna is the chicken of the sea world, then salmon must truly be the T-bone. That startling pink colour sparkling of sophistication combined with that clichéd, omnipresent truism of "and its good for you" makes salmon the most obnoxious personality of the sea world. It itself often tastes bland and often hangs out with the most boring clique of potatoes and boiled veg, but still manages to project an image of middle class sophistication and power.

I realize I'm generalizing and being overtly critical of this humble fish, but it so often strikes me that the people who often dislike anything related to fish will order salmon. Paradoxical as it sounds, salmon seems to hold a certain magical charm over their heads. Then what is the discreet charm of the salmon?

I'd say that the secret of the salmon lies in its presentation. Forget all that balderdash about health concerns and the taste. The categorical presentation of the salmon is what matters. Quite often, salmon is presented as the "steak" or a dry cured cut. Presented as such it often allows the consumer to eat without giving too much consideration to the life of the fish before it landed on your plate.

The fish, complete with the head and tails often make people queasy, much like the fifth quarter of livestock; it creates a dilemma of class. Offal, scales, bones are often projected to be the undesirable, the Other of food. Therefore the presence of these elements in a dish often "ruin" the fetishistic desires associated with the dish. Discarding these elements often turn an undesired dish into one that is palatable. The same works for salmon. The categorical presentation of the dish often allows for non-fish consumers to partake in the ritual of consuming fish. The physical recomposition of the fish to suit the taste of the consumer makes the dish desirable. It stops being a fish and becomes a phantasmagoria of candle lit bourgeoisie restaurants stinking of cologne and wine. Such is the power of consumerism as it shapes the reality within which an object exists and is realized.

Of course, the next question to ask is how is taste defined? Does the context really affect the way consumers like or dislike a product? But I've run out of space for today. So, I'd say let these questions be food for thought. Let salmon, much like the bourgeoisie be the effect and not the object of our philosophical meanderings. After all, this wondrous fish used to be revered as a symbol of wisdom in Scandinavian and Celtic societies.

Ivo Furman