Foam on the Range

Photo: Gary Alan Fine

A word about foam. Spuma. Froth. Emulsion. Whatever. This is an increasingly popular menu technique, so widespread that it should (whew) soon be a thing of the trendy food past.

What it is supposed to be, when successfully executed, is an exciting textural and flavor experience, with a subtle essence or surprising taste element dancing on one's tongue then shoopt! disappearing on angel's wings in the pop of a bubble.

What it is most of the time is a spewy-looking, bubbly blob-- a clumsy nod to the idol-worship of food pioneer Ferran Adria, and evidence of the widening concentric circles of his influence in the surprisingly small puddle that is high-end restaurant food. (If you don't believe it's trendy, try searching "horseradish"--or beet, or wasabi, or any other secondary ingredient--+"foam" on google.)

I understand it, but I don't like it. There are many unpleasant things that I could tell you it reminds me of, but the next time you see it on your plate, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. It is unpleasant to look at, something I have to make myself overcome before I dig in.

A friend told me once that she didn't like overly precious or composed plates, because she always wondered how many people in the kitchen had to play with her food before she got to eat it. I feel a similar way about foam. Does it have to be "playful" or bear the mark of in-the-know pseudo-innovation to be good? There are people (see Thomas Keller, another example) who can pull off cheeky haute-gustatory feats--people who have refined palates and a stunning sense of balance and restraint. And then there are people who should not try this at home. They do anyway. I'll be so glad when this whole frothy mess blows over.