Is Justice Blind and an Aguesiac?

We, the after-school-snack-lovers who blossomed into budding gourmands,

United around the world by our affection for pumpkin pie, our commitment to long sit-down dinners, and our appreciation of well-designed menus,

Seeking to elevate gastronomy to the realm of other arts, are deeply convinced that France’s bid to persuade the United Nations that French cuisine is a world treasure is not as ridiculous as it seems at first glance.

We note with regret that even United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) committee president Cherif Khaznadar hasn’t given this proposal serious consideration: “There is no category at UNESCO for gastronomy,” he said over the summer at “Gastronomy by the Seine,” an international culinary conference in Paris.

The General Assembly Devoted to Proving the Culinary Arts Are Legit:

1. Requests that the French proposal be examined with the critical eye it deserves.

2. Further requests it be allowed to suspend this stiff UN language and talk like a normal person.

In all seriousness, what’s so funny about France’s request to recognize its cuisine as a world treasure? Why does the idea of an organization whose mission is to convince UNESCO that French cuisine deserves a title seem borderline preposterous? Why did last week’s French Mission for Food Heritage and Cultures’ strategizing session seem to lack any grip on reality? Elaine Sciolino, a New York Times reporter covering the event, wrote, “By the time the roasted figs, the wine-macerated prunes, the chocolate mousse and the Earl Grey sorbet arrived in the private dining room of Guy Savoy...men were in deep discussion about the magic of their country’s cuisine.”

Perhaps it’s because, as Khaznadar argues, a cuisine has no business being considered an intangible cultural treasure. In 2003, the agency that had for decades charged itself responsible for identifying and preserving World Heritage sites around the world added another category of world treasure to its jurisdiction: the “Intangible Cultural Heritage” (ICH). In order to be added to the list of intangible cultural treasures, a process that happens every two years, a new ICH must meet five criteria:

1. It must be among the “practices, representations, expressions, knowledge, skills” associated with a certain community.

2. It must be recognized by the community as crucial to cultural heritage.

3. It must be passed from generation to generation and must be open to influence and subject to recreation.

4. It must provide the community with a sense of identity and continuity.

5. It must not be incompatible with existing international human rights instruments.

Unless copious usage of butter can be considered a human rights violation, French cuisine fits each of these categories perfectly. On what grounds, then, could UNESCO shoot down the French proposal? Khaznadar’s dismissal seems trivial; given this definition of the ICH, gastronomy should, by all means, be eligible for consideration. Is the committee simply unwilling to accept the consequences of their definition of the ICH? Or is there a problem with the definition itself, if it allows gastronomy to slip into the mix?

Looking at a few examples of approved Intangible Cultural Heritage for comparison—the Songs of the Moon (traditional Swahili music from Zanzibar), bark cloth making in Uganda, the traditional medicine of the Kallawaya in Boliva—a striking difference between France’s proposal and the approved ICHs becomes evident: The approved ICHs are extremely specific, confined to a very particular region, and are easily defined. What constitutes Kallawaya traditional medicine is more evident and much less controversial than the boundaries of French cuisine.

Perhaps what makes the French’s claim so ridiculous, then, is not the notion that gastronomy could be preserved as a cultural heritage, but the arrogance of their grand call to preserve all of French cuisine. The category “French cuisine” is ambiguous to the point of being meaningless. If people within France can hardly agree on what constitutes traditional French cuisine, a committee can hardly be expected to decide.

The wording of the French proposal may sidestep this issue altogether. A more nuanced request to protect the small businesses—tiny charcuteries, family restaurants, cheese makers, rare turnip producers—that make the well-fed-village atmosphere of France possible may underlie the media’s sensationalized version of the proposal.

According to the UNSESCO convention, an Intangible Cultural Heritage, by definition, exists only in relation to the members of its community. If we assume the best of the French for a moment, then protecting French cuisine may be much more about protecting and promoting the people involved than it is about putting French cuisine itself on a pedestal.

Yes, preserving French cuisine can be interpreted to mean embalming Coq au Vin, cryofreezing Beef Bourgogne, and xenophobically protecting French gastronomy from any outside influence. But it can also, equally, mean protecting a craft, ensuring the transmission of the knowledge of French culinary techniques—Escoffier’s tricks for making stocks, the proper way to deglaze a pan—and saving endangered produce and small businesses from extinction. Since none of this year’s proposals has been revealed to the public yet, it is difficult to know the French’s exact intentions amidst all this arrogant rhetoric.

Regardless of the wording of the proposal, though, it seems very unlikely that UNESCO will name French cuisine the first world gastronomic treasure. Given its history of turning down culinary proposals (Mexico’s similar request three years ago was shot down before it even reached committee) and Khaznadar’s reluctance, UNESCO is unlikely to reverse course now.

But what should be done in the future if a proposal to, say, preserve the African Civet-roasting techniques of people deep in the forests of Zanzibar reaches committee? UNESCO would be wrong to shoot the proposal down purely because it’s related to gastronomy. Sure, the French can be stubborn and will never be accused of cultural humility, but that doesn’t mean they’re not onto something. We should take this opportunity, outlandish though it may seem, to reconsider our definition of the ICH and to work gastronomy into that definition. We have to assume that their fight is not about the superiority of French cuisine, but about having gastronomy recognized as an art, a craft in its own right.

­—Columnist Rebecca A. Cooper can be reached at cooper3@fas.harvard.edu.