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It has been a long time since I was so captivated by a book that I neglected other activities just to succumb to it.
The book, Edible Economics – A Hungry Economist Explains the World, by Ha-Joon Chang, was enlightening, and such a pleasure to read that it was a happy return to abandoned habits.
The author, an economist, would never have come to my attention given the nature of his field, had it not been for the generosity of a reader of my column. This gentleman, whom I’ve never met, often sends me his thoughts on my offerings.
A couple of months ago, he emailed me to say that he thought I would enjoy this book, and he had taken the liberty of dropping off his copy at Paper Based Bookshop so I could collect it at my convenience.
As I rarely venture into the city, it was a few weeks before I did. (I had to renew my driver’s permit, and went to the Wrightson Road Division and was delighted that it took just about half an hour.)
I decided to give it a little skim before putting it on my bedside table. You know how I like to digress, so a little snippet about that busy table.
Currently, on it, there are four books; the most recent addition being Isabel Allende’s Aphrodite – A Memoir of the Senses, another gift from someone who thought its stated theme: “the intertwined sensual arts of food and love,” would appeal to me.
I suppose people know that when you put a pot on the fire, I will be interested.
My little table has a fairly rapid turnover of its contents. I keep four or five books (and my indispensable notebook) on it at any given time.
It’s not that I read so voraciously any more; it’s that I don’t always finish what I start.
It had come as something of an epiphany some time ago that I didn’t have to plod my way through to the end of each book I began.
It had always felt like I owed it to the author to persevere. When I realised that due diligence was enough, and I could concede my failure to reach the finish line, it was liberating.
It’s one of the reasons I rarely review books. (Another digression, Safiya Sinclair’s How to Say Babylon resonated with me at so many levels that I am tempted to review it, but I figure I might gush too much.)
But I must steer myself back to the subject of Edible Economics, which I finished in three greedy sittings. It is a combination of memoir and anecdote, woven into economic theories that are served on a platter of food.
The author confesses to being a foodie, alongside his passion for economics and obviously, history and sociology.
He uses his South Korean upbringing to describe the nature of the food he grew up eating, and then the culinary differences he experienced when he moved to the UK to study at Cambridge University.
(He taught there from 1990 to 2022, when he joined the Department of Economics at SOAS University of London.)
He describes his adventures in discussing food from the various cultural depots that abound in the UK (and around the planet) on account of the arrival of immigrants.
He weaves these discoveries and the way they altered his palate with histories and the economic transformations wrought by a range of ingredients.
The introduction is called “Garlic, in which the stinky bulb establishes Korea, frightens the Brits and tells you why you will want to read this book.”
There follow five parts, each consisting of chapters with headings of food items.
But he has chosen to give each part an overall heading: Overcoming Prejudices, Becoming More Productive, Doing Better Globally, Living Together, and Thinking About the Future. His Conclusion is entitled: How to Eat (Economics) Better.
It’s a little unwieldy to try to spell out the details of each area he covers, but I will say that his writing style is comfortingly accessible and engaging.
His attention to detail (the book is rigorously annotated) and his fastidiousness with crediting other people’s perspectives when he introduces them make him feel reassuringly trustworthy.
This is a brilliant and erudite scholar, with a sense of humour and a coherent narrative that establishes connections with a range of seemingly diverse topics that suggest it comes from a mind attuned to seeing the elusive big picture.
Refreshingly, there is nothing arrogant or condescending in the way he shares his knowledge. It is light and conversational in a way that often eludes academics. (I know, I’m gushing here.)
He reminded me of the way the late Anthony Bourdain conducted his various television shows. Food was central, but his narratives engaged a great deal of background information on the history, politics, economics and culture of each location.
Discussions about cuisine are enriched immeasurably by the details of what surrounds their existence.
The ingredients that constitute a dish can easily be transmitted by a recipe. What makes it interesting is knowing how they came to be chosen, how techniques were derived, and what they symbolise for the eater.
I am not an economist, but I am hopelessly intrigued by stories of human interaction with food. This book offered a convincing argument about how everything is connected in life, and I am deeply grateful for the gift.
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Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.
