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??? Postmodernism Postmodernism in the World of Bento

A Superficial Analysis by Caitlin Cronin

What is Bento? To foreigners, it is merely a Japanese-style box , analogous to the everyday brown-bagged of American school . However, in Japan, the hastily made sandwich and all-purpose Ziploc bag do not reign supreme. Rather, to the Japanese, Bento is a long-standing tradition that, over hundreds of years, has developed into a true art form. And, unlike its American counterpart, the focus of a Bento is on the aesthetics and symbolism of a flawlessly arranged meal; a good Bento both maintains a perfect balance of "color, delicacy, touch, effect, harmony, [and] relish," and connects a mother with child (Barthes, Mythologies, 19). In other words, the primary meaning of the Bento is not found in its nutritional substance; the actual items contained within its small lacquer confines are of great import only to the extent that they are of artistic and societal value. This is especially true of Character Bento, the most frivolous variety of Bento, which serves as the epitome of superficiality and postmodernism in Japan today. In this essay, I will discuss the relationship between postmodernist theory and the Bento by highlighting several defining characteristics of this unique meal.

DECENTRALIZATION

Viewed simply, the main theme of postmodernism is "the decentering of that formerly centered subject or psyche" (Jameson, 72). This idea opposes the rationality of the preceding modern age, which was marked by a use of the self as a center from which to understand the world. For Jameson and other such theorists, current times have led to a blurring of the relationship between a distinct inside versus outside; the self has been debunked as a reference because it is impossible to fully understand oneself. As eloquently conjectured by the noted Japanese thinker Nishitani, the self cannot be "a point of certainty from which all else can be interrogated...[because] the self is not fully transparent to itself" (Wright, 284).

This ideological shift illustrates precisely the difference between Western high , which follows the school of Enlightened thought and is organized around a discrete center, and traditional , which has never historically favored a "main" , as we understand it in the West. For instance, a standard meal consumed in the U.S. may include a salad, a steak with potatoes, and some chocolate cake for . The obvious focus in this case would be the steak: the preceding greenery, the accompanying vegetables, even the concluding sweet, sugary contrast of the cake all exist in order to enhance the experience of the beef; the meal is truly chosen around the meat. Besides this supreme role in determining the other elements of the meal, the steak is, in all likelihood, awarded the additional prominence of size: if any are in doubt, its overwhelming significance is clearly denoted by its physical largesse on the .

In contrast, Japanese cuisine has traditionally valued the rule of ichiju sansai, or "one soup and three side dishes" (http://www.sushi.go.ro/table.html). Interestingly, this term "side " is entirely misleading, given that the supposedly- central soup, as well as the that is generally included, is rather small. It is true that the soup and rice are the main components of a Japanese meal, but only insomuch as they are staples of the Japanese diet and do not command a position of sensory dominance, unlike the steak (indeed, meat is considered only one of several possibilities for a side-dish, and is not necessarily the go-to choice). Rather, the rice and (side dishes) strike a complete harmony that is not dictated by one center. This is because in Japan, "there is no one big plate with three large portions of vegetable, starch, and meat...[and thus] the eye is pulled not toward one totalizing center but away to a multiplicity of de-centered parts" (Allison, 299). The actual preparation of Japanese cuisine is similarly de-centered in that it has no "buried power [or] vital secret" (Barthes, Signs, 22). Whereas a Western steak may hide orange-flavored accents or be stuffed with trout stuffed with turkey stuffed with hippopotamus, what you see is what you get with the food in a standard Japanese meal (such as a Bento). Rice will always taste like rice, tuna like tuna, nattou like nattou, and so on ad nauseam because in Japan, "the edible substance is without a precious heart...[it is not] endowed with a center" (ibid). For the most part, this principle remains true today; any concealed qualities of Japanese foodstuffs can be owed directly to Western influence and a new melding of high and low culinary culture, another aspect of postmodernism. Generally speaking, though, nattou flavored with Coke is not the norm; Japanese cuisine does not engender the pretense of depth and hidden meaning, like its Western counterpart, it "does not intellectually analyze, synthesize, and reconstruct objects" (Abe, 310). It is its surface, with no separate innerness.

The dissimilarity of these deeply rooted concepts, the Western center and the Japanese balance, are also clearly demonstrated in the somewhat less demanding atmosphere of school lunches for children. For example, a normal Western would typically include something like a sandwich, some chips, a bag of carrots, a juice box, and potentially a piece of chocolate or candy for dessert. Of course, the central aspect of such a meal is universally understood to be the sandwich, which receives the most preparation and attention; the other items included are purely accoutrements, last-minute additions meant to provide nutritional value. However, congruent to an ichiju sansai meal, the illustrious Bento has no organizational concentration. Rice here, egg there, over there, pickled radish to the left, apple to the right, there is no clear apex of the meal. Indeed, the Bento is "a collection of fragments, none of which appears privileged by an order of ingestion," and the strategy of Bento is in itself an art (Barthes, Mythologies, 22). In Japan, there is no concept of saving one's appetite for the definitive steak (or the sandwich, as the case may be); instead, there is a subtlety to maintaining a balanced palate throughout the meal, and eating all elements in their entirety.

The most blatant indication of the absence of centrality in the Japanese Bento is the physical manifestation of the Bento container itself. Notably unlike the American brown paper bag, or even the lunch box, wherein all the contents are jammed together and the sandwich overshadows the more subtle aspects, the Bento box is characterized by many small compartments that necessitate culinary equilibrium. Since no singular food receives the primary focus of any Japanese meal, the Bento box is not designed to emphasize one dish over another; instead, "in a bento box, everything is protected [and] each thing has its own place" (Sachs). Accordingly, even if one wished to create a center, there is no means by which to do so, as there is no one compartment sizable enough to accentuate (or even hold) a sandwich. Accommodating a sandwich would require it to be cut into smaller pieces, thus decentralizing the attempted center.

As Western theorists begin to question the rationality of the Enlightenment and its essential subject-object divide, it has become clear that the self "is not encapsulated within an inner sphere and need not, therefore, go out of itself to encounter the world," (Wright, 285). That is to say, the central sandwich may not provide the best position from which to view the entire plate. Instead, the West has found a new ideological fascination with the ancient Japanese (and Zen) understanding that the "source of the self [is] everywhere and essentially untraceable" (Wright, 286). Perhaps the current obesity epidemic isn't the only factor contributing to smaller portion sizes in the United States.

EMPTINESS

In the words of Nishitani, "it is not that the self is empty...but that emptiness is the self," (Wright, 286). This is because the only thing common between everything is that it is nothing. While this abstract ideology may seem like a stretch to the Western mind, consider the adverse Enlightened concept, which states that objects are something, they have meaning and serve a designated purpose. The true source of this endowed meaning, however, comes only from the human (or society) that defines it. For example, a rose is understood to signify love, but only because historical circumstances have demanded it so. This vibrant red flower would have a completely antithetical meaning if, rather than being presented to the apple of one's eye, a rose had traditionally been presented in sympathy as an offering to the dead. Therefore, the only thing separating love from sympathy, or the peak of life from death, is the applied thought of mankind. As expressed by Barthes, any object "can [be made to] signify in several ways, it is a mere signifier; but if weighed with a definite signified, it will become a sign" (Barthes, Mythologies, 113). The modern-day Japanese Bento, and specifically the kyara-ben, has been formalized to a point at which it has no meaning, and "the exchange-value has been generalized to the point at which the very use-value is effaced" (Jameson, 74). It is empty.

Artistic Emptiness and Simulacra

Nowhere is this loss of use-value more apparent than in the artistic elements of the Bento. Here, I examine mainly the formula of Bento creation, which has consistently maintained a preference for aesthetic purposes over nutritional ones. After all, the Japanese are said to "eat with their eyes" (Sugiyama).

The creative aspects of a traditional Bento relate to the fleeting beauty of nature. Consistent with the cultural appreciation for the evanescence of things, Japanese cuisine has historically incorporated seasonal garnishes that highlight the impermanence of life. There are two methods used to accomplish this: the first by "constantly hinting at and appropriating the nature that comes from outside" by consciously adding cherry blossoms or Japanese maple leaves into the Bento box according to the season, and the second by "accentuating and perfecting the preparation process to such an extent that the food appears not only to be natural, but more nearly perfect than nature without human intervention ever could be" (Allison, 299). In this way, nature loses is dep th as nature; it is made artificial by the fact that it is purely synthesized by the whim of the Bento maker, who ensures that "all the toxic radiation has been filtered out, all the ingredients are present in precise doses, [and there is] not a single mistake" (Baudrillard, 194). Unlike the Western sandwich, which, from its man-made bread and to its processed meat and genetically modified vegetables, does not maintain any connection to the natural physical environment, a Bento is a simulacrum of nature, the "identical copy for which no original has ever existed" (Jameson, 74). Great care is taken to manipulate the food in a way that makes it appear natural by principles such as goshiki, or five (natural) colors, which makes a Bento box an "artist's palette [that] contains at least one dish [that is] red or orange, yellow, green, white, and black, dark purple or brown" (Sachs). All this despite the reality that like the sandwich, the Bento is human-made, and no exact equivalent can exist in nature. As a result, the Bento becomes one of Barthes' infamous second-order signs, a myth that has emptied the supposed pragmatic meaning of the object to serve a different purpose. The Bento, although in essence a practical meal for a schoolchild, is really a means by which to reinforce the Japanese ideology of balance and harmony with nature. Again, the actual food, while still important, is not the primary focus: if this were the case, Japanese mothers would not bother sending a cherry blossom in the Bento box.

For the untrained foreigner, the Japanese preference for artificiality, and the inherent emptiness of Japanese cuisine, is overwhelmingly obvious in the "kyara-ben," or character Bento. More than just a reinvention of nature, the kyara-ben is an impossibly intricate meal, in which food is designed to look like animals, plants, people, cars, even television and video-game characters. The rice, fish, and egg commonly used to create these works of art "function as a set of signs dedicated exclusively to their recurrence as signs, and no longer their 'real' goal at all," which is as sustenance (Baudrillard, 198). Theoretically, the underlying premise of the kyara-ben is that if the mother arranges the Bento in a visually appealing manner, the child will be tempted to eat even those (like vegetables) that are considered distasteful. In this way, the lunch food serves the higher purpose of nutritional education for the child, and once again, the mythical aspects of the Bento are reinforced.

Despite this intention, it is interesting to note that the efforts of many kyara-ben extend beyond the purpose of coaxing a child into eating fermented soybeans or pickled vegetables. Since the design of the Bento is so complex, and indeed artistic, in some extreme cases, the food literally becomes too pretty to eat. At this point, the kyara-ben ceases to be food, and just becomes art, unable to serve its original nutritional purpose because it cannot be consumed. In fact, in Japan there exist contests specifically designed to achieve this goal: the most competitive Bento makers will vie to create the most elaborate, the most visually pleasing kyara-ben. As art, such kyara-ben are not created to be eaten, and instead are more like a painting made out of food.

Obviously, the most important element of a successful kyara-ben is the image, which in the modern day is "the [primary] site of the disappearance of meaning and representation" (Baudrillard, 194). This is because meaning is commonly derived from a certain finality or impermanence, whereas the infinitely replicable image has none and loses all significance. In simple terms, if a steak were served for every course of the meal, it would cease to carry an importance; so too is the case with images. Of the actual images depicted in a kyara-ben, the most postmodern are those taken directly from mass media. Viewing a "Naruto" character (from the popular Japanese ) made out of fish cake, egg, ham, and cheese reinforces the idea that "it is the medium itself that is the message, not the content" (McLuhan, 237).

To begi n with, carto on char acter s are copi es of copi es; while an origi nal draw ing may exist somewhere, most characters follow a specific format and are an amalgamation of different traits seen throughout the genre. Like Murakami's mysterious neighbor girl in "The Wind-Up Bird and Tuesday's Women," these characters are a "failed portrait, somehow distorted and unnatural...[with] only the quirks there; the basics are missing" (Murakami, 30). With large eyes, non-existent noses, and hair that you could make a rug out of, anime characters are nothing like the humans they are meant to represent. And yet, used as an artistic template and served upon rice to the average Japanese schoolchild for lunch, these caricatures of caricatures are a joyous celebration of widespread consumerism and the flattening of culture. This applies beyond the actual artistry of the Bento food to include the container as well; I dare you to find a Bento box that does not have an anime character or some goofy Engrish phrase printed on it. The one I used for my project, although fairly traditional, somehow still manages to incorporate sparkles and obscure red checkerboard designs. Today, the Japanese infatuation with superficiality dictates "plastic pop art pieces of whimsy, [which are] kitschy descendants of the original formal bento boxes" and have nothing to do with nutrition, the pragmatic purpose of the meal (Craft).

More than just the simulacra of nature and images, Bento have become copies of themselves. An inspection of various Bento created by different Japanese mothers will reveal that many rely on the same aesthetic techniques without inventing new ones. For example, in my research, I came across a website dedicated to the instruction of cutting apples for kyara-ben; one of these methods spelled out the steps for constructing a bunny. As an American, I would never have been able to recognize this mundane animal without the captions underneath the photographs. And yet, Japanese mothers follow these steps every single day, and their children are brought up to accept that their fruit is in the form of a rabbit. Obviously, such a cultural disparity points to an underlining meaninglessness of signs (discussed above), but more than that, it illustrates "the increasing unavailability of the personal style, [which] engenders...pastiche," or blank parody (Jameson, 73). Thus, along with the debunking of the myth of the discrete individual has come a waning of individuality. The modern age was one of creativity, of differentiation and specialization from the understood norm; the postmodern age is one of homogeneity and "the end...of the unique...distinctive individual brush stroke" (Jameson, 72). As a result of the hundreds of books meant to teach about kyara-ben, the Bento has become formulaic, and most (if not all) of the aesthetic components within a container are plagiarized. Any innovation of the Bento stems from "the frantic...urgency [to] produce fresh waves of ever more novel-seeming goods at ever greater rates of turnover," and is an empty form of newness for the of newness (Jameson, 65).

Social Emptiness More so than even a kyara-ben, the Bento bought at a or train station is a simulacrum of a simulacrum. Perfect copies of each other, konbini-bento are like American , and abandon all that makes food, well, food: taste, nutrition, and aesthetics are inferior to the simple function of filling the stomach with "factory-made munchies" (Shoji). The most notable loss with the konbini-bento, however, is that of the social meaning endowed by the Bento creator.

To many Japanese, the Bento is "one of the strongest links between families"(Shoji). Mothers wake up early to spend inordinate amounts of time expressing their feelings by manipulating pieces of rice, seaweed, and cheese. Functionally speaking, there is no logical reason a small child should receive such an elaborate meal that he or she may be too young to appreciate (Allison, 298). However, especially for the younger child, the Bento illustrates the cultural idea of uchi (the inside, and all that is familiar and close) versus soto (the outside, a foreign universe that is not yet understood and should be kept at a distance). The Bento is a part of the uchi that is brought into the soto for comfort, supposedly reminding a kindergartener, at school for the first time, of his mother and family. Once more, Bento becomes a Barthesian myth of Japanese values whereby the meaning of the food as food is lost.

It is interesting to note that because all mothers prepare Bento for their sons and daughters, and these Bento follow similar principles, the meal loses some potential significance; this secondary semiological sign of motherly love is somewhat empty. As a result, the absence rather than the presence of a Bento is noticeable, and thus more culturally meaningful. This situation reflects a deep-seated reality in Japan: as prescribed by an infamous proverb, "the nail that sticks out gets hammered down." The Bento reinforces this collectivist ideal for both the mother and the child.

On some level, the mother crafts her child's lunch in order to impress the teacher and the other "education mamas" (the cultural equivalent of soccer moms). The Bento is an outward measure of her maternal worth, and is considered "important for the education of the young mother," (Authi). Accordingly, the teacher will routinely send home notes regarding the quality of the Bento and suggestions for improvement. If she is not performing up to the standards that society expects, her child may be teased for the appearance of his lunch and thus face difficulty adjusting to school; in turn, he may come to resent his mother, who is the source of this strife. In such a case, the Bento loses its mythical values as a calming uchi and as a sign of love. It is fitting that for many women, the responsibility of forming an adequate Bento goes beyond the normal descriptors as "bothersome and tiring" (Authi). Instead, it is "oppressive" and the "guilt (of failing one's child and society) and the fear of exclusion are effective tools in ensuring conformity" (ibid). This is apparent in the numerous emergency hotlines and educational seminars geared towards educating the unaccustomed foreign mother about the expectations of the Bento (Sugiyama).

Similarly, the child is judged by how well he is able to eat the food that is prepared for him. For the Japanese, it is important that every morsel of food is finished: this longstanding ritual is based in Buddhism and shows respect for the spirit that died to provide the sustenance. Additionally, since all Japanese eat the same white rice at every meal, it creates an illusion of oneness and is for them a vital source of identity as Japanese. Thus, if the child is unable to promptly finish the last grain of rice in his Bento alongside his peers, it is customary (at least in some schools) that the entire class be punished by missing recess (Allison, 303). In this way, the education provided in Japanese schools is not merely academic; it is also inherently social.

It is undeniable that while the Bento retains some vestige of meaning as an actual meal, this meaning is only second to its importance as a tool that secures the myth of Japanese-ness.

MY BENTO

The Bento I have created for my final project exhibits the two main components of postmodernist theory: it is both decentered and empty.

To begin with, its presentation in a standard Bento box ensures the decentrality of the meal. There is no guided focus; with "sea creatures" in one section and candy right next door, the Bento lacks a connecting theme. Amusingly, this is largely because my creation relies heavily on pastiche: after compiling days of Internet research, I can safely say that my meal is a completely unoriginal simulacrum. Of course, it is a "perfect copy" of a typical Bento (for which no original exists), but this end was met by amalgamating numerous styles that were already well established in the world of Bento.

As for a loss of meaning, I think I really outdid myself. The first semiological level of the meal, its pragmatic meaning, was undoubtedly forsaken; the food contents were merely the paint for my palette, and not consumed, despite multiple offers (I suppose an bear would be hard to handle, anyway). The more significant dearth, however, is that of a secondary meaning, which makes the myth. My Bento was not created to express love, to teach nutritional values, to help my child adjust to school, or to impress other members of society. No, in the traditional sense, it holds absolutely no connection to an essential Japanese-ness. And yet, because I have defined my Bento as unraveling the Japanese myth, it calls to the very concept it rejects. If that is not emptiness, I don't know what is.

Photographs, In Order of Appearance:

My Bento Box, Medford, MA. Personal photograph by author. 29 Apr. 2009.

Crazy Horse Steak Dinner. Holland Michigan. Crazy Horse Steakhouse and Saloon. 2 May 2009 .

. 25 Nov. 2008. Yaplog. 2 May 2009 .

Brown Bag Lunch. Department of Sociology. 2009. Acadia University. 2 May 2009 .

Brian, D. Bento1. The Improvist. 11 Nov. 2004. 1 May 2009 .

. Hime. 27 Feb. 2007. 2 May 2009 .

Naruto Bento 2. Blogspot. 2 May 2009 .

PicachuBento. Bento Corner. 17 Feb. 2006. 2 May 2009.

PDR_0608-1. . 2 May 2009 .

Bento Onigiri, Medford, MA. Personal photograph by author. 29 Apr. 2009.

Bento Sea Creatures, Medford, MA. Personal photograph by author. 29 Apr. 2009.

Bento Strawberries, Medford, MA. Personal photograph by author. 29 Apr. 2009.

Works Cited:

Abe, Masao. "Critical Reflections on the Traditional Japanese View of Truth." Japan and Postmodernism Seminar. Ed. Hosea Hirata. 2009. 297-312.

Allison, Anne. "Japanese Mothers and Obentos." Food and Culture: A Reader. Ed. Carole Counihan, Penny Van Esterik. 1997. 296-314.

Authi, J. "Lunch as a measure of motherly love." The Japan Times 9 Mar. 2003. LexisNexis. Tisch Library, Medford, MA. 28 Apr. 2009. Keyword: Bento.

Barthes, Roland. Empire of Signs. New York: Hill and Wang, 1982.

Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. New York: Hill and Wang, 1972.

Baudrillard, Jean. "The Evil Demon of Images and The Precession of Simulacra." Japan and Postmodernism Seminar. Ed. Hosea Hirata. 2009. 194-9.

Craft, Lucy. "Box Lunch; Japanese bento lunch boxes." CBS News Sunday Morning. CBS. 14 Sept. 2008. LexisNexis. Tisch Library, Medford, MA. 28 Apr. 2009. Keyword: Bento.

Jameson, Fredric. "Postmodernism, of The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism." Japan and Postmodernism Seminar. Ed. Hosea Hirata. 2009. 62-92.

McLuhan, Eric, and Frank Zingrone. "Playboy Interview." Japan and Postmodernism Seminar. Ed. Hosea Hirata. 2009. 232-69.

Murakami, Haruki. Elephant vanishes. New York: Vintage Books, 1994.

Sachs, Andrea. "For Lunch, a Bento Box Holds The Promise of Harmonic Nutrition." Washington Post 6 June 2007. LexisNexis. Tisch Library, Medford, MA. 28 Apr. 2009. Keyword: Bento.

Shoji, Kaori. "The Bento- a scrumptious expression of love." The Japan Times 25 Mar. 2004. LexisNexis. Tisch Library, Medford, MA. 28 Apr. 2009. Keyword: Bento.

Sugiyama, Chiyono. "Bento add new dimension to Japanese culture." The Yomiuri Shimbun 29 Mar. 2007. LexisNexis. Tisch Library, Medford, MA. 28 Apr. 2009. Keyword: Bento.

"Traditional japanese table settings." T's sushi place online. 03 May 2009. .

Wright, Dale S. "Tradition Beyond Modernity: Nishitani's Response to the Twentieth Century." Japan and Postmodernism Seminar. Ed. Hosea Hirata. 2009. 283-295.