Is Food Really Art?

Is food really art? It is a simple question, yet one that feels overused, almost a cliché. Still, behind it lies a mix of ideas and contradictions that shape the world of gastronomy. But where do we start to unravel it?

Let me take you to 2007. That year, “documenta,” a modern art exhibition held every five years, turned its gaze to gastronomy for the first time. Ferran Adrià’s legendary, now-closed elBulli restaurant became a 100-day “documenta” exhibit. Each day, two visitors to the exhibition were chosen to dine at elBulli. The decision to include Adrià as a documenta artist was controversial, unsettling critics and artists alike. Yet Roger M. Buergel, the exhibition’s artistic director, was unwavering in his defense:

“I invited Ferran Adrià because he created a unique language and, in doing so, became highly influential on the international stage. That is precisely what interests me. Whether people see him as an artist does not concern me much. Let me also clarify: artistic intelligence isn’t just about format. Art should not be confined to photography, sculpture, or painting. Cooking, in the narrow sense, is not art. But in certain contexts, food can indeed constitute art.”

And what do the leading chefs of the culinary world make of this? Dominique Ansel, famed pastry chef, takes a bold stance. He sees food as a far deeper art form than others because it engages all the senses. Spanish chef José Andrés echoes this sentiment: “Art should stimulate all our senses.” Yet Elena Arzak tempers this enthusiasm: “Not every dish is art. Sometimes cooking rises to the level of a creative expression so elevated that it becomes comparable to other artistic disciplines. In those moments, I see food as an art form.” For Nathan Myhrvold, co-author of Modernist Cuisine, the question is straightforward: “If music can be art, why can’t food?”

Not everyone shares this perspective. Many dismiss food as, at best, a trivial and minor form of art. British journalist Steven Poole is among the skeptics: “Surely, it is clear that a steak is not a symphony, crafting a menu is not akin to composing a requiem, and a chef plating a dish doesn’t rival Charlie Parker’s artistry.” Art critics Blake Gopnik and William Deresiewicz take similar stances. Gopnik, having experienced Adrià’s creations at elBulli, finds most dishes lackluster when measured against today’s most daring modern art. For him, food’s impact is limited, confined to the fleeting pleasure of a bite. Great art, he argues, does far more: it reveals truths about the world and reshapes our way of thinking. Food, in his view, falls short of these transformative powers.

Deresiewicz shares a similar sentiment:

“Food, no matter what, is not art. Yes, both appeal to the senses, but that is where food’s influence ends. It lacks narrative or representational qualities and does not organise or express emotions. An apple does not tell a story, even if we tell stories about it! […] Food can evoke feelings, but they’re simple, general, and limited. […] Proust’s writing about the madeleine is art, but the madeleine itself is not. A good risotto is a wonderful thing, but it will not provide insight into other people or change the way you see the world.”

So, is food art? The voices above offer glimpses into what might constitute art, but none arrive at a definitive explanation. Without first defining art, determining whether food qualifies seems a slippery endeavour. The answer, it seems, hinges on how one draws the boundaries of art itself. Yet even without this clarity, some observations can still be made. Ernst Gombrich, one of history’s foremost art historians, provides a perspective that resonates with me: “Tastes in art are more complex than those in food and drink.” To deny any connection between food and art seems unreasonable. Yet I also believe that only a rare handful of culinary creations can ascend to the realm of art—and even then, they do not rival the pinnacles of traditional art forms. Perhaps, then, it is healthier to view food through the lens of design rather than fine art.

But why does it matter whether food is art? This question offers a window into some of gastronomy’s modern struggles. Let me explain through two diverging approaches within gastronomy.

The first divide lies between ingredient-focused and innovation-driven approaches. On one side, we have those who center their work on ingredients, dedicating their efforts to sourcing the best and preparing them with minimal interference. On the other side, the innovation-driven approach appears to value ingredients but focuses instead on crafting unconventional dishes through technical mastery.

The second divide is between traditional and modern cuisine. Traditional cooking strives to recreate familiar flavors and forms, honoring labor-intensive processes and high-quality ingredients. Modern cuisine, however, is driven by innovation. Repetition is insufficient. Every dish must distinguish itself in some way, whether by telling stories about the ingredients or employing unique techniques to create unprecedented results.

From these distinctions, it becomes clear that modern innovation-focused cuisine positions itself as art. But constant innovation is a heavy burden, isn’t it? Beyond the pressure lies a fundamental challenge: the near-impossibility of consistently producing satisfying innovations. Here, the importance of quality ingredients often fades. While modern restaurants claim to uphold ingredient quality as a core value, their storytelling rarely translates to the plate. Ingredients are often overshadowed by heavy technical manipulation.

Moreover, the obsession with innovation exerts relentless pressure to keep menus dynamic and ever-changing. The result? Dishes become transient conceptual works, abandoned after six months or a year. This cycle often leads to dishes that feel incomplete or unbalanced, still in search of their own maturity.

This tension between approaches lies at the heart of the cliché “food is art”. And yet, I believe this notion does a disservice to both disciplines. It reduces art to fleeting indulgence and gastronomy to an aesthetic exercise, stripping both of their deeper purpose. Art demands interpretation, provokes, endures. Gastronomy, at its best, is ephemeral yet profound: rooted in craft, history, and the relentless pursuit of flavour. When we conflate the two, we risk losing sight of what makes each extraordinary. Food does not need to be art to be meaningful. It just needs to be true to itself.