Food, like good design, addresses the five senses.

I have a favourite Japanese restaurant. I never get tired of the place because the chef always tries to challenge me. Even if I order something familiar, he sends something new to my table for me to try. Like any great chef, he always attempts to give the customer a surprise, adding an element of the unexpected to each visit, giving the restaurant the kind of "repeat play value" we talked about in the previous article.

Many of the characteristics of design we have discussed here apply to other areas of life. We talked about the way a painting, like a product, must be placed within a context in order to have meaning. The painting "The Fall of Icarus" has no meaning unless the viewer is familiar with the story of Icarus, which forms the Conceptual Framework of the work.

In this instalment we're going to discuss cultural activities outside what is usually considered to be relevant to product design. Will be looking at ways in which our approach to other areas of life reflects our approach to product development.

For example, the Conceptual Framework can also be applied to food. In fact, the preparation of food is an excellent example of the design processes. There is a sequence of planned events in the course of creating a result, and the finished product is evaluated on many levels, its form being only one of them.

Food, like good design, addresses the five senses. It is assessed by sight, taste, smell, texture, aesthetics and even sound - the French experience a baguette by the sound it makes when the crust is broken.

With food - as with any cultural artifact - when you remove the challenge you end up with the expected. When you want the expected, to avoid challenge, you go to McDonald's. But fast food is a quick, Band-Aid solution to the immediate problem of nourishment. Beer is a quick solution to thirst (although I'll admit some beers are very good!). Wine, on the other hand, like a well-prepared meal, is a long-term solution, a full experience.

It is customary to look at and comment on a glass of wine (or a food) before tasting it. You comment on the colour or the bouquet, for example, before bringing the glass to your lips. This way you will be judging the thing based on the full design experience before you pronounce it a "good wine." How do you know it is good? You recall other wines you've had: fresh or vinegary; sweet or dry; fruity or tart. Somewhere within that context you place the wine you are drinking.

The Globe and Mail's wine columnist David Lawrason wrote an excellent column in January outlining the criteria by which he assesses wine. Oddly enough, his wine assessment is a perfect tool for a design critic. It is also applicable to movies and other areas of criticism.

"My definition of quality is True, Generous and Typical Expression," Lawrason writes. "Trueness relates to the absence of faults and structural imbalances (acidity, alcohol levels, etc.) which might interfere with the expression of fruit and secondary flavours. Generosity involves intensity and complexity of aroma and bouquet, and concentration of flavour and length of finish. Typicality addresses how well the wine reflects its grape variety and origins." Herein lies the context.

These criteria can easily be applied to food. Trueness would be the absence of faults and structural imbalances (seasoning, proportions) which might interfere with the main ingredients' expression of flavour, and the secondary flavours of the garnishes. Generosity, as with wine, involves intensity and complexity of aroma and bouquet, concentration of flavour and length of finish. And again, Typicality addresses how well the dish reflects its ingredients and cultural origins.

On the other side of the coin are food critics who no longer write about taste; they write about technique. Their idea of placing food in context is telling us about the restaurants owner and interior designer rather than the cultural context of the food. Granted, these points may be considered part of the experience, but they don't deserve top billing in the restaurant review; they belong at the bottom with the phone number. Naming a restaurant's interior designer is not the restaurant critic's job. Her job is to tell us whether the food is good.

One particular restaurant critic writes subjective, technical assessments of the way the food was cooked. For example, she goes into a Thai restaurant and tells us whether the chicken was overcooked or the vegetables were soggy. The important thing is not how crispy or crunchy the chicken was. Even less relevant is whether the critic "liked" it. The important questions are: is it good?; is this authentic Thai food; or is it "California" Thai? Where does this food fit into the context of the food of Thailand?

And how was the overcooked chicken? Since overdone is your technical assessment, it may not match my taste in chicken. I happen to like crispy, overdone chicken. This critic is suggesting you might come out of a restaurant and comment, "the veggies were not overcooked" instead of saying "this was GOOD!".

If your assessment of food is based largely upon the owner of the restaurant and the decor, it cannot be a reliable one. This brings us back to design as a Relationship of Purpose: the purpose is to eat good food.

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