Taste and Organization Studies

A Distasteful Trade?

There is some dispute as to which is the oldest fish and chip shop in Britain. Some historians contend that Malin’s, which opened in 1860 in the East End of London, holds that honour (Panayi, 2014). Many Northerners, however, argue that Lees’ Chipped Potato Restaurant in Mossley, Lancashire, which opened in 1863, was the original ‘chippie’, since it sold both fish and chips. What we do know is that, by the 1870s, fish and chips could be purchased in many places across Britain (Walton, 1994).

Until recently, fish and chips was touted as the British national dish. But, in looking into its organizational history, we learn that fish and chips was often regarded as a distasteful business by many middle-class citizens. This bourgeois distaste for the trade began in the nineteenth century, fuelled in part by anti-Semitism against the itinerant Jewish fish-sellers who sold their products in London (Panayi, 2014; Walton, 1994). Later, the antipathy toward the industry took on a class-based prejudice, with many middle-class people declaring the dish not only unwholesome, but that eating fish and chips was ‘uncouth’. National pride in this food, therefore, has never been without dissenters.

Prejudice against this business was also apparent in early government legislation. As an instance, in 1907, English government officials introduced the Public Health Act, decreeing the fish and chip trade to be an obnoxious industry. The negative effects of this decree were felt strongly across the industry, resulting in many shop owners going out of business. Furthermore, this Act served to perpetuate the social stigma against the trade. This social stigma was further exacerbated when, in the 1920s, fish and chips shops were banned from new suburban developments. In response, the first secretary of the National Federation of Fish Fryers, William Lofts, wrote of ‘the walls of prejudice’ against those employed in the trade (Panayi, 2014).

Paradoxically, however, it was the perceived disreputable nature of this trade that enabled members of the working class, as well as new immigrants to Britain, to set up shop (Panayi, 2014). As a result of the social stigma associated with this occupation, in the early twentieth century, fish shops could be rented cheaply. Moreover, the use of standardized equipment and the simplicity of supplies (fish, potatoes, lard, salt, vinegar) made it relatively easy to establish a business with minimal outlay. Hence, the distasteful manner in which some people viewed the trade proved advantageous to those members of the working class or new immigrants who wanted to gain a foothold in the industry.

Before setting up shop, many fish fryers had been skilled labourers, and they viewed their new trade as a craft, seeing themselves as more akin to artisans than entrepreneurs (Walton, 1994). As such, they regarded themselves as perpetuating ‘the best working-class tradition of organization and self-respect’, and as the rightful heirs of Victorian radicalism (Walton, 1994, pp. 62–3). Hence many owner-operators valued not only their economic independence, but also their place within a working-class community.

The first National Fish Fryers Federation (NFFF) broadsheet, published on April 4, 1925, showcases this working-class pride. The purpose of the NFFF’s Review was to provide a collective voice for fish fryers so as to foster co-operation and comradeship among its members. This comradeship was also demonstrated in fish fryers’ early allegiance to socialist values. For example, the majority of members of the NFFF, which began in 1917, wanted to align their Federation with the Trade Union Congress. As the Federation matured, however, the socialist leanings of its members seemed to wane. Rather than supporting organized labour, fish fryers used their ‘solidarity’ to try and overcome business restrictions, and obtain greater purchasing power from the fish and potato industries (Panayi, 2014). Another collective aim was to try and get their trade reclassified as a respectable occupation. Yet, this desire for respectability, as well as recognition of the work as skilled labour, was not forthcoming. Thus, the pride that the fish fryers had in their own labour was not one commonly shared by society at large. Rather, the profession was widely regarded as a distasteful occupation (Walton, 1994).

Although perceived as a humble trade by many, fish fryers had the freedom of being their own boss. But this was a hard-earned liberty with long hours and meagre recompense. In 1935, for example, the average weekly turnover was £17.50, while net earnings averaged £1.50 (Walton, 1994). Moreover, the fish and chip shop was not only the family business, it was also the family home. Most families lived at the back or above the shop, often in cramped living quarters. Thus, there was little distinction between organizational and family life since the place of work was also the familiar home. The work in the shop was arduous, and involved long hours (Walton, 1994). Therefore, there was little time for family leisure because the shop dominated family life.

Between the 1920s and the 1960s, fish and chips was a robust enterprise, employing thousands of people, either directly or indirectly. In 1931, for example, across Britain there were an estimated 75,000 people working directly in the fish and chip business (Panayi, 2014). A further 200,000 were employed indirectly in occupations such as transportation, farming and fisheries (Walton, 1994). For the fishing industry, fish and chip shops represented their largest customer base, with 65% of white fish being sold to fish fryers. At its peak in 1921, there were 25,000 fish shops across Britain (Panayi, 2014; Walton, 1994).

As the trade matured, the fish and chip industry slowly began to obtain respectability. Co-incidentally, owners started to spend money on decorating their establishments with elaborate tiles and shiny copper surfaces, thus expressing the trade’s self-confidence (Walton, 1994). A further example of this organizational confidence is that fancier eateries opened. As an instance, in 1928, Harry Ramsden opened what was called the first fish and chip palace, replete with 200 seats, carpeting and chandeliers (Walton, 1994). But such luxury chippies were unusual; so, too, were chains. Unlike other fast food, fish and chips remained, for the most part, a small family enterprise.

Mass observation studies reveal that in the 1940s fish and chips was considered the most popular meal in England (Walton, 1994). In 1971, consumers spent £130 million on fish and chips, more than the combined revenue of other restaurant and fast food businesses. But tastes change and, by the late twentieth century, the heyday of the chippie was coming to an end. By 2003, only 14% of British families ate a fish supper on a weekly basis (Walton, 1994). Nowadays, global fast food chains occupy the space once dominated by the family-run fish and chip shop.

In considering the history of the fish and chip shop, what emerges is how one organization is shaped by cultural and aesthetic judgements regarding what constitutes ‘good’ and ‘bad’ taste. These judgements have lasting effects on how we perceive organizations. Organizations, and those who work in them, exist in a taste hierarchy that is influenced by socio-historical concerns about what is deemed tasteful. As Strati (2010) notes, ‘the tastes of working people are educated so that they regard one way of working as elegant, another as coarse’ (p. 880). Hence, an investigation into an organization’s past history offers insight into how cultural prejudice affects not only the aesthetic perception of organizations, but also our ideas about the tastefulness, or lack thereof, of particular occupations.

In pursuing the complex interconnections between taste and organizational life through the socio-historical lens of the British fish and chip shop, we see how cultural prejudices regarding taste demonstrate how cultural norms not only influence individual preferences, but also construct a particular view of an organization. In what follows, I want to deepen our comprehension of the interconnections between taste, culture and organizations, by considering how specific theorists have approached this topic.

Taste and Subjectivity

Connections between taste and subjectivity have deep roots in the Western psyche. These connections between taste and subjectivity were first established in eighteenth-century Europe, where a strong relationship between taste and the modern quest for identity were forged (Lindholm & Lie, 2013). In short, our ideas regarding taste are coupled with modern bourgeois notions of subjectivity. As the bourgeoisie were trying to consolidate power in opposition to the aristocracy, they also were trying to redefine social mores and manners (Arendt, 1961; Elias, 1978).

Taste became an important aspect of eighteenth-century life. Philosophers like Hume and Kant spent much time and effort weighing the contradictions implicit within commonplace notions of taste. On the one hand, Hume took a sensory approach, connecting taste with feeling (Highmore, 2016b). On the other, Kant had two opposing ways of conceiving taste. First, in the Critique of Judgement, originally entitled the Critique of Taste (Arendt, 1992), Kant (2005) argues that ‘everyone has their own taste’ (p. 137). In effect, we each have our individual likes and dislikes that others may not agree with, but cannot readily dispute. In taste’s second meaning, Kant connects taste with our capacity for judgement. Individual taste consists, if we follow Kant, of the private sensations of the palate, tongue and throat, unique to each one of us. At the same time, however, taste is also connected with judgement, and is thus public or intersubjective in nature.

Taste matters, Kant argued, because it enables us to judge, both from an aesthetic and from a moral perspective. Such a judgement can not only be communicated but also universally comprehended. Yet Bourdieu contended that Kant’s view of taste and aesthetics ushered in a bourgeois sensibility that not only privileged disinterestedness, it also encouraged a negative bias against the taste preferences of the working class. This focus on disinterestedness is for Strati (1999) the reason why Kantian aesthetics, unlike phenomenological or hermeneutical approaches, ‘cannot act as a theoretical referent for the aesthetic understanding of organizations’ (p. 110). But there is a theorist steeped in the phenomenological tradition who suggests that Kantian aesthetics can be fruitful in thinking about taste – that is, Hannah Arendt, to whom I now turn.

Taste and Intersubjectivity

Following Kant, Arendt argues that taste is the sense most unique to each of us. If someone dislikes something, Arendt (1992) maintains that no argument can persuade someone to change their mind. Consequently, she contends ‘there can be no dispute about matters of taste’ (p. 75). Because of its indisputable aspect, in her view, taste represents ‘the most intimate, private and idiosyncratic of the senses, the opposite of sight, with its noble distance’ (p. 111). Not only is taste our most “silent sense,” it also, according to Arendt, belongs to the realm of aesthetics.

Yet, like Kant, Arendt seems to contradict herself when she further declares that taste is intersubjective. Thus, in taste’s second form, it is not concerned with individual preference, but rather in making a claim to universality. This is done through the activity of judging, something Arendt maintains we can all engage in, because we are members of the sensus communis. Rather than being the domain of the discerning few, taste is what we hold in common. Through taste we decide who belongs together because of shared common interests. Hence, judgements of taste are intersubjective, Arendt (1961) claims, since individuals are always part of a particular community.

Relating this to organizational life, one could argue that each organization possesses its own distinctive taste that relates to its cultural, social and historical circumstances. Tastes are affected by the convergence of ‘traditions, the celebration of human relationships and the valorization of local savoir-faire’ (Croidieu, den Hond, Moser, Reinecke, & Svejenova, 2017, p. 1). Such traditional awareness of local cuisine influence ideas about taste, and has an effect on how particular organizations and those who work within them are perceived. Those involved in food preparation, for instance, do not usually receive the kind of societal esteem shown to craft workers. Put simply, those who labour in occupations involved with life’s necessities do not usually receive as much recognition as those who make things of lasting value (Arendt, 1958). In The Human Condition, Arendt distinguishes between labour and work, arguing that workers who make objects that have lasting value usually have a higher social standing than those whose labour produces ephemeral things, such as food. This prejudice against those who work in what we now call the service sector is still apparent, even though there are famous chefs whose work receives societal accolades.

Elsewhere, Arendt (2018) contends that ‘taste commands an organizational power and peculiar strength’ [that decides] ‘not only what the world would look like but also who belongs together’ (p. 183). To illustrate this, there is a place in Tuscany called Bargana that has an annual fish and chip festival each summer to celebrate its Scottish connections (Smith, 2014). In the nineteenth century, many families moved away from this beautiful Italian city to seek their fortunes in Scotland. Over time, Italian families owned 80% of the Scottish fish and chip trade. Today, an estimated 20,000 Scots are of Italian origin. Each year, many Scottish families travel to their ancestral home of Bargana, taking in the beautiful countryside, celebrating their historical roots and a collective sense of belonging.

Stories such as these offer insight into how specific groups cherish their collective past. These historical narratives help us understand why particular groups are connected to specific businesses. But they tell us much more about organizational and societal notions of belonging. As such, thinking alongside Arendt can offer insight into the interconnections among particular stories and ways of working and living together. Such stories are fundamental to how narratives represent a form of organizing (Czarniawska, 2012), and also to a comprehension of the human condition more generally (Arendt, 1958). Arendt’s work is relevant to organizational studies not only because of the phenomenological distinctions she draws between different kinds of activity, but also because of the connections she makes regarding taste and judgement. That said, Arendt does not provide insight into the affective, embodied nature of taste. For that, we must turn to Antoine Hennion.

A Pragmatic Approach to Taste

Unlike Arendt, Hennion (2015) argues that we can have disagreements when it comes to taste. Taste is a complex issue that, he contends, cannot be fully comprehended by surveying people’s preferences. According to Hennion, there are methodological drawbacks to the kind of statistical sampling that some sociologists conduct. This is because people often tell researchers what they think they want to hear. But to understand taste, Hennion argues, researchers need to spend less time asking questions and more time engaged in conversations with people.

By listening attentively, researchers can learn that it is not only organizations that shape people’s tastes but also the objects and practices with which they form attachments. Hennion (2015) maintains that those who can shed the most light on the relational nature of taste are not experts in a particular field, but rather amateurs. In his view, an amateur is someone who is passionate about a particular activity. It is through listening to how an individual describes the activity or object they hold dear that we may obtain greater insights into taste.

Furthermore, Hennion contends that the sociology of culture has trained sociologists to critique people’s taste preferences, to see them as cultural dupes. This is his chief quarrel with Bourdieu’s approach to understanding taste. Unlike Bourdieu, Hennion (2016) maintains that people are aware of their tastes, and how they are shaped by circumstances. Here, Hennion’s argument complements that of Arendt, especially when he contends that taste represents ‘part of our common knowledge of the world’ (p. 105). He further contends that taste encompasses our practices, as well as our attachments to things. Accordingly, taste is neither a property of a thing nor a person, rather it is an activity that connects taste with feeling (Hennion, 2015; Highmore, 2016b).

If we wish to grasp the subjective meaning of taste, what is required is a deeper attention to subtle changes in experience. As an example, Hennion (2015) compares two guests at a dinner party sipping wine. The first guest continues to converse with others as he drinks his wine, whereas the second guest sips his wine, puckers his lips and sniffs the wine’s aroma. For just a moment, the second guest is fully engaged with the taste of wine. What this momentary attention represents is the ‘spontaneous management of a plurality of relations to one’s body, to others, to things and events’ (p. 38). Tasting evokes a heightened level of intensity, revealed by the heightened attention we pay to something. Consequently, for Hennion, ‘taste is always an attention’ (p. 50).

For taste’s attentiveness to come to the fore, what is needed is a letting-go of the desire for mastery over a situation. As an example, Hennion (2015) contrasts the amateur’s attentiveness to the wine with that of professional wine tasters. He contends that, in many professional tastings, there is a focus on aspects extraneous to the tasting of wine, such as the conditions in which the wine was produced, or the terroir of a particular region. Furthermore, the expert tries to control the wine-tasting by having strict procedures for blind tests. Yet Hennion argues that these experts confuse their expertise with the understanding of what wine tastes like in a particular situation. In their desire to control the situation, they fail to recognize how taste requires a willingness to forego mastery of the situation. Instead, one must allow the taste of wine to unfold in the moment. This unfolding is something that the amateur wine-taster knows since they are aware that tastes change through our different ‘moods, penchants and habits’ (p. 42). In short, things affect us, just as we affect them. Our relationships are not just with people, but with the things that surround us.

For Hennion (2016), taste is not a property but rather an activity. This active component of taste influences how we relate to objects. Rather than viewing objects as symbols, we need to see how they ‘create their actors and organizations’ (p. 293). Objects have their own agency, influencing the way that we relate to the things around us. If we think back to Hockney’s depiction of the fish and chip shop, what is noticeable is the simplicity of the objects he foregrounds. This simple arrangement of objects and people is a distillation of an organization at a particular moment in time. Just like the figures depicted in the print, the objects have their own place and work to form ‘a tissue of associations’ (Hennion, 2016, p. 293).

Tastes, pleasures and affects are not exogenous variables that can be plotted on a graph, but rather an intertwining of bodies, things and practices (Hennion, 2007). Far from being abstract determinations or passive inclinations, tastes represent an active component of our individual and collective identity. From this perspective, taste is a corporeal practice that is not just socially constructed, but neither is it purely aesthetic. Rather, taste involves an intermingling ‘of the body that tastes and the taste of the object, the group that loves it and the range of things they love’ (Hennion, 2007, p. 112).

Considering taste as practice enriches our understanding of the relational aspects of tasting. Thus Hennion’s work opens up new ways of thinking about taste as feeling, cognizant of the embodied, affective interplay between people and things, which is valuable for the study of organizations. When we see taste as an embodied, cultural practice (Ward, 2010), it opens up new ways of thinking about organizational practices, and productive lines of theoretical inquiry for organization studies (Gomez & Bouty, 2011).

Taste, Organizations and New Directions

In drawing together the disparate strands of this inquiry, what have we learned about taste, and its place within the field of organizational study? First, it is clear that taste is a multi-faceted concept. This is why, as DiMaggio and Mohr (1985) maintain, we need to consider taste from different dimensions. In doing so, it is easier to ‘assess the full breadth of a person’s taste’ (Van Eijck, 2001, p. 1181). Such a full-bodied assessment is enhanced by organizational research that draws on different perspectives and historical traditions (Savage, 2015).

Understanding taste is thus connected to our socio-historical and cultural milieu, and how diverse segments of the population eat and drink in particular ways that have cultural significance (Elias, 1978). But taste is also a practice that not only changes over time, but also serves to reproduce social class (Bourdieu, 1984; Highmore, 2016a). Not only are our eating habits influenced by social class, they are also influenced by other markers of identity. To understand taste as it is felt and practised in diverse bodies and places we need to recognize that class is not the only salient indicator. As Highmore (2016a) informs us, taste ‘modulates our experiences as gendered and raced bodies in the world’ (p. 163). Consequently, taste is not only about individual preferences, it is part of our ever-changing lived experiences, which alter over time and place.

In addition to taste’s temporal and special aspects, national identity has a bearing on organizational practices and cultural preferences (Cunha et al., 2008). Even in relatively egalitarian societies, one’s social and cultural background has a bearing on taste. In their study of Norwegian tastes, for example, Flemmen, Hjellbrekke and Jarness (2018) reveal how culinary tastes are influenced by local culture and social class. In addition, Wright, Purhonen and Heikkilä’s (2013) research findings indicate that Finnish people have a more emotional connection to their national dishes than British people do. As such, individual tastes are influenced differently by our shared practices in diverse national cultures and their specific cultural practices. These shared practices have an influence on our ideas about taste and organizations.

Organizational practices also affect ideas about taste. This is especially the case when people gather together to celebrate organizational accomplishments, by sharing food and drink (Keevers & Sykes, 2016). Yet organizations can actively encourage or discourage employee engagement through practices that employees deem to be tasteful, or distasteful (Plester, 2015). Accordingly, an organization’s encouragement of particular practices can have a bearing, both positive and negative, on the affective relationships between an organization and its employees. Changing ideas about tastes are not only influenced by individual aspirations, but also by emergent social movements (van Bommel & Spicer, 2011). Furthermore, social mobility is another important facet in understanding how individual tastes change (van Eijck, 2001). Attending to taste can illustrate how organizational practices shape subjective and collective preferences (Highmore, 2016b).

Societal ideas about taste also shape the way we perceive organizations. Moreover, societal judgements about an organization’s taste, or lack thereof, influence people’s choice of workplace, as well as perceptions of what constitutes valuable work. Societal taste has an influence on which people choose to work in a specific setting, and what specific organization look like. Considering how taste influences particular sensibilities at work could enhance research in organizational studies. One line of inquiry could be to map how Bourdieu’s notion of habitus has affinities with Hennion’s discussion of attention. A complementary approach to these two thinkers offers potential for understanding how socio-historical attachments influence organizational tastes. Additionally, Bourdieu’s work is still relevant to our understanding of the production and reproduction of societal inequities (Coulangeon & Duval, 2015).

What is vital for organizational discussions about taste, then, is not to jettison Bourdieu’s arguments about taste, but rather to investigate its relevance in different cultural, social and temporal spaces (Coulangeon & Duval, 2015). A focus on space, for instance, could lead to new research that connects taste with the organizational history of the small shop owner. Another approach might be to investigate how ephemeral organizations, such as ‘pop up’ stores, shape our collective, and individual, tastes about what constitutes organizational life. Furthermore, by exploring organizational histories we gain insight into how particular ways of thinking about organizations emerge. Considering an organization’s history, therefore, offers us a glimpse into how organizational tastes are shaped by broader social processes.

Arendt’s writing could, I argue, complement existing scholarship on organizational aesthetics. Adopting an Arendtian approach offers us a different lens through which to connect organizational taste with cultural judgements that emphasizes the importance of historical narrative of organizational life. Furthermore, she shows us how taste is an organizing principle, affecting ideas about work, as well as influencing notions of institutional belonging. Additionally, an Arendtian analysis may also offer new directions for considering organizations and questions of value, relevant to the fledging discipline of valuation studies (Lamont, 2012).

Conversely, when we see taste as a practice, it offers insight into its affective dimensions, something Highmore (2016a) argues is fundamental to a deeper understanding of taste. Viewing taste as practice, as scholars like Gherardi (2009) and Hennion (2007, 2015) do, thus encourage scholars to engage in a ‘self-reflexive process of engaging with the sensorial world’ (Highmore, 2016a, p. 163). Such a reflexive practice enables us to understand taste at a more sensory level, and alerts us to the different ways in which we value some organizations more than others.

What we value partially depends on what others in our scholarly discipline consider as valuable (Lamont, 2012). One problem with this value-laden way of seeing is that it may result in items being left off the disciplinary menu. I suggest that this has been the case with Arendt. Yet engaging with her work has much to offer, enabling the kind of reflexive inquiry Holt and den Hond (2013) advocate in their call for organizational scholars to heed Kant’s maxim ‘sapere aude.’ Daring to know is not just about expanding our knowledge in the field of organizational inquiry, but also relates to our ideas about taste. As Nietzsche once observed, from an etymological perspective, the desire for wisdom was originally connected to the desire to taste (Agamben, 2017). For Arendt, that wisdom or practical knowledge can be enriched by thinking about taste from multiple perspectives.

Organizational scholarship is concerned with how organizations are arranged in particular ways (Hjorth & Reay, 2018). When we think historically about the interconnections among taste and organizations, we add a richness to organizational research. Thinking about taste, therefore, helps scholars gain insight into organizational aesthetics, as well as broader societal preferences and organizational practices.

Organizational practices illustrate not just the production of taste preferences, but also the reproduction of social life (Gherardi, 2009). This inquiry has considered how a particular organization was constructed by particular socio-historical and cultural perceptions of taste, so as to explore taste from diverse perspectives. Understanding some of the complexities concerning taste is intrinsically connected to how we speak about the topic with others (Gallegos & McHoul, 2006). In speaking about taste, I have attempted to convey how diverse perspectives offer new avenues of inquiry for organizational scholarship. By viewing taste from different vantage points, organizational scholars can obtain diverse insights into taste, and much theoretical food for thought.

Coda

As I complete this piece of writing, I came across a quote from Strati (1999) which states that ‘everyone who belongs to an organization, even if temporarily, possesses aesthetic knowledge about it’ (p. 112). I am suddenly reminded of something I had forgotten; my own labour in a fish and chip shop. As a young woman, I had many after-school jobs. One short-lived employment was at a sit-down chippy called The Fisherman’s Catch. Perhaps I had forgotten about this experience because my career in fish and chips was so short-lived; maybe no longer than a month. In any event, my role was to clear the tables. It was not a pleasant job, although the place itself was lively. As I cleaned the tables, I thought wistfully of how great it must be to serve the customers. In speaking with another female employee, however, I learned that serving fish and chips had its downsides, since being close to the frying equipment meant that the oil smell got into your hair, and you could never wash the odour away. Perhaps it was this knowledge, or more likely boredom, that made me quit that job and go to work for the greengrocer across the street. I cannot recall. What I do know is that taste memories, organizational or otherwise, have their own way of surfacing, and bringing ideas to the fore. Perhaps, then, we have arrived at the beginning of my interest in the fish and chip shop, an interest that stems from a long-forgotten memory of a working experience. Does this experience mean that I have greater insight into taste and organizations? I do not know, although I do have a greater appreciation for how habitus links us to our past in ways of which we are not always aware.