Maybe it’s the mixed blessing of having delicate, photosensitive hegemonic nerves crushed with the light of outside, escaping the bounds of an arguably stifled Eastside cultural cross-section, but there’s something manic about the architecture and outbound societal codewords visible in the metropolitan area’s shops and promenades, and it’s really hard to define.
Disclaimer. I come by any conclusions here largely out of ignorance, not knowledge. I don’t want to be this guy.
I gather it’s one of the little joys (bewilderments) of travel to notice things being done to your favorite foods that you’d never wish on anyone – downtown Helsinki’s take on Mexican food, for instance, is to serve their tacos covered with creme fraiche and fruit salsa. Their “Texas” restaurant starts off quite readily with BBQ ribs and T-bone steaks, but rapidly sneaks in continental-intruder-entrees like Duck Confit.
I realize it’s tempting to adopt the superior attitude of oh, those silly Europeans until you realize everybody does this – including Americans – and to mock one culture for exploitative foodmarketing practices is to leave an awful lot of kettles open for being called black.