Originality: Expand or Explode
Also, a Savory Tomato Tart
What a poser
The aspiration to originality is more reliably paralytic than motivating. I’m certain there are etymological and historical reasons for our cultural fascination with the idea of originality, but this isn’t an account of all that. Rather, it’s a suggestion inspired by conversations with friends as stymied by the notion of originality as I.
I have encountered two primary arguments around navigating originality. One is that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, suggesting (albeit sometimes glibly) that copying your cooler friends is good, actually, and maybe originality isn’t essential. The other is a straight-up taboo against plagiarism — a sin on par with homicide in academic settings. The degree of excoriation plagiarism inspires suggests that originality, or at least being the primary originator of a novel work or idea, is important, actually. So, which is it?
Notice me, sempai
There seems to be a sort of threshold of derivation relevant to discussions of originality. I’ll call the two poles circumscribing this threshold “homage” and “theft.” Homage is filial and respectable. “In the style of,” “a tribute to,” “inspired by” - that sort of thing. It is referential, with explicit allusions to a predecessor (which occasionally admit moments of chauvinism, but that’s another essay). The upfront declaration of un-originality here is important. In general, we don’t begrudge copying in this context. Lack of originality is tolerated, and situationally applauded if, for example, a disciple has copied the master particularly well. Homage is a small injection of individual intent upon an existing style or work.
By “citing sources,” we evade accusations of plagiarism. Self-consciously denying originality creates an arena in which a modicum of originality comes into being. That’s weird, right? What’s additionally weird about this is that the formal product of homage can look incredibly similar to the products of theft, and furthermore it is no guarantee of making something good or interesting.
Meanwhile, copying without permission, patronizing entrepreneurial nerds selling their previously-submitted essays, stealing the work of lesser-known designers: these are dishonorable acts in the originality cinematic universe I’m creating. This is the theft polarity. I’m using “theft” in a broad sense here to communicate that something proprietary which did not originate with the purposive author is being passed off as their own. Please continue to support small businesses selling B- essays to uninspired students.
Stop copying me
Theft is a cancellable offense, and rightly so when enacted in a “punching up”-style Diet Prada takedown of some monolithic fashion house or sweatshop purveyor sending clothes down the runway that are straight up lifted from independent designers. They could have employed or compensated them (or just made their own shit) and did not, armed with the knowledge that effectively no one cares and the vertiginous news cycle will bury their offenses anyway. The frank disingenuousness and financial stakes involved make this an unambiguously bad look, sis.
Having now established this ramshackle construction with homage occupying the good and virtuous pole (lol, iykyk) and theft the evil and pernicious one, we can get to the meatier stuff. For what is of greater interest to me, your unreliable narrator, is what lies betwixt.
So, you’re neither an underpaid Urban Outfitters designed trolling Etsy for inspo, nor are you an aspirant oil painter tired of copying your daddy dom’s Baroque tableaux of ladies in hoop skirts on swings (look it up). But perhaps you are in the midst of an existential quandary about producing something original. There are artists or writers whose work you greatly admire, but emulating them would feel hollow or betray your own inexperience. You possess an ounce of integrity and empathy and aren’t willing to plagiarize, despite how desperately you want recognition for creating something distinctly new. I’m definitely not projecting right now.
Expand and/or explode
My proposal around originality is this: we need either to expand our definition of originality, or explode it. Expansion of originality would entail an acknowledgement that, by virtue of no two people being exactly alike, our creative outputs are already necessarily unique. Everything we do is inherently original because we are inherently original. No product of our creativity has existed before or since. And if everything is original, nothing is. We would live in a world of expanded, profoundly lowercase-“d” democratic originality. We would be free: free to be our cringe, derivative selves.
To explode it would mean to divest our artistic and creative interest from the normative virtue of originality. Our valuation of a work of art would no longer foreground claims of originality, and then maybe we could all experience the sweet release of ego death. I’m not advocating for an outright dismantling of “originality,” but rather a stance of equanimity towards it. I seek the abolition of the current stranglehold embargo originality seems to have on worthiness, on the automaticity with which a thing deemed original is thus considered worthy or valuable. For, you see, when you escape the prison of the question of originality, a lot of room opens up for more interesting dialogue. As a chaotic good Gemini rising, I am simply left no other option.
I think the concept of originality should go the way of utopia: intellectually conceivably but pragmatically unrealizable. Metaphysically interesting, but practically unimportant. A thought experiment, not a real-world concern.
Speaking of segues, here’s a recipe for Savory Tomato Tart. It’s raining as I write this, but I hope wherever you are there is still time for one last gasp of summer air. If that’s your sort of thing.
The recipe
Savory Tomato Tart
Fittingly, this tart takes inspiration from Yotam Ottolenghi’s recipe for cauliflower cake. His preparation is genius and elevates cauliflower in a way that vastly predates its current application in grainless cooking and baking. I have adapted the innards of the cake and made them into a savory filling that foregrounds beautiful slices of multicolor heirloom tomatoes. This is therefore a recipe best undertaken in summer, when the tender urgency of the last of the season’s crops makes it especially precious. True, baking in the summer doesn’t seem like a great idea. But if prepared the night before and assembled and baked the morning after, you’ll be richly rewarded without much sweat. Plus, it might be raining as you read this and an oven is basically a heater, right?
First, prepare the pastry crust (adapted from Claire Saffitz’s sweet pastry dough)
40g almond flour
130g all-purpose flour
30g powdered sugar
1 teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces, chilled
1 large egg yolk
Combine the above ingredients in a bowl and stir thoroughly to combine. Then proceed to add the butter and incorporate by fluttering your fingers against your thumbs to crush the fat into the flour. You’ll end up with chunks and flakes of butter of various sizes, the largest of which being about as large as a pea. Your hands should look something like this:
At this point, add the egg yolk (you can reserve the white and add it to the filling to minimize waste). Incorporate the yolk with your hands until the dough comes together into a ball. Now wrap the dough in plastic film or cover in an airtight container and chill for at least an hour. Meanwhile, you can start on your filling.
For the filling
1 small head of cauliflower
1 small shallot, diced
1/3c chives, sliced
1/4c AP flour
1/4c heavy cream or unsweetened plant-based creamer
1/4c dairy or nondairy butter, melted
2 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp ground black (or preferably white) pepper
4 large whole eggs (plus one egg white if reserved from pastry recipe)
3 medium heirloom tomatoes ideally of different colors for ~the aesthetic~, sliced thick
Olive oil for drizzling
Large-flake finishing salt (such as Maldon)
Boil some water in a chosen vessel that can accommodate a cauliflower-sized volume. Cut the cauliflower into florets about two inches long (don’t get the ruler out, just make sure pieces are of equal size), discarding the central stalk. Plunge into the water when it comes to a boil. Salt the water liberally and cook for seven to 10 minutes. The florets are done when a knife easily pieces them. Pretend Caligula has commanded you to attack the sea and stab at the submerged cauliflower as though it were Poseidon himself. Drain and set aside to cool.
Dice the shallot and roughly slice the chives into about 1/4” tubes, then set aside.
In a medium bowl, combine the flour, cream, butter, salt, pepper, and eggs and mix thoroughly into a viscous batter. Roughly and imprecisely mash the cooled cauliflower as though you are my inexperienced first boyfriend doing almost anything before adding to the flour mixture. Stir to combine.
Back to the crust
Now that it’s allegedly been at least an hour take out your dough and roll to 1/8” thickness (approximately). Generously flour your surface and rolling pin to do so, working quickly to keep the dough from warming too much. If it becomes unmanageable, chill for a few minutes before continuing. Cajole the dough into a tart pan with a removable bottom (I have been known to be an unremovable bottom), working the dough up the fluted sides of the pan and into the corners. Cut or press off any excess so that the crust is flush with the sides. In theory, a pie pan would work for this but we’re entering the realm of speculation, which makes me nervous. Patch any thin or broken areas of the dough with leftover scraps. Chill, this time in the freezer, until firm — just five to 10 minutes.
Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 350ºF.
While you wait, slice your tomatoes through their equators (assuming the stem is the North Pole) into 1/2” rounds.
Assemble
Pour the filling into the chilled tart shell and smooth to an even plane with an offset spatula or spoon. Arrange the tomato slices atop the filling. Not to be all Pinterest about it, but it looks best when tomato slices of different colors are adjacent to one another. Drizzle some olive oil atop it and place in your preheated oven. Bake for 45 minutes or until the filling is set, the tomatoes have taken on a stewed appearance, and the crust is golden brown.
Heartily sprinkle the finished tart with large-flake salt after removing from the oven. Allow the tart to cool for at least 30 minutes before serving.
PS
Thank you once again, dear reader, for your patience with my inconsistent posting schedule. A combination of ADHD and withdrawing from antidepressants made punctuality — already a fool’s errand for me — simply impossible. I hope you enjoy and I hope you tell all your friends that you, too, have been liberated from the prison of originality.
If you haven’t already, please share and subscribe! Your validation is the only thing grounding me to reality. That, and this tomato tart.