Artykuły w czasopismach na temat „Glassy Swirls”

The paper reports on the development and testing of a premix research burner for MBtu fuels. The burner has a quartz glass annular mixing section and a quartz, glass flame tube to allow visualization of the flame. A central lance is used to mount modules for fuel injection, swirl generation, and flame stabilization. This allows a large number of variants with different swirl strength, mixing section length, fuel injection geometry, and flameholder size and shape to be easily tested. Experiments have been performed at atmospheric pressure and under high-pressure conditions (14 bar pressure, 400°C air preheat temperature) for syngas with a H2/CO ratio of up to 5. In a preliminary study, the mixing quality of the tested variants has been assessed with planar laser-induced fluorescence (LIF). High-pressure combustion tests show that low NOx (<10 vppmd @ 15 percent O2) premix combustion of MBtu fuels under industrial GT conditions without dilution is feasible.

AbstractThe history and iconography of Swiss stained glass dating between the 16th and 18th centuries are well studied. However, the chemical and morphological characteristics of the glass and glass paints, particularly the nature of the raw materials, the provenance of the glass, and the technology used to produce it are less well understood. In this paper, we studied two sets of samples from stained-glass panels attributed to Switzerland, which date from the 16th to 17th centuries: the first set comes from Pena National Palace collection, the second from Vitrocentre Romont. The aims were to identify the materials used in the production of the glass, to find out more about their production origin and to characterize the glass paints. Both glass and the glass paints were analysed by particle-induced X-ray emission; the paints were additionally analysed by scanning electron microscopy–electron-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy (SEM-EDS). The results show that the glass from both sets was probably produced in the same region and that wood ash was used as a fluxing agent. Different recipes have been used to make the blue enamels. However, the cobalt ore used as a coloring agent in all of the blue enamels came from the mining district in Schneeberg, Germany.

This article concerns the mechanical response of random glass fiber strand swirl-mat/urethane matrix composite under static and cyclic loads as well as under elevated temperatures. The article presents an extensive amount of experimental data as well as predictions based upon a coupled damage/viscoelastic constitutive formulation generated specifically to model the behavior of the material at hand. Damage evolution relations are derived from an empirical relationship. This work extends previously published results.

In wine tasting, tasters commonly swirl their glasses before inhaling the headspace above the wine. However, the consequences of wine swirling on the chemical gaseous headspace inhaled by tasters are barely known. In champagne or sparkling wine tasting, starting from the pouring step, gas-phase carbon dioxide (CO2) is the main gaseous species that progressively invades the glass headspace. We report the development of a homemade orbital shaker to replicate wine swirling and the upgrade of a diode laser sensor (DLS) dedicated to monitoring gas-phase CO2 in the headspace of champagne glasses under swirling conditions. We conduct a first overview of gas-phase CO2 monitoring in the headspace of a champagne glass, starting from the pouring step and continuing for the next 5 min, with several 5 s swirling steps to replicate the natural orbital movement of champagne tasters. The first results show a sudden drop in the CO2 concentration in the glass headspace, probably triggered by the liquid wave traveling along the glass wall following the action of swirling the glass.

The extant research design LPG give a good temperature distribution for a specific burner design of low consumption burners and relays to a method for bending the glass sheets, in which method the swirl burner LPG is used in a small furnace. Using LPG fuel gives more stability in the combustion process, the LPG is a gaseous fuel that helps to have easy control of the combustion rate and the temperature behavior inside the combustion zone by increasing and decreasing the mixing ratio with air. The heat flux from the flame moves in the front direction due to the momentum of the fuel mixture and the design of the burner rim, which keep the flow adhesive, such behavior leads to creating different temperature zone since the combustion process is a continuous process. The main result is that clean or low emission combustion of LPG fuel will increase the gained temperature and give a good temperature distribution for a specific burner design of low consumption burners and the clean combustion will reduce the unwanted deformation of soot on melting glass surface. Generally, high energy cost and the environmental pollution are the major issues in the glass industries which must be reduced through reduce the fuel consumption of the glass furnaces. For these reasons, this type of furnace can be used in other applications, not only in melting glass.

Abstract Onion thrips were collected from onion plants in south Texas during Mar 1987 and used to establish a laboratory culture. Thrips were reared on green onions in plastic containers at 25°C and a 12 h photoperiod. Response to insecticide dose concentration was evaluated by treating 60 × 15 mm glass petri dishes with 1 ml of differing concentration solutions of Ammo 2.5 EC, Nudrin 1.8 EC and Penncap-M 21% in acetone. The solution was swirled in the bottom of the glass dish for 1 min and then the remaining liquid was poured out. Dishes were air dried for 2 h. Larval thrips were transferred to dishes and exposed for 2 h at 25°C. Thrips were considered dead if no response was detected after gentle probing.

Melt quenching technique have been used to prepare the dysprosium-doped lithium-gadolinium borate glasses, which have the composition [60Li2O:10Gd2O3:(30-x) B2O3:xDy2O3] (LGBO:Dy3+), under atmospheric pressure. Some properties: density, molar volume, absorption spectra and photoluminescence of the LGBO:Dy3+ glasses were investigated and discussed. The density of glasses drops to the minimum point at 0.05 mol% and swings after that point. The molar volume of the glasses does not depend on Dy2O3concentration. In absorption spectra for the range of visible to near infrared wavelengths, there are 5 obvious peaks indicating the Dy3+ in glass network. The intensity of each peak at certain wavelength increases with concentration of the Dy2O3. Whereas the excitation spectra show 7 obvious peaks representing the transitions from the ground state 6H15/2to various excited states. The Xenon compact arc lamps were used to measure the emission spectra with 388 nm light. As the result, the LGBO:Dy3+ glass sample with 0.50 mol% of Dy3+ shows the highest intensity in the emission spectra.

Conventional solid injection molding (CIM) and microcellular injection molding (MIM) of a highly filled polycarbonate (PC) composite with glass fibers and carbon black were performed for molding ASTM tensile test bars and a box-shape part with variable wall thickness. A scanning electron microscope (SEM) was used to examine the microstructure at the fractured surface of the tensile test bar samples. The fine and uniform cellular structure suggests that the PC composite is a suitable material for foaming applications. Standard tensile tests showed that, while the ultimate strength and elongation at break were lower for the foamed test bars at 4.0–11.4% weight reduction, their specific Young’s modulus was comparable to that of their solid counterparts. A melt flow and transition model was proposed to explain the unique, irregular “tiger-stripes” exhibited on the surface of solid test bars. Increasing the supercritical fluid (SCF) dosage and weight reduction of foamed samples resulted in swirl marks on the part surface, making the tiger-stripes less noticeable. Finally, it was found that an injection pressure reduction of 25.8% could be achieved with MIM for molding a complex box-shaped part in a consistent and reliable fashion.

In the development of the cellular slime moldDictyostelium discoideumthere is a stage in which the aggregated amoebae form a migrating slug that moves forward in a polar fashion, showing sensitive orientation to environmental cues, as well as early signs of differentiation into anterior prestalk and posterior prespore cells. Heretofore it has been difficult to follow the movement of the individual cells within the slug, but a new method is described in which small, flat (one cell thick) slugs are produced in a glass-mineral oil interface where one can follow the movement of all the cells. Observations of time-lapse videos reveal the following facts about slug migration: (i) While the posterior cells move straight forward, the anterior cells swirl about rapidly in a chaotic fashion. (ii) Turning involves shifting the high point of these hyperactive cells. (iii) Both the anterior and the posterior cells move forward on their own power as the slug moves forward. (iv) There are no visible regular oscillations within the slug. (v) The number of prestalk and prespore cells is proportional for a range of sizes of these mini-slugs. All of these observations on thin slugs are consistent with what one finds in normal, three-dimensional slugs.

Background:Streptococcus pneumoniae(SPn) serotype replacement and emergence of multidrug resistant SPnhas exacerbated the need for continuous regional serotype surveillance. We investigated SPnserotypes circulating among children ≤5 years in Nairobi County.Methods:Streptococcus pneumoniaestocks stored at −70°C in brain heart infusion medium were thawed at room temperature for 30 minutes. In total, 10 µl of the stored SPncells were suspended in 50 µl PBS and gently vortexed. About 10 µl of the suspended cells were added on to a glass slide and mixed with 10 µl pooled antisera. The glass slide was swirled gently while observing for any reaction. The process was repeated with individual groups under various antisera pools. Those serotypes that did not belong to any pool were typed directly until a positive agglutination reaction was observed. The cells/PBS/serotype-specific antisera mixture on the glass slide were covered with a coverslip and observed under a phase contrast microscope at ×100 objective lens with oil emulsion.Results:Out of the 206 subjects sampled, 20.39% (n=42) were found to be carriers of SPn. About 52% (n=22) of the SPncarriers had received the recommended dose of PCV-10, while 48% (n=20) of the carriers had not. Almost all (n=41; 19.90% of subjects) isolates contained non-vaccine type SPnserotypes, while n=1 of the serotypes (in 0.49% of subjects) were untypeable. Serotypes 28F, 6A, 11A, 3 and 7C were prevalent in both vaccinated and unvaccinated children, whereas serotypes 23A, 17F, 35F, 48, 13 and 35B, and 23B, 20, 19B, 21, untypeable, 15B and 39 were found among unvaccinated and vaccinated groups, respectively.Conclusions:All SPnserotypes isolated from the subjects sampled were non PCV-10 vaccine type. Therefore Kenyan children receiving PCV-10 vaccine are not protected.

Abstract The transparent quartz glass window of a high temperature solar receiver (1000°C air outlet temperature, 15bars) has to be protected from overheating. The window is an axially symmetric part that can be approximated by a hemisphere with a cylindrical extension (diameter 0.31m, height 0.42m). The cooling is accomplished by impinging several air jets onto the concave window surface. Due to concentrated solar radiation, the air supply nozzles can only be installed at the circumference of the cylindrical extension. Symmetric configurations with six or nine nozzles, equally distributed around the window circumference, are examined. A second configuration generates a swirl in the window cavity by inclining the nozzles. In a third, asymmetric configuration, only nozzles on one side are simultaneously charged with mass flow, while a spatial homogenization of heat transfer is reached by periodically modulating the air flows with time. Computational fluid dynamics (CFD) calculations and laboratory measurements of the heat transfer have been carried out. In the performed 3-D simulations, the realizable k-ε model, the k-ω model, and the SST-k-ω model are compared. For measuring the heat transfer coefficient, a periodic-transient measurement technique with high spatial resolution is used. For the application of cooling of the solar receiver window, the jet cooling system with periodically modulated air flows is identified as the best solution.

This paper describes the design and operation of a low-cost plasma applicator based on a patented, swirled-type dielectric barrier discharge configuration with a treatment width up to 300 mm. Differences from earlier plasma applicators include: blown cylindrical dielectric barrier discharge, combining the functional properties of the plasma jet systems, arc and corona discharge blown in a single type of universal applicator, and the possibility of treating large areas of samples with cold plasma generated in a certain type of specific process gas mixture chosen according to the type of desired effect. We tested the effect of the plasma on a few materials such as cotton and linen fabrics, glass wafers and printing cardboard, proving that the generated plasma can easily make hydrophilic or hydrophobic surfaces. We also tried the plasma’s sterilizing effect on Escherichia coli (E. coli) bacteria. The results suggest that our plasma system can be successfully applied to medical and biological fields as well, where the removal of bacteria and their fragments is required.

The degradation kinetics of Direct Blue 15 (DB15), a diazo dye, were studied over a suspended and immobilized TiO2 catalyst. For all experiments, the kinetics experiments were performed in a swirl flow photoreactor under the influence of UV light. The effect of different parameters: dye concentration, catalyst loading, and light intensity, on the DB15 kinetics was investigated. The kinetic rates were assessed using apparent (ka) approach, a single value of reaction rate (kr) and adsorption constant (K), and approach of kr as of variable. The DB15 mineralization was discussed as well. Using a dip-coating device, the P25 catalyst was deposited on a Pyrex glass. The thin film surface characterization was examined. The coated catalyst was evaluated by checking the effect of two variables: initial dye concentration and light intensity on the DB15 kinetics. In terms of the ka approach, the results demonstrated that DB15 degradation is described by the pseudo first-order kinetics model. The Langmuir-Hinshelwood (L-H) model was fitted well with the experimental data for the number of process variables. L-H constant kr was determined as a function of three parameters: initial dye concentration, catalyst loading, and light intensity. The ka values were evaluated and compared with experimental results. In terms of three variables, ka can be expressed as ka=0.15 [C]o−0.69 [W]0.73 I0.91 1+0.17 [C]o while the empirical model results in the following expression, ka=0.77 [C]o−1.65 [W]0.73 Io0.89. It was observed that 83.64% mineralization was achieved after a period of 16 hrs. In terms of immobilized catalyst, the DB15 degradation kinetics was described by a pseudo first-order model for different dye concentrations. Meanwhile, a power-law model described the impact of light intensity on dye kinetics. In addition, the coated catalyst was successfully reusable with high efficiency for up to four cycles.

This paper describes two applications of the tandem scanning reflected-light microscope (TSM) for the observation of the structure of individual cells growing in tissue culture. First, the TSM is used as an alternative to interference reflection microscopy (IRM) or total internal reflection aqueous fluorescence microscopy (TIRAF) to observe cell-substratum adhesions in unstained living cells growing on a glass coverslip. Second, the TSM is used to produce improved images of cellular structures in 3T3 cells stained with various protein dyes including Napthol Blue Black (NBB) and Coomassie Brilliant Blue (CBB). More specifically, close contacts and focal contacts are resolved in living 3T3 cells, and features of the nucleus, the cytoskeleton and extracellular matrix are resolved in both NBB- and CBB-stained cells. The focal contacts and associated stress fibres are clearly imaged in NBB-stained cells. The TSM is an improvement over conventional incident light microscopy because of the confocal image excludes information from out-of-focus regions of the cytoplasm, and, unlike the laser-based confocal microscope, the actual colour of the specimen is viewed directly with TSM in almost real-time.

The influence of the hydrodynamics (flow rates Q, specific energy dissipation rate ε) on the micromixing in a two-step microreactor with intensively swirled flows (MRISF-2) was studied experimentally. Three methods of liquid input into the reactor were compared: (i) through the upper tangential and axial nozzles (TU1, Ax); (ii) through two upper tangential nozzles (TU1, TU2); (iii) through the upper and lower tangential nozzles (TU1, TL2). Segregation index Xs used as a measure of micromixing level was determined by means of iodide iodate reaction method. The Bernoulli equation for a device with two inputs and one output was derived to assess the energy consumption. It was revealed that in MRISF-2 up to 99.8–99.9% of input energy is dissipated, i.e., transformed into liquid element deformations thus resulting in better micromixing. For each of three liquid inputs, the dependence ε = f(Q) could be fairly approximated by an exponent ε = A1Qn1, with n1 ≈ 3.0. For connection (TU1, TU2) the dependence Xs = f(ε) falls linearly for Q > 2 L/min, but for the low flow rates (Q ≈ 1 L/min) there is an unusually small Xs value; the effect of good micromixing is caused by the kinetic energy concentrated in a small volume of liquid near the neck. The best behavior in terms of micromixing was achieved for the (TU1, Ax) connection scheme: the level of Xs ≈ 0.01 for ε ≈ 30 W/kg, and comes down with growing ε to Xs ≈ 0.002 for ε ≈ 30,000 W/kg. These values are 50 and 250 times lower compared to the mixing in a lab glass with a magnetic stirrer, as shown in our previous work. The parameters of dependencies Xs=A3εn3

With the technological advancement and diversification of industries, combined with specialization in all fields, the volume and complexity of metals is also increasing day by day. Interaction of metals with other agents is an important aspect as both can interact in a “synergistic” or “additive synergistic” manner, further aggravating the situation. In the present study, combined effect of radiation and cadmium on spleen of mice has been investigated. For the experiment, adult, healthy male Swiss albino mice were exposed to different doses of radiation and also fed with the aqueous solution of CdCl2 which was prepared by dissolving 20 mg of cadmium chloride in 1000 ml of glass distilled water, thus giving a concentration of 20 ppm and then administered orally ad libitum in drinking water continuously, till the end of the experiment. Animals were autopsied by cervical dislocation at each post- interval of 1, 2, 4, 7, 10, 14 and 28 days. Spleen was taken out, weighed, fixed in Bouin’s fluid, dehydrated and embedded in paraffin wax. Transverse sections were cut at 5µ from middle part of the tissue and stained with Harri’s haematoxylin-eosin stain for histopathological studies. Pathological changes after combined exposure in the present investigation depends upon the total dose of radiation provided i.e. higher the dose, higher the damage. Most striking histopathological change in the spleen was loss of lymphoid structure, inflammation, fibrous tissue proliferation, pyknosis, necrosis, karyolysis, karyorrhexis.

Background: Depression is a common mental disorder results due to deficiency of neurotransmitter in the brain. Various medicinal properties of jatamansi are mentioned in Ayurveda. This study evaluated effect of hydro-alcoholic extract of rhizomes of Nordostachys jatamansi DC per se and in combination with fluoxetine in wistar albino rats and swiss albino mice.Methods: Animals of either sex were selected and randomly divided in test group. Jatamansi extract 10:1 and fluoxetine hydrochloride dissolved in distilled water were used. Animals were tested for forced swimming test, tail suspension test and locomotor after given test drug. Results were compared with control and analysed.Results: Nardostachys jatamansi DC, when given to rats showed dose dependent increase in number of rotation during forced swimming test in rats. During forced swimming test in glass jar statistically significant decrease in immobility was observed. Nardostachys jatamansi DC, when given to mice dose dependent statistically significant decrease in immobility time, swimming time and climbing observed. When given along with combination of fluoxetine it shows statistically significant difference in result, confirmed that it can have synergistic antidepressant activity. When used for locomotor activity in mice none of the test drugs significantly increase or decrease the locomotor activity.Conclusions: Jatamansi showed antidepressant like property in various tests conducted on rats and mice. It showed statistically significant result with increasing dose and had synergic effect when given along with fluoxetine.

Currently, the study of rolling friction is one of the main directions in the study of the laws of contact interaction of solids. The complexity of solving the problems existing in this area is evidenced by the practically vast number of publications, the list of which is constantly growing.In this paper, attention is paid to studies of the moments of rolling resistance at displacements from the equilibrium position of a ball-shaped body that are substantially smaller than the size of the contact spot. The purpose of the present work is to describe the design of the single-contact pendulum device developed by the authors, in which the physical pendulum, resting on the flat surface of the body under study with only one ball, makes free small stable swings in a vertical plane, as well as in the description of a special measurement technique with high sensitivity and accuracy rolling resistance forces, including adhesion forces and frequency-independent forces of elastic deformations. It is assumed that the adhesion forces can exhibit both dissipative properties and elastic properties, while elastic forces are independent of the strain rate.The originality of the method of measuring rolling resistance in this paper consists in using the method of nonlinear approximation of the dependence of the amplitude and period of swing of the pendulum on time. The approximation is carried out on the basis of the proposed laws of amplitude decay and period variation, which differ from the usual exponential law.It is assumed that this approach allows one to evaluate the surface tension of a solid and evaluate the pressure of adhesion forces between the surfaces of the contacting bodies, as well as to establish an analytical form of the moment of rolling resistance. The curves of the dependence of the rolling resistance moment on the swing amplitude of the pendulum are constructed. Experiments were performed for the following pairs of contacting bodies: steel-steel, steel-glass, steel-electritechnical silicon. It was assumed that the pressure at the contact spot did not exceed the elastic limit.The developed single-ball pendulum device and the proposed measurement procedure open up new wide possibilities for studying the laws of mechanisms of rolling resistance under conditions of microand mesoscale displacements of a rolling body from a state of rest.

The research was to determine the more efficient design of the swirler from the point of view of hydrodynamics and heat and its optimal parameters. Various swirl designs were manufactured and tested. After preliminary studies conducted on a laboratory installation with a glass working apparatus, several swirlers were selected taking into account their hydraulic resistance, the structure of the swirling gas-liquid flow, and the amount of liquid entrainment by gas. The results of an experimental study of the hydrodynamics of a hollow vortex apparatus with one and two tangential and axial swirlers. Hydraulic losses in the channel and in the swirls during the direct downward movement of gas and gas-liquid flow are determined. In addition, studies of the hydraulic resistance of a vortex-type device allow us to determine the energy consumption of this device for conducting complex processes of dust collection and absorption or contact heat exchange. The hydraulic resistance in the presence of a liquid film is higher than in the case of a single-phase gas flow. The pressure drop in the studied vortex apparatus does not exceed the resistance of high-performance cyclones and vortex-type devices of other designs. The effect of the twist coefficient of gas swirlers, gas velocity, and liquid flow on the pressure drop in the vortex apparatus is established

Abstract The back pressure of a gas–liquid swirl ejector is a critical parameter that affects the flow regime and entrainment performance of the system. In the case of a weak swirl injection, the motive jet carries relatively higher axial momentum thus remains in a single phase and the liquids appear glassy. With increasing in the back pressure of the bubble flow, the suction rate drops rapidly. For a strong swirl injection, the liquid jet is disintegrated due to higher angular momentum and the spray is atomized. Augmentation in the back pressure also causes the reduction in the suction rate but it tends to grow more gradual than the weak swirl injection. As a result, the suction rate of the strong swirl is greater than that of the weak swirl in the majority of the back-pressure range. However, owing to the high transition pressure, only the weak swirl entrains the air in the bubble flow regime at low back pressure. The relationship between the suction and the swirl intensity is not fixed and is influenced by the back pressure.

Flashback (FB) and self-ignition in the premixing zone of typical gas turbine swirl combustors in lean premixed operation are immanent risks and can lead to damage and failure of components. Thus, steady combustion in the premixing zone must be avoided under all circumstances. This study experimentally investigates the flame holding propensity of fuel injectors in the swirler of a gas turbine model combustor with premixing of H2–natural gas (NG)–air mixtures under atmospheric pressure and proposes a model to predict the limit for safe operation. The A2EV swirler concept exhibits a hollow, thick walled conical structure with four tangential slots. Four fuel injector geometries were tested. One of them injects the fuel orthogonal to the air flow in the slots (jet-in-crossflow injector, JICI). Three injector types introduce the fuel almost isokinetic to the air flow at the trailing edge of the swirler slots (trailing edge injector, TEI). A cylindrical duct and a window in the swirler made of quartz glass allow the application of optical diagnostics (OH* chemiluminescence and planar laser induced fluorescence of the OH radical (OH-PLIF)) inside the swirler. The fuel–air mixture was ignited with a focused single laser pulse during steady operation. The position of ignition was located inside the swirler in proximity to a fuel injection hole. If the flame was washed out of the premixing zone not later than 4 s after the ignition, the operation point was defined as safe. Operation points were investigated at three air mass flows, three air ratios, two air preheat temperatures (573 K and 673 K), and 40 to 100 percent per volume hydrogen in the fuel composed of hydrogen and natural gas. The determined safety limit for atmospheric pressure yields a similarity rule based on a critical Damköhler number. Application of the proposed rule at conditions typical for gas turbines leads to these safety limits for the A2EV burner: With the TEIs, the swirler can safely operate with up to 80 percent per volume hydrogen content in the fuel at an air ratio of two. With the JIC injector, safe operation at stoichiometric conditions and 95 percent per volume hydrogen is possible.

Three–dimensional numerical simulations of an isothermal swirl fluidised bed (SFB) system with no chemical reactions were performed to study the swirl decay process and its effects on bed performance, i.e. particle concentration in the freeboard. The commercial CFD code package ANSYS 11.0 was chosen to carry out our simulation. We used 200?m glass beads with property similar to Geldart group A particles as the particulate phase with assumption that they are cohesionless and mono-dispersed, and air at 25°C as the gas phase in our simulation. Different initial swirl intensities were controlled by varying the secondary gas velocities. The solids volume fraction of solids suspension layers in the freeboard agreed generally well with literature description, which showed an annular shape with high values near the wall side. For the first time, swirl intensity and its decay process were predicted numerically by incorporating a swirl number function into ANSYS 11.0 and its effects on the bed fluid dynamics were also discussed in a qualitative or semi-quantitative manner.

Jet impingement has immense applications in industrial cooling, such as glass tempering, turbine blades, electrical equipment, etc. The interplay in-between several jet arrangements and the effect of swirl intensity require enormous study to achieve steady heat transfer. This paper numerically investigates an inline array of 25 circular confined swirling air jets impinging vertically on a flat surface. In this regard, three-dimensional simulations are executed using the finite volume method for a number of control parameters, such as Reynolds number (Re = 11600, 24600, and 35000), impinging distance (H/D = 0.25, 0.5, 1), swirl number (S = 0.3 and 0.75) and jet-to-jet separation distance (Z/D = 2.5), where, D is the nozzle diameter. Impinging pressure distribution, flow velocity, surface Nusselt number, and Reynolds stresses are investigated for different operating conditions. The results reveal that both the wall pressure and surface Nusselt number are comparatively uniform in the case of high swirl flow. Moreover, distinct heat transfer behavior is observed from the unconfined condition for high swirl flow in which the heat transfer is constant after a certain radial distance. The Reynolds normal stress adjacent to the nozzle exit is more rigorous than the downstream regions while Reynolds shear stress varies unpredictably along the radial direction. In addition, an estimated 102 % enhancement in average Nusselt number is observed for high swirl flow, at a Reynolds number increment from 11600 to 35000. This enhancement is evident by 23 % in terms of thermal performance factor. Besides, the average Nusselt number and thermal performance factor augmented by 19 % and 8 %, respectively, for an increased swirl intensity at low a Reynolds number (Re =11600).

AbstractUntil recently, designing and constructing with glass in Switzerland was not performed on a uniformly regulated basis due to the lack of a national standard for glass. Therefore, foreign regulations and codes were typically applied. However, this practice repeatedly caused problems. In August 2021, the Technical Specification SIA 2057 Glass Structures has been published to close this codification gap and to create a uniform design basis for the Swiss glass industry. A wide range of glass applications is covered, taking into account the latest findings from practice and science, such as use of shear transfer in laminated glass. The SIA 2057 follows the well-proven SIA principles of regulating only where necessary. Thus, a flexible application of the code is made possible, and innovation is encouraged. In addition to simple design methods, engineers are free to pursue alternative and innovative paths in glass design. The present article provides an overview of the SIA 2057 with focus on laminated safety glass design and post fracture limit state verification.

In this paper a method is described that allows mapping of the forces acting on dust particles in a GEC reference cell. Monodisperse particles are dropped into the plasma environment and their trajectories are tracked using a high-speed camera system to determine local accelerations and respective forces. Collecting data from a large number of particle drops allows the identification of three-dimensional vector fields for the acting forces. The procedure is described and multiple examples in which the method has been applied are given. These examples include a simple plasma sheath, plasmas perturbed by a horizontal and vertical dipole magnet, an array of multiple magnets mimicking the fields found at a lunar swirl, and the fields inside a glass box used for particle confinement. Further applicability in other plasma environments will be discussed shortly.

AbstractOver the last decade, hyperspectral imaging has become a popular technique for the non-invasive identification and mapping of painting materials in many typologies of artworks, thanks to the possibility of obtaining spectral information over the spatial region. A few attempts have also been made on stained-glass windows to identify the chromophore elements responsible for glass color. Hyperspectral imaging of stained glass can be complex; in most cases, stained-glass windows are an integral part of buildings, and sunlight represents the natural light source for illuminating these artifacts. While it may be considered an advantage, sunlight is not homogeneous throughout the day, and different weather conditions can affect the quality of the hyperspectral images. In addition, the presence of buildings and vegetation in the background could also modify the colors of the stained-glass windows and consequently alter the characteristic peaks of the chromophores in the spectra. This work aims to solve some of these issues and proposes different strategies to improve the results obtainable in situ. The methodology was tested on stained-glass panels displayed in the windows of the Swiss National Museum. Stained-glass panels located in windows of an internal wall were also analyzed, developing a lighting setup to account for the lack of natural light. Hyperspectral images of the selected stained glass were acquired multiple times, choosing different transmittance references for the preprocessing and exposure time to evaluate differences in the collected spectral images. The use of a diffuser sheet to mitigate the effect of external factors was also tested on some panels exposed to sunlight. Results from representative case studies will be presented to discuss the feasibility and limitations of in-situ hyperspectral imaging applications on stained glass and provide some general recommendations to consider during the acquisitions.

Direct-write electron-beam lithography has been used to fabricate low-voltage p-channel and n-channel organic thin-film transistors with channel lengths as small as 200 nm and gate-to-contact overlaps as small as 100 nm on glass and on flexible transparent polymeric substrates. The p-channel transistors have on/off current ratios as large as 4 × 10 9 and subthreshold swings as small as 70 mV/decade, and the n-channel transistors have on/off ratios up to 10 8 and subthreshold swings as low as 80 mV/decade. These are the largest on/off current ratios reported to date for nanoscale organic transistors. Inverters based on two p-channel transistors with a channel length of 200 nm and gate-to-contact overlaps of 100 nm display characteristic switching-delay time constants between 80 and 40 ns at supply voltages between 1 and 2 V, corresponding to a supply voltage–normalized frequency of about 6 MHz/V. This is the highest voltage-normalized dynamic performance reported to date for organic transistors fabricated by maskless lithography.

From escalating global concern over the exhaustion of non-renewable energy sources comes an imperative need for the use of renewable resources. Biomass pyrolysis has emerged as a very promising renewable alternative for fuel and chemical production. Previous work has shown that the most effective biomass pyrolysis processes require a careful control of temperature and residence times, and downer reactors appear to be the best technology to achieve such goals. Ongoing research at the Institute for Chemicals and Fuels from Alternative Resources (ICFAR) has led to the development of a new downer reactor design for the pyrolysis of biomass feedstock. However, this process requires a gas-solid separator that achieves a minimum spread of the gas residence time distribution – i.e., as near to plug flow as possible.As a result, a novel integrated gas-solid inertial separator has been designed for implementation in the downer reactor. This new separator combines both primary separation and solids stripping within the same device. This is intended to decrease the product vapor residence time and to reduce the severity of vapor overcracking compared to other fast separation methods. The gas-solid separation section of the new device features a uniflow configuration and a vertical, axial entry with either swirl vanes or a deflector cone.In the current study, various geometry configurations and operating conditions were tested for their effect on separation efficiency and pressure drop. A 70 mm-diameter separator was tested under cold flow modeling conditions using silica sand, glass beads or FCC catalyst particles as solid material. The sand, glass beads and FCC particles had Sauter mean diameters of 200 ?m, 63 ?m and 43 ?m, respectively. Air was used in all cases with a gas inlet velocity varying from 0.95 to 13 m/s and solid loadings ranging between 0.075 and 19 wt/wt. The separation length was adjusted from 0.1 to 2 separator diameters.Initial cold flow experiments using silica sand revealed that the separator performance was influenced greatly by the separator geometry. The measured separation efficiency was greater using flow deflector blades (i.e. swirl vanes) than all tested cone deflectors. Solids recovery in excess of 99.99% was achieved. Particle collection efficiency decreased steadily as the separation length increased, but was in general not as strongly affected by solid loadings or gas inlet velocity. Experimental cold testing of glass beads in air gave typical efficiencies above 98.50%. Recovery of the lighter and smaller FCC catalyst was also very high, with a minimum measured efficiency of 98.80%.

Abstract As an alternative to the commonly used swirl burners in micro gas turbines (MGT), the FLOX®-based combustion concept promises great potential for the nitric oxide emission reduction and increased fuel flexibility. Previous research on FLOX®-based MGT combustors mainly addressed gaseous fuels and there is less experience available on liquid fuel FLOX®-based MGT combustors. A FLOX®-based liquid fuel burner is developed to fit into a newly designed combustor for the Capstone C30 MGT. The studied FLOX®-based burners consist of an air nozzle with a coaxially arranged fuel pressure atomizer. The combustion chamber walls are made of quartz glass to enable optical accessibility for analyzing the structural properties of the flame. Furthermore, a diagonal hot cross-flow is arranged to emulate the annular hot gas flow of the other two burners in the MGT. The cross-flow is realized by utilizing a 20-nozzle FLOX®-based natural gas combustor. Measurements include visualization of the reaction zone and analysis of the exhaust gas emissions. By detecting the hydroxyl radical chemiluminescence (OH*-CL) emissions, the position of the heat release zone within the combustion chamber is attained. Correspondingly, the flame lift-off height and flame length are calculated. The investigated design parameters include air preheat temperature up to 733 K, equivalence ratio, burner geometry, and thermal power. The work presented in this paper aims to deepen the understanding of the design parameter interactions involved within the single-nozzle liquid-FLOX®-based burners.

The recent arrival of women on corporate boards has been extensively discussed in the literature. However, most of the studies focus on very recent times. This article analyzes the presence of women on the corporate boards of the largest firms in Switzerland across the past hundred years. It shows that until the beginning of the 1970s, the very few women sitting on the boardrooms belonged to the families owning the firms. Two main factors contributed then to the progressive opening of the corporate elites to women. First, the extending in 1971 of “universal suffrage” to women led to a feminization of the political elites, and women with a political profile entered the boardrooms of firms in the distribution and retailing sector. Second, the increasing globalization of the economy at the end of the twentieth century contributed to weaken the cohesion of the very male and Swiss corporate elite. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, however, the presence of women remained low in international comparison, and they were still hitting the “glass ceiling” regarding the top positions in the firm.

Introduction: Borderline personality disorder is one of the most common personality disorders and it is associated with functional impairments. This article clarifies the use of psychodynamic formulations in understanding an 18-year-old lady diagnosed with Borderline personality disorder. Case report: An 18-year-old female experiencing a mass of symptoms including depression, feeling lonely, self-blaming, confusion, inability to work, impulsivity, mood swings, relationship problems, and difficulty in thinking clearly. Rapid Mental State Examination revealed an obese body build, with long dark hair and a wide black framed medical glass. She looked anxious and tired. Her cognitive functions were. She showed evidence of the crucial features of borderline personality disorder. The therapist offered biweekly sessions with the client to listen to her story which took three sessions (each one of 45 minutes) to figure out her worries and life difficulties, during these sessions therapist tried to prove to her that she was listened to and she was welcomed to speak as loud and as clear as she wanted. This made her feel confident to speak and made her make a promise to commit to the therapeutic processes in the 4th session. So far, the plan was to have overall 14 therapeutic sessions. Conclusion: Dealing with the delicate cases of borderline personality disorder is one of the most challenging and therapist-exhausting situations using the psychodynamic interview is an effective way in helping cases of borderline personality disorder.

Since 1971 water isotope measurements are being conducted by the Climate and Environmental Physics Division at the University of Bern on precipitation, river- and groundwater collected at several places within Switzerland. The water samples were stored in glass flasks for later analyses with improved instrumentation. Conventional isotope ratio measurements on precipitated water from all stations of the network are well correlated as expected. However, Δ17O as well as dex is anticorrelated to these isotope ratio. The combination of these parameters allow to investigate dependencies on temperature, turbulence factor, and humidity of these values as well as to look into the importance and relative contributions of kinetic to equilibrium fractionations. We used published temperature dependent fractionation factors in combination with a simple Rayleigh model approach to investigate the importance of the meteorological parameters on the isotope ratios. A direct comparison of measured and modeled isotope ratios for primary (δ17O, δ18O and (δD) as well as secondary isotope parameters (Δ17O and dex) is shown.

Psychological well-being constitutes optimistic thought and behavior for self and for others. Psychological well-being depends upon various social, biological, economic, environmental indicators. Psychological well-being of an individual is equally important as it is directly consisted of cognitive and emotional wellbeing. Because of psychological well-being people recognize their capabilities to overcome anxieties and work efficiently. An individual will be considered as mentally fit if he or she associates with people appropriately and solves the problems of life fruitfully. Psychological well-being plays an essential and significant role in all phases of life of a person. In contemporary Indian society women’s health is an important issue and a crucial gender concern. In the 21st century, women are not restricted to their domestic arena however they are performing key role at home as well as at their place of work. At present, a greater percentage of women are working outside. The present study is done to study psychological well-being issues of women executives in Chandigarh. The major objectives of the present study are to find out various psychological well-being related issues suffered by women executives and to explore various reasons for psychological health and well-being sufferings experienced by women executives. Major results of the study highlighted that majority of the respondents were suffering from psychological wellbeing related problems such as mood swings, anger, worry, anxiety and depression due to various reasons such as discrimination and biasness, unequal access to opportunities, glass-ceiling, role conflict that leads to constant stress and depression resulting in reduced work efficiency that directly leads to bad effect on the psychological health conditions of women executives and showing symptoms of mental health illnesses. Consequently, psychological stress has become an ineluctable fact among employed women.

Cars crest the rise behind the truck stop and drop cones of light over the highway. Ryan dunks his head under a tap. He rubs red dust from his pores and tries to drink some water, but it slides down his throat like a length of wire.His older brother Josh fills their drink bottles. “Wanna get some chips or something?”Ryan shakes his head. He’s sick of watching Josh’s pulpy tongue poke his broken tooth. Their dad never left visible marks before—Ryan used to wish for a cut or bruise, so someone at school could see it. He shivers and clutches his coat tight. Josh says, “We got money.”Ryan wonders how Josh stole it. He didn’t know there was anything to steal. He stares back down the road.“Fine, fuck, I’ll get—”Ryan nudges him and he looks over his shoulder. A square silhouette approaches. The brothers stand back as a two-storey house pulls up in front of them, strapped to the back of a truck. The house is cut in half, patched with pale afterimages of furniture and light fittings. A door slams and a tattooed man with a white wedge of beard climbs out of the cabin. He stretches and heads for the toilets. Josh sidles up to the house and runs his hands along the straight, fresh edge of the floorboards. Sawdust settles onto his hoodie. He laughs and hurls his bag into one of the rooms. “Shit yeah. You coming?” Ryan hesitates. He remembers the time Josh’s Torana—a windowless wreck, used for drifting in paddocks and chasing kangaroos—broke down at the back of their property. Ryan and their dad towed Josh in the four-wheel drive while he sat in the Torana, steering with his knees. He started swinging wide, bouncing the back of the car off tree trunks, until he overshot and hit an old gum headfirst. The cable snapped, jerking the four-wheel drive to a halt. Ryan’s head smacked against the dash. Josh emerged from the smoking Torana with a bloody nose, laughing hysterically—thumping the bonnet and laughing hysterically—even after his dad came over and hit him on the back of the head. Through a window in the far wall they watch the driver eat a sausage roll. Ryan follows Josh upstairs and they stand on the edge of the second floor, where the distorted acoustics amplify the traffic sounds. From this angle, the outback barely conceals the curvature of the earth. The moon is a globe of bone amongst the clouds, a ball and socket. Ryan thinks they’re in a kid’s bedroom; a mural on the far wall depicts the bottom of the ocean and a tinted window spreads faded colours on the floor. He tries to imagine the room with all its walls in place. The brothers hide in a back room when they hear the driver's footsteps. The driver slides a torch over the house and light filters through the floorboards in front of them. They press themselves against the wall. Ryan starts shivering again and Josh elbows him in the ribs. The truck eases onto the road and the house groans, its unsupported floorboards dipping and lifting like piano keys. Signs and lights flick past. The brothers creep downstairs, struggling to stay upright on the vibrating staircase. Josh opens two tins of baked beans. A string of cold sauce as thick as an artery spills down Ryan’s neck. They place the empty tins on the floor and bet on which one will roll off the edge first. Josh wins. He grabs Ryan’s head and rubs his knuckles into it. Josh runs into the bathroom, which juts out over the edge of the trailer. Ryan hangs back in the doorway. Instead of a toilet Josh finds a small circle cut out of the floor. He steadies himself and pisses in it. Ryan sprints into the other room and pisses out the window. They laugh and piss until a horn blares behind them. Ryan ducks. Urine splatters on the sill. He scrabbles with his pants. He’s pissed on someone’s windscreen. The horn’s still going. Headlights hit the trees beside him. Josh comes in from the toilet and Ryan grabs him and pulls him to the ground. A four-wheel drive appears beside them. There’s barely enough room on the road; the truck swerves away and a branch scrapes along the roof of the house. The passengers hang out the windows, screaming abuse. Josh stumbles onto his feet and gives them the finger. Someone hurls an empty coke can and it lands on the second floor. Then the car is gone and only the wind remains, filling the house with the whining roar of a depressurised aircraft. The trees are a smear of static. Josh smacks Ryan on the back of the head. Ryan swings instinctively. Josh deflects his fist and knocks him to the floor and Ryan’s head hits the skirting board. Something crumbles. Ryan presses his thumb into Josh’s black eye and Josh twists his arm behind his back. When they were kids Josh pinned Ryan in this position and shoved gravel into his mouth. Ryan remembers the stones scratching his teeth, the bloody mud he spat out. Josh lets him up and Ryan scrambles into the corner, sick with sudden panic. He kicks his bag away. Josh wipes his mouth and laughs. He crouches down and stares at the spot where Ryan’s head hit the wall. One of the panels has collapsed inwards. Josh snorts. “Look what your fucking head did!” He pulls out the panel and tosses it onto the road. He shines his torch into the space behind it, brushes away the cobwebs and extracts a cheap gold box. “Well, well, well,” he mutters. He sets it on the ground and dusts the lid off. He tries to pry it open it but it’s locked. Ryan looks over. Josh grips the box in both hands and pulls. For a moment his top teeth dig into his lip and then the box bursts open, scattering pieces of silver. Ryan reaches out his hand, expecting jewellery, but he jerks it back when he finds a razor near his foot. The floor is littered with needles and knives. Josh picks up a brown glass bottle and squints at the label. “Iodine.” They stare at the blades in silence. A sand bank slides past as steadily as a sine wave. Josh carves the word FUCK into the floor with a scalpel. Ryan cringes but doesn’t dare warn him about diseases. On long-distance drives Ryan often stares out the window and imagines his vision is a laser-beam, cutting cleanly through cities, forests, passers-by. Now he pictures a wrecking ball swinging into the darkness and colliding with a run-down rollercoaster. He imagines the ball smashing through the tangle of struts and tracks; wrapping around and around a corkscrew section like a yoyo; sending a train of carriages hurtling through the remains of a loop. A few hours later the house passes through a town surrounded by silos and steel windmills. The brothers retreat to the mural room. Streetlights slide on and off them: orange, black, orange, black, orange, black. Josh waves at the people on the balcony of the pub. In a slouched house over a hardware store Ryan glimpses, through half-closed curtains, a topless woman sitting on the edge of a bed, combing her hair. He tries to make out the name of the town on the shopfronts. Josh lights a joint, indifferent. Ryan slides his torch over the door frame, which is marked with the family’s heights. The vibrations blur the words, but he makes out the name “Molly” at eye level. He wonders if this is her room. He stares at the underwater scene and remembers reading somewhere that squids lay eggs via a funnel under their eyes, so their offspring emerge like hard, heavy tears. Josh offers the joint to Ryan, who snatches it and takes a shallow drag. Josh brushes dandruff off his sleeves. Ryan drops the joint when a siren starts to wail: they scramble to their feet and run over to the back window, fearing the police, but the road’s empty. Josh looks up and shouts, “Smoke detector!” Ryan starts waving his jacket to clear the smoke, but Josh just rips the detector from the ceiling and hurls it into a dam beside the road. Once the houses thin out the brothers climb back downstairs and unroll their sleeping bags. Ryan uses his pack as a pillow but Josh’s is still full of tins. Dark branches clasp the stars. Ryan gets up and tugs at his penis in the toilet, watching the bitumen slide under the hole like a belt sander. He tries to remember the scene above the hardware store—the line of tea lights on the windowsill, the mosquito net over the bed, the woman’s small, pale breasts—but his mind keeps replaying the image of a young girl pressing a razor into her thigh. They're woken a few hours later by footsteps. Ryan opens his eyes. Josh is already on his feet. “What the hell is that?” The ceiling creaks again and Josh picks up the torch and the scalpel. “I'm gonna take a look.” They creep upstairs. The hall is empty. Something shuffles in one of the rooms and slams against the wall. Josh whispers, “There ain’t no doors on that side of the hall. The fucking door's in the other half of the house.' He grabs the end of the wall and leans out, struggling to see around it. The wind blasts him back and he cups his hands over his black eye. He pushes the torch into Ryan’s chest. “Go. You go.” Ryan tries to turn away but Josh blocks him and says, “Don’t be a dickhead. Just see what’s over there.” The dark, crinkled skin around his eye shines with tears. “Fuck’s sake, my eye’s killing me. I can’t go.” He pushes Ryan again. With his free hand Ryan feels for the frame behind the plaster. He swings his leg around the wall, plants his foot on the other side, presses his chest against the end of the wall and edges into the other room. It’s empty. Sliding doors in the far wall conceal a walk-in wardrobe. A door on the right leads to an en suite. His foot crunches on the coke can and he kicks it onto the road. He pushes the bathroom door open and the torch beam slides over the tiles. He glimpses movement behind him in the mirror, but it’s only the trees. The tiles remind him of the killing floor on their chicken farm. When he and Josh were little their dad just cut the chickens’ heads off with an axe and let them run around spurting blood out of their necks, but a few years ago he got new machinery installed. Now the chickens were strung up by their feet on an overhead conveyor belt that carried them to a trough filled with electrified water, which killed them as soon as their heads hit it. He walks back into the bedroom and stares at the sliding doors. “Oi hurry up!” Josh shouts from the hall. “Fuck you.” “Fuck you, dickhead!” Ryan pushes a sliding door open and shines his torch in. A man crouches in the darkness, gripping a bottle of colourless liquid in both hands. His clothes are stuffed with newspapers; his beard clings to his chin like clotted blood caked together. He stares at Ryan and shouts, “Bastards! Leave me alone ya bastards! Get outta here! Get out!” He hurls the bottle and it smacks into Ryan’s shoulder. The bottle smashes on the floor; shards of glass cascade onto the highway. The man stumbles out of the wardrobe, lunging at Ryan, grabbing at his jacket. Ryan reaches around the wall and Josh pulls him over. The man slams his fists rhythmically, like pistons, into the other side of the wall. They scramble downstairs and Ryan takes off his jacket and waves it over the edge, screaming to get the driver’s attention. He looks up and sees the man shouting at him, tears streaming sideways across his face. Josh pulls Ryan back but he struggles free. Ryan crouches near the edge and stares at the scrub racing past. There’s a hill ahead and the truck’s slowing down. Josh sees what he’s thinking and calls him an idiot, but he’s already leaning forwards, judging the distance, waiting for the driver to downshift. Josh grabs him by the collar and hisses something but he doesn’t listen and pulls away and jumps. His head smacks solidly against a root and his arm twists under his torso, grinding into the gravel. He lies on his back and spits out black dust. Blood dribbles out of his arm. When the house reaches the top of the hill something flies out and bounces along the side of the road. Ryan gets to his feet and limps towards it. He searches through the bushes and finds his bag with half the tins in it. The roof of the house disappears over the top of the hill and he imagines Josh reaching his destination, perhaps a few hours after dawn, on a small hill out in the bush somewhere, where the morning light is as sallow as blood plasma and the other half of the house is already waiting.

“Oh, look at the size of that abalone!”“The beef looks really tasty!”“I really want to eat some!” I am standing in front of a glass case framing the entrance of a food court at Incheon International Airport, South Korea (henceforth Korea). I overhear these exclamations as I watch three teenage girls swarm around me to press their faces against the glass. The case is filled with Korean dishes served in the adjacent food court with brief descriptions and prices. My mouth waters as I lay my eyes on dishes such as bibimbap (rice mixed with meat, vegetables, and a spicy pepper paste called gochujang) and bulgogi (thinly sliced marinated beef) over the teenagers’ shoulders. But alas, we are all deceived. The dishes we have been salivating over are not edible. They are in fact fake, made from plastic. Why have inedible replicas become normalized to stand in for real food? What are the consequences of the proliferation of fake food models in the culinary landscape? And more importantly, why do plastic foods that fall outside the food cycle of production, preparation, consumption, and waste have authority over the way we produce, prepare, and consume food? This paper examines Korean plastic food models as tastemakers that standardize food production and consumption practices. Plastic food both literally and figuratively orders gustatory and aesthetic taste and serves as a tool for social distinction within Korean culinary culture. Firstly, I will explore theoretical approaches to conceptualizing plastic food models as tastemakers. Then, I will examine plastic food models within the political economy of taste in Korea since the 1980s. Finally, I will take a close look into three manufacturers’ techniques and approaches to understand how plastic foods are made. This analysis of the Korean plastic food model industry is based on a total of eight months of fieldwork research and semi-structured interviews conducted from December 2011 to January 2012 with three of the twelve manufacturers in Seoul, South Korea. To protect the identity of my informants, I refer to them as the Pioneer (37 years of experience), Exporter (20 years of experience), and Franchisor (10 years of experience). The Pioneer, a leading food model specialist, was one of the first Korean manufactures who produced Korean models for domestic consumption. His models can be found in major museums and airports across the country. The Exporter is famous for inventing techniques and also producing for a global market. Many of her Korean models are displayed in restaurants in North America and Europe. The Franchisor is one of the largest producers for mid-range chain restaurants and cafes around the nation. His models are up-to-date with current food trends and are showcased at popular franchises. These three professionals not only have gained public recognition as plastic food experts through public competitions, mass media coverage, and government commissioned work but also are known to produce high-quality replicas by hand. Therefore, these three were not randomly selected but chosen to consider various production approaches, capture generational difference, and trace the development of the industry since the late 1970s. Plastic Food Models as Objects of Inquiry Plastic foods are created explicitly for the purpose of not being eaten, however, they impart “taste” in two major ways. Firstly, food models regulate the perception of gustatory and aesthetic taste by communicating flavors, mouth-feel, and visual properties of food through precise replicas. Secondly, models influence social behavior by defining what is culturally and politically appropriate. Food models are made with a variety of materials found in nature (wood, metal, precious stones, and cloth), edible matter (sugar, marzipan, chocolate, and butter), and inedible substances (plastic and wax). Among these materials, plastic is ideal because it creates the most durable and vivid three-dimensional models. Plastic can be manipulated freely with the application of heat and requires very little maintenance over time. Plastic allows for more precise molding and coloring, producing replicas that look more real than the original. Some may argue that fake models are mere hyper-real objects since the real and the simulation are seamlessly melded together and reproductions hold more power over the way reality is experienced (Baudrillard). Post-modern scholars such as Jean Baudrillard and Umberto Eco argue that the production of an absolute fake to satisfy the need for the real results in the rise of simulacra, which are representations that never existed or no longer have an original. I, however, argue that plastic foods within the Korean context rely heavily on originals and reinforce the authority of the original. The analysis of plastic food models can be conceptualized within the broader theoretical framework of uneaten food. This category encompasses food that is elaborately prepared for ritual but discarded, and foods that are considered inedible in different cultural contexts due to religion, customs, politics, and social norms (Douglas; Gewertz and Errington; Harris et al.; Messer; Rath). Analyzing plastic food models as a part of the uneaten food economy opens up analysis of the interrelationship between the physical and conceptual realms of food production and consumption. Although plastic models fall outside the bounds of the conventional food cycle, they influence each stage of this cycle. Food models can act as tools to inform the appropriate aesthetic characteristics of food that guide production. The color and shape can indicate ripeness to inform farming and harvesting methods. Models also act as reference points that ultimately standardize recipes and cooking techniques during food preparation. In restaurants displaying plastic food, kitchen staff use the models to ensure consistency and uniform presentation of dishes. Models often facilitate food choice by offering information on portion size and ingredients. Finally, as food models become the gold standard in the production, preparation, and consumption of food, they also dictate when to discard the “incorrect” looking food. The primary power of plastic food models as tastemakers lies in their ability to seamlessly stand in for the original. Only fake models that are spitting images of the real have the ability to completely deceive the viewer. In “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” Walter Benjamin asserts that for reproduction to invoke the authentic, the presence of the original is necessary. However, an exact replication is impossible since the original is transformed in the process of reproduction. Benjamin argues, “The technique of reproduction detaches the reproduced object from the domain of tradition. By making many reproductions it substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence and, in permitting the reproduction to meet the beholder or listener in his own particular situation, it reactivates the object reproduced” (221). Similarly, plastic models of Korean food are removed from the realm of culinary tradition because they deviate from the conventional food cycle but reinforce culinary culture by regulating aesthetic values and food related practices. The notion of authenticity becomes central in determining the strength of plastic food models to order culinary culture by setting visual and social standards. Plastic food models step in to meet the beholder on various occasions, which in turn solidifies and even expands the power of the original. Despite their inability to impart taste and smell, plastic models remain persuasive in their ability to reinforce the materiality of the original food or dish. Plastic Food Models and the Political Economy of Taste in South Korea While plastic models are prevalent all around the world, the degree to which they hold authority in influencing production and consumption practices varies. For example, in many parts of the world, toys are made to resemble food for children to play with or even as joke objects to trick others. In America and Europe, plastic food models are mainly used as decorative elements in historical sites, to recreate ambiance in dining rooms, or as props at deli counters to convey freshness. Plastic food models in Korea go beyond these informative, decorative, and playful functions by visually ordering culinary properties and standardizing food choice. Food models were first made out of wax in Japan in the early 20th century. In 1932, Takizo Iwasaki founded Iwasaki Bei-I, arguably the first plastic food model company in the world. As the plastic food model industry flourished in Japan, some of the production was outsourced to Korea to decrease costs. In the late 1970s, a handful of Japanese-trained Korean manufacturers opened companies in Korea and began producing for the domestic market (Pioneer). Their businesses did not flourish until their products became identified as a tool to promote Korean cuisine to a global audience. Two major international sporting events triggered the growth of the plastic food model industry in Korea. The first was the 1988 Seoul Olympics and the second was the 2002 World Cup. Leading up to these two high-profile international events, the Korean government made major efforts to spruce up the country’s image for tourists and familiarize them with all aspects of Korean culture (Walraven). For example, the designation of kimchi (fermented pickled vegetable) as the national dish for the 1988 Olympics explicitly opened up an opportunity for plastic food models to represent the aesthetic values of Korean cuisine. In 1983, in preparation for showcasing approximately 200 varieties of kimchi to the international community, the government commissioned food experts and plastic model manufacturers to produce plastic replicas of each type. After these models were showcased in public they were used as displays for the Kimchi Field Museum and remain as part of the exhibit today. The government also designated approximately 100 tourist-friendly restaurants across the country, requiring them to display food models during the games. This marked the first large-scale production of Korean plastic food. The second wave of food models occurred in the early 2000s in response to the government’s renewed interest to facilitate international tourists’ navigation of Korean culinary culture during the 2002 World Cup. According to plastic food manufacturers, the government was less involved in regulating the use of plastic models this time, but offered subsidies to businesses to encourage their display for tourists (Exporter; Franchisor). After the World Cup, the plastic food industry continued to grow with demand from businesses, as models become staple objects in public places. Plastic models are now fully incorporated into, and even expected at, mid-range restaurants, fast food chains, and major transportation terminals. Businesses actively display plastic models to increase competition and communicate what they are selling at one glance for tourists and non-tourists alike (Exporter). These increased efforts to reassert Korean culinary culture in public spaces have normalized plastic models in everyday life. The persuasive and authoritative qualities of plastic foods regulate consumption practices in Korea. There are four major ways that plastic food models influence food choice and consumption behavior. First, plastic food models mediate between consumer expectation and reality by facilitating decision-making processes of what and how much to eat. Just by looking at the model, the consumer can experience the sensory qualities of eating the dish, allowing decisions to be made within 30 seconds (Franchisor). Second, plastic models guide what types of foods are suitable for social and cultural occasions. These include during Chuseok (the harvest festival) and Seollal (New Year), when high-end department stores display holiday gift sets containing plastic models of beef, abalone, and pine mushrooms. These sets align consumer expectation and experience by showing consumers the exact dimension and content of the gift. They also define the propriety of holiday gifts. These types of models therefore direct how food is bought, exchanged, and consumed during holidays and reassert a social code. Third, food models become educational tools to communicate health recommendations by solidifying types of dishes and portions appropriate for individuals based on health status, age, and gender. This helps disseminate a definition of a healthful diet and adequate nutrition to guide food choice and consumption. Fourth, plastic food models act as a boundary marker of what constitutes Korean food. Applying Mary Douglas’s notion of food as a boundary marker of ethnicity and identity, plastic food models effectively mark Koreanness to reinforce a certain set of ingredients and presentation as authentic. Plastic models create the ideal visual representation of Korean cuisine that becomes the golden standard, by which dishes are compared, judged, and reproduced as Korean. Plastic models are essentially objects that socially construct the perception of gustatory, aesthetic, and social taste. Plastic foods discipline and define taste by directing the gaze of the beholder, conjuring up social protocol or associations. Sociologist John Urry’s notion of the tourist gaze lends insight to considering the implication of the intentional placement and use of plastic models in the Korean urban landscape. Urry argues that people do not gaze by chance but are taught when, where, and how to gaze by clear markers, objects, events, and experiences. Therefore, plastic models construct the gaze on Korean food to teach consumers when, where, and how to experience and practice Korean culinary culture. The Production Process of Plastic Food Models Analysis of plastic models must also consider who gets to define and reproduce the aesthetic and social taste of food. This approach follows the call to examine the knowledge and power of technical and aesthetic experts responsible for producing and authorizing certain discourses as legitimate and representative of the nation (Boyer and Lomnitz; Krishenblatt-Gimblett; Smith). Since plastic model manufacturers are the main technical and aesthetic experts responsible for disseminating standards of taste through the production of fake food, it is necessary to examine their approaches and methods. High-quality food models begin with original food to be reproduced. For single food items such as an apple or a shrimp, liquid plastic is poured into pre-formed molds. In the case of food with multiple components such as a noodle soup, the actual food is first covered with liquid plastic to replicate its exact shape and then elements are added on top. Next, the mold goes through various heat and chemical treatments before the application of color. The factors that determine the preciseness of the model are the quality of the paint, the skill of the painter, and the producer’s interpretation of the original. In the case of duplicating a dish with multiple ingredients, individual elements are made separately according to the process described above and assembled and presented in the same dishware as that of the original. The producers’ studios look more like test kitchens than industrial factories. Making food models require techniques resembling conventional cooking procedures. The Pioneer, for instance, enrolled in Korean cooking classes when he realized that to produce convincing replicas he needed to understand how certain dishes are made. The main mission for plastic food producers is to visually whet the appetite by creating replicas that look tastier than the original. Since the notion of taste is highly subjective, the objective for plastic food producers is to translate the essence of the food using imagination and artistic expression to appeal to universal taste. A fake model is more than just the sum of its parts because some ingredients are highlighted to increase its approximation of the real. For example, the Pioneer highlights certain characteristics of the food that he believes to be central to the dish while minimizing or even neglecting other aspects. When making models of cabbage kimchi, he focuses on prominently depicting the outer layers of neatly stacked kimchi without emphasizing the radish, peppers, fermented shrimp paste, ginger, and garlic that are tucked between each layer of the cabbage. Although the models are three-dimensional, they only show the top or exterior of the dishes from the viewer’s perspective. Translating dishes that have complex flavor profile and ingredients are challenging and require painstaking editing. The Exporter notes that assembling a dish and putting the final touches on a plate are similar to what a food stylist does because her aim, too, is to make the viewer’s mouth water. To communicate crispy breaded shrimp, she dunks pre-molded plastic shrimp into a thin plastic paste and uses an air gun to make the “batter” swirl into crunchy flakes before coloring it to a perfect golden brown. Manufacturers need to realistically capture the natural properties of food to help consumers imagine the taste of a dish. For instance, the Franchisor confesses that one of the hardest dishes to make is honey bread (a popular dessert at Korean cafes), a thick cut of buttered white toast served piping hot with a scoop of ice cream on top. Convincingly portraying a scoop of ice cream slowly melting over the steaming bread is challenging because it requires the ice cream pooling on the top and running down the sides to look natural. Making artificial material look natural is impossible without meticulous skill and artistic expression. These manufacturers bring plastic models to life by injecting them with their interpretations of the food’s essence, which facilitates food practices by allowing the viewer to imagine and indulge in the taste of the real. Conclusion Deception runs deep in the Korean urban landscape, as plastic models are omnipresent but their fakeness is difficult to discern without conscious effort. While the government’s desire to introduce Korean cuisine to an international audience fueled the increase in displays of plastic food, the enthusiastic adoption of fake food as a tool to regulate and communicate food practices has enabled integration of fake models into everyday life. The plastic models’ authority over daily food practices is rooted in its ability to seamlessly stand in for the real to influence the production and consumption of food. Rather than taking plastic food models at face value, I argued that deeper analysis of the power and agency of manufacturers is necessary. It is through the manufacturers’ expertise and artistic vision that plastic models become tools to articulate notions of taste. As models produced by these manufacturers proliferate both locally and globally, their authority solidifies in defining and reinforcing social norms and taste of Korean culture. Therefore, the Pioneer, Exporter, and Franchisor, are the true tastemakers who translate the essence of food to guide food preference and practices. References Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Anne Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1995. Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. New York: Penguin, 1968. Boyer, Dominic, and Claudio Lomnitz. “Intellectuals and Nationalism: Anthropological Engagements.” Annual Review of Anthropology 34 (2005): 105–20. Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger. London: Routledge, 1966. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyperreality. Orlando, FL: Harcourt Bruce & Company, 1983. Exporter, The. Personal Communication. Seoul, South Korea, 11 Jan. 2012. Franchisor, The. Personal Communication. Seoul, South Korea, 9 Jan. 2012. Gewertz, Deborah, and Frederick Errington. Cheap Meat: Flap Food Nations in the Pacific Islands. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010. Han, Kyung-Koo. “Some Foods Are Good to Think: Kimchi and the Epitomization of National Character.” Korean Social Science Journal 27.1 (2000): 221–35. Harris, Marvin, Nirmal K. Bose, Morton Klass, Joan P. Mencher, Kalervo Oberg, Marvin K. Opler, Wayne Suttles, and Andrew P. Vayda. “The Cultural Ecology of India’s Sacred Cattle [and Comments and Replies].” Current Anthropology (1966): 51–66. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. “Theorizing Heritage.” Ethnomusicology 39.3 (1995): 367–80. Messer, Ellen. “Food Definitions and Boundaries.” Consuming the Inedible: Neglected Dimensions of Food Choice. Eds. Jeremy MacClancy, C. Jeya Henry and Helen Macbeth. New York: Berghahn Books, 2007. 53–65. Pioneer, The. Personal Communication. Incheon, South Korea. 19 Dec. 2011. Rath, Eric. Food and Fantasy in Early Modern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010. Smith, Laura Jane. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge, 2006. Urry, John. The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies. London: Sage Publications, 2002.Walraven, Boudewijn. “Bardot Soup and Confucians’ Meat: Food and Korean Identity in Global Context”. Asian Food: The Global and Local. Eds. Katarzyna Cwiertka, and Boudewijn Walraven. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2001. 95–115.

Saidin Salkić is a survivor of Bosnia’s 1995 Srebrenica genocide. Salkić was interviewed on the Australian Broadcasting Commission’s Radio National in July 2007. The interviewer asked Salkić to tell him about the genocide: “What can you remember about that?” (ABC Radio National). Salkić cited memories of the smell of his father’s jumper and of the flowers growing in his mother’s garden. The interviewer interrupted him, asking for a more chronological description of the events of the genocide itself. Salkić responded that it was not possible to answer the question in such a concise, easily archivable manner, that “you can’t really bundle your memories like that” (ABC Radio National).Listening to this interview, I sat waiting for a neat ‘survivor sound-bite’ that I could neatly insert into this paper. It didn’t happen. I turned off the radio thinking that I had learned nothing of the genocide that took place in Srebrenica. In listening to a survivor—an eye witness—there is a sense that he, of all people, should be able to tell the chronology, the facts of the event; of who did what to whom and why. Yet what is learned—what Salkić’s testimony-without-testimony spoke of and explained—is the most important thing: loss. This is the lacuna in testimony. What happens to the loss when we attempt to testify to it? What is then lost? Salkić’s memory is unarchivable in the normative sense, and his refusal to testify in the accepted way ruptures the process (not a necessarily deliberate refusal, but a refusal borne out of an inability and an impossibility of containing such an event through language). Loss eludes testimony and is also loss as the loss of testimony. It is impossible to fully testify to loss, and that is testimonial, or testimony’s trace.Using Derrida's theories around the archive and the cinder, this article examines what survives an event such as genocide, what is left and, crucially, what is missing, what is not recoverable. What happens to the loss when we attempt to testify to it, to salvage something of it? What is disrupted? What is instead recovered in its place?Derrida’s archive (Derrida, Archive Fever), responds to these gaps and losses. This archive is not, it would seem, about the archive at all. Instead, Derrida provides a departure from the examination of the structure and institution of the archive. As Carolyn Steedman puts it in her reading of Archive Fever, “it turned out not to be about the archival turn. It is about dust.” (Steedman ix) This “dust”, this prelude to the ash, to the cinder, is the search for what is not there, for what is barely visible but at the same time, viscous and residual; the dust which coats and conceals no matter how well you have wielded the duster. For Derrida the dust he has found in the archive is both a meditation on beginnings and on the “fever”. He reflects not on the archive, then, but on that which drives (and destroys) the archive. Derrida’s description of prayer is a way of approaching an understanding of how a memory such as Salkić’s—at once unarchivable, yet crucial to our comprehension of the event, might fit into an understanding of the archive. Derrida writes,“My way of praying, if I pray, is absolutely secret. Even if [I were] in a synagogue praying with others, I know that my own prayer would be silent and secret, and interrupting something in the community” (On Religion). Is it impossible to archive memories such as Salkić’s because his is an impenetrable recollection that disrupts the broader archive? Why do we desire that the archive archives? Why do we desire that the archive recovers, documents and makes public these excruciatingly private moments? The ultimate secret, private and silent moment of death is made loud and public in the archives of genocide. The tendency is to want archives to show the individual, the human being amongst the tangle of anonymous bodies with whom we can identify. But in laying their death and their life bare (indeed in laying their death and life bare through the act of showing their death and life), their privacy and secret is disclosed. Their final privacy in a public death. This is death that is made public through its interconnectedness to the other simultaneous deaths around it. This is also a death that, through its place in a broader history, becomes disconnected from the individual. Finally, it is also a death that has come about through the choice made by someone else that this is your moment and mode of death. I wish to look again at Derrida when he writes that his prayer, though silent and secret, is “interrupting something in the community” (On Religion). Salkić’s memory, too, interrupts. It causes a rupture in what an archive is perceived to be and remains unarchivable. It interrupts our process, yet it cannot be disregarded. Salkić’s memory of his parents is at first seemingly of minor importance in establishing an historical truth as to what occurred in Srebrenica, yet what he has remembered is the loss, the impossibility of remembering, of salvaging this event intact for another audience. If Salkić had presented a readily archivable memory of Srebrenica—a logical and coherent sound bite—would it have a place in the archive? Is such a memory recoverable? Would it be a memory and experience hidden by the formulaic style of historical memory? As it is, Salkić’s memory ruptures the archive. It reveals those dusty spots of the event that our duster cannot reach. It is this dust that removes our certainty, our hope in the archive as a provider of answers and as a clean receptacle for the truth (this whole truth). “Suspension of certainty is part of the prayer” (Derrida, On Religion). We must suspend our certainty in the archive and it is this uncertainty that drives us to keep looking, to keep asking, to keep collecting. To know that we cannot know. To know that we can never have a complete archive. Derrida speaks of the “hopelessness of prayer” (On Religion). The hopelessness of the archive lies in its inability to ever provide a complete or conclusive story and it is this hopelessness that is also driving the archive. I think that the archive should contain these dusty spots that reveal rather than conceal.Still we, the archivists of other people’s memories, fear inconclusivity and complication in the archive. We do not wish to suspend our certainty. Still we assume that through an archive we can fully hold an event. The interviewer will always interrupt Salkić’s memory, demanding the full account, the complete archive, as though such a thing were possible. Still our archive privileges and still then, our archive is hopeless. Other genocides are ignored even as they occur, filed still further back, yet the dust is not going anywhere. Even when it fully coats and conceals an event, the dust lends the event and its memories form and marks their non/presence.Maybe, then, the archive in its presumed weight is no more than a skin, “the glosses on the edge of the abyss” (Derrida, The Politics of Friendship 143), giving a thin layer of protection and concealment. It is the losses and exclusions (those scarred and phantom limbs) that urge us to look further. To know, then, the archive as Foucault’s “unstable assemblage of faults, fissures and heterogeneous layers” (146). So what, then? How do we reconcile ourselves with or even begin our recovery of the scarred and phantom limbs? (Do they even want to be found? Are they even there?) This is Derrida’s dilemma of “How to watch over something that one can, however, neither watch over, nor assimilate, nor internalise, nor categorise” (For What Tomorrow…A Dialogue 138).Yet these testimonies (such as Salkić’s) are disallowed. They rupture with their silence. The archive cannot contain such testimony. Perhaps this goes some way to explaining why testimony cannot be codified. The silence, after all, cannot in itself offer any hint or clue towards a complete testimony. The silence cannot provide an archiving system into which Salkić’s memory might be deposited or neatly filed. Instead the silent cinder marks an acknowledgment of the difficulty of representation and of defining an experience by way of collectivity or of representing trauma in a coherent survivor sound-bite.These are the Derridean cinders of the event. The cinders are not the event—the originary sound or moment—itself. They are the ashes of this. To try and contain, conclude and comprehend the event itself through its ashes—through the bare artefacts it leaves behind—is to try to comprehend something that is ungraspable and unknowable. Derrida writes, “The cinder is not, is not what is. It remains from what is not, in order to recall the delicate, charred bottom of itself only non-being or non-presence” (Derrida, Cinders 39). Yet he continues, “Cinders remain. Cinder there is.”This is the fragility of the cinder, smothering and concealing the secret before it reaches us, translating it from language into unreadable ash. Was it ever really with us or on its way to meet us? This is “not some sort of conditional secret that could be revealed, but the secret that there is no secret, that there never was one, not even one” (Caputo 109). Turning to Salkić’s memories, I wonder if there is anything there other than an amnesiac or uncooperative guest/ghost? Maybe I wrote his words down incorrectly in my initial dismissal? Or maybe the memories are, in their incompleteness, in the interrupted gaps, telling us a secret? That there is none. That it is ineffable, not some secret waiting to be whispered, intact, in our ear. That nothing is fully recoverable from such an event and that it is the very unrecoverability that tells all that is important to know of the event. The fire has burned and consumed its beginnings and its event, leaving only ash, cinder, behind as a trace. As it is a cindered trace, it differs from other traces in its unchartability. It is not possible to follow the flyaway cinders back to an event as the cinders are not markers, but remains: “the body of which cinders is the trace has totally disappeared, it has totally lost its contours, its form, its colours, its natural determination” (Derrida, Points 391). In genocide, people have been killed, raped, disappeared, removed, displaced. The cinders that remain are unidentifiable and undetermined, but it is this presence of non-presence that remains. This is the invisible presence of the loss. Unlike a footprint, the cinder cannot be followed, cannot be recovered. It is a trace which “remains without remaining, which is neither present nor absent, which destroys itself, which is totally consumed, which is a remainder without remainder. That is, something which is not” (Derrida, Points 208). So what light can Derrida’s dusty cinder possibly shed on the archival responses to genocide? In its marking and coating of the various impossibilities and losses within the archive, the cinder makes certain aspects more visible. If not visible, then perhaps sensed as one senses smoke. Let us consider the romantic imagining of a library and the role that dust plays in such an imagining. The dust swirls around, leaving shiny absences while also settling heavily on certain shelves. This is a revealing dust, a dust which marks time, marking the losses and forgettings, rendering the absences and difficulties within the archive not so much wholly visible, as visible through their invisibility. This is the invisible smoke that fogs the glass and sneaks under the velvet rope. We invoke the call to never again (“and again, and again, and again” echoes Homi K Bhabha), we mark remembrance days, we watch trials from behind the glass in polite institutionalised silence, we remember only the dead and the time, we build memorials and establish courts, we write dissertations and publish our articles, we cram the impossible nothing – what we imagine to be empty space – full of language and debate. But what do these lives and losses mean? What depth and weight is in the emptiness, the silence, the secret? Cinders persist. Cinders mark the lacuna and the space for the silence and silenced. The cinder, the burned remains of language, provides no way of telling or testifying. The cinders, in marking the difficulty of representation, also mark the exclusion and loss of certain voices within the archive. To see the cinder as a provision of a lens through which to view absences is a fragile vision. Yet, within the cinder is an impression of a figure (the hints and remains of a burned moment; that which was but no longer is). In the cinder’s very presence, in its non-presence, this entails and implies an absence. The event “immediately incinerates itself, in front of your eyes: an impossible mission” (Derrida, Cinders 35). This impossible mission, though, contains a possibility in the gap, the space that is left. There is no longer the physical support of the form; we are left with a grey shapeless ash, as “everything is annihilated in the cinders” (Derrida, Points 391). While the event has totally lost the trace of itself in its incineration, what rises (dare I say phoenix-like) from the ash is the choking shapelessness of a loss. A loss that defies and confounds the archive. Yet how can the cinder, the ash marking the gaps, the silence, the ghostly secret, be incorporated into testimony and the testimonial gathering modes? Can such testimonies be codified? Agamben’s thoughts, through ‘Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the Archive’ are crucial in this respect in contemplating the im/possibility of gaining a complete testimony and of the necessity of the lacuna in all testimony. Agamben writes of the absence of the complete witness to the event through analogy: “Just as in the expanding universe, the furthest galaxies move away from us at a speed greater than that of their light, which cannot reach us, such that the darkness we see in the sky is nothing but the invisibility of the light of unknown stars, so that the complete witness […] is the one we cannot see.” (161 – 162). It is precisely the one who cannot testify, who is silent and silenced, who is the complete witness. And it precisely because of this that the incorporation of the cinder—the act of pinning down the ash—is perhaps impossible to approach within the archive. I borrow here Primo Levi’s example cited by Agamben. Levi, a survivor of Auschwitz amongst other things, writes of a child in Auschwitz called Hurbinek who repeats the word mass-klo or perhaps matisklo to himself, but the meaning of the word remains secret. Levi writes of the child that, “nothing remains of him: he bears witness through these words of mine” (38). The word becomes the cinders of the lacuna represented in Levi’s archive—in his testimony. Agamben writes that, “this means that testimony is the disjunction between two impossibilities of bearing witness; it means that language, in order to bear witness, must give way to a non-language in order to show the impossibility of bearing witness” (39). In order to give this sound to the event—to see its shadow and hear its silence, we must remove our reliance on the “sun”—on having the remembering done for us through didactic monuments and museums. This brings to mind, in this impossible incorporation, the designated “Void Space” at the Jüdisches Museum in Berlin. The Jüdisches Museum in Berlin is something of a perfect archive. The “Void Space” is where the missing elements might be felt. Standing in the void, I felt something of the loss and the claustrophobia that is only possible in a large, dark, empty space shut in by a heavy handle-less door. However, if I had walked through the door and into this void without knowing what it was, I would most likely have backed out, thinking that I had made a mistake; that this space wasn’t part of the museum. Instead, it is a designated void. It is an incredibly effective and affective space, but it is still an ordered, designated, planned space. I can almost hear the planning meeting: “over here in the South Wing, that’s where we’ll put the loss.” Here, the cinder element, that missing part, is given space. Yet, in its provision here in this museum space, the ash is cooled. In its designation as such a space—its permanence and uniformity—something of the cinder is extinguished and its fragility is lost: “if you entrust it to paper, it is all the better to inflame you with” (Derrida, Cinders 53).The cinder should instead reconfigure the very structures of our responses; the way we consider the structure of the archive itself. The cinder marks the impossibility. It must be external to the current representation. It cannot be incorporated. Nothing can be built from the cinder; no Phoenix can rise from it, nothing recognisable in it or from it. To sanction it and offer it “space” would remove its purpose, strip it of its ashes, it “remains unpronounceable in order to make saying possible although it is nothing” (Derrida, Cinders 73).However, in these cinders and their draughts, we are left with crucial refutations. There is a something here that defies the archive, which defies the reductions and exclusions, which defies those attempts to “burn everything” (holos caustos), to destroy all through the act of genocide itself. This is a haunting. In the cinderless archive, in the interrupting and limiting of Salkić’s testimony, we “have gone so fast as to be unaware of its existence” (Derrida, The Politics of Friendship 194). We rush to conclude, comprehend and contain, and in our rush, we miss the patient cinder and we do not feel its haunting. However, should we show our own patience (the patience of a cinder), we would find the (necessarily) unending task of comprehending genocide, and find there something “troubling enough to become unforgettable to the point of obsession” (Derrida, The Politics of Friendship 194).This is the hope in and for the archive as a means of wrestling with the crises of response presented by genocide, and brings my call for openness and dialogue with and of the archive. The cinder recovered from the event, rather than being a philosophical whimsy, marks that which has been lost or silenced or forgotten through the archive in its current structure. The archive as it stands has become, to borrow Zournazi’s thoughts on hope, “self enclosed and the exchange becomes a kind of monologue, a type of depression and narcissism where territories are defended and the stakes raised are already known” (Zournazi 12). Cinders are the hope in the archive. They are also a dangerous, gamblers hope in which the outcomes remain unknown. They are that which has been burned, which can no longer exist in (or bear any resemblance to) the original form, but which persist nonetheless, disrupting the known entities of the archive with dust, the promise of a secret. A secret which can never be told, but that is hope. This is a hope which, as the unearthed remains of a skeleton described by Linda Marie Walker, haunts, just as a cinder might: “The remains, in their haunting, were giving, or opening, a space for thought and a dreaming of past presence.” Hope caught in a cinder, made airborne. Hope that is recovered intact from the event. Hope that these spaces and gaps in the archive, marked by the cinder, might not descend into either a hopeless disengagement nor a retreat into useless and futile rage in the face of genocide and its informing debates. Hope instead that the archive might be turned from a monologue of certainty into an engagement, an exchange, a constant uncertain questioning. A sense that there is no cool remove from genocide and that to attempt to contain it is to do damage to the memory. I end with a quote from Primo Levi in his short story on the element of carbon, which comes at the end of The Periodic Table. This atom of carbon that Levi attempts to describe, and of which “every verbal description must be inadequate” (227), is also the cinder. It is invisible to the eye, it is unpronounceable, but it coats everything. And without its presence we are and we have recovered nothing: “So it happens that every element says something to someone (something different to each) like the mountain valleys or beaches visited in youth. One must perhaps make an exception for carbon, because it says everything to everyone” (Levi 225).The dependence on and domination of archives which have at their core an aim of concluding, comprehending and containing an event, denies the necessary complexity and incomprehensibility of stories such as Salkic’s. There is a risk here of forgetting that such complex stories, such incomplete memories—like carbon itself—speak to the essence of what it is to be human and what it is to have lost. ReferencesABC Radio National. “Kasedevah Blues.” Life Matters. 26 July 2007.Agamben, Giorgio. Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the Archive. New York: Zone Books, 2002.Bhabha, Homi K. “Keynote Speech: On Global Memory, Reflections on Barbaric Traditions.” Reimagining Asia Conference and Exhibition, Haus der Kulturen der Welt: Berlin, 14 March 2008.Caputo, John D. The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida: Religion without Religion. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana Press, 1997.Derrida, Jacques and Elisabeth Roudinesco. For What Tomorrow: A Dialogue. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2004.———. On Religion. Toronto: Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, 2002.———. The Politics of Friendship. London, New York: Verso, 1997.———. Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1996.———. Points...Interviews, 1974-1994. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 1995.———. Cinders. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1991.Foucault, Michel. “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History.” Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews, Ed. D. F. Bouchard. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977.Levi, Primo. The Periodic Table. London: Abacus Books, 1986.Walker, Linda Marie. “The Archaeology of Surfaces, or What Is Left Moment to Moment, or I Can’t Get over It.” An Archaeology of Surface(s). (2003). 20 Dec. 2007 ‹http://ensemble.va.com.au/lmw/surface/surfacenotes.html›.Zournazi, Mary. Hope: New Philosophies for Change. Australia: Pluto Press, 2002.

Hotspots of Cultural InnovationIn the 1960s, a long list of poets, writers, and musicians flocked to the Chelsea Hotel, 222 West 23rd Street, New York (Tippins). Among them Bob Dylan, who moved in at the end of 1964, Leonard Cohen, who wrote Take This Longing dedicated to singer Nico there, and Patti Smith who rented a room there together with Robert Mapplethorpe in 1969 (Smith; Bell; Simmons). They all benefited not just from the low rents, but also from the close, often intimate, presence of other residents who inspired them to explore new creative paths. Around the same time, across the Atlantic, the Indica Bookshop and Gallery, 6 Mason’s Yard, London played a similar role as a meeting place for musicians, artists and hangers-on. It was there, on the evening of 9 November 1966, that John Lennon attended a preview of Yoko Ono's first big solo exhibition, Unfinished Paintings and Objects. Legend has it that the two met as Lennon was climbing up the ladder of Ono’s installation work ‘Ceiling Painting’, and reaching out to a dangling magnifying glass in order to take a closer look at the single word ‘YES’ scribbled on a suspended placard (Campbell). It was not just Lennon’s first meeting with Yoko Ono, but also his first run into conceptual art. After this fateful evening, both Lennon’s private life and his artistry would never be the same again. There is already a rich body of literature on the geography of music production (Scott; Kloosterman; Watson Global Music City; Verboord and Brandellero). In most cases, these studies deal with the city or neighbourhood scales. Micro-geographies of concrete places are rarer, with some notable exceptions that focus on recording studios and on specific venues (cf. Gibson; Watson et al.; Watson Cultural Production; van Klyton). Our approach focuses on concrete places that act more like third spaces – something in between or even combining living and working. Such places enable frequent face-to-face meetings, both planned and serendipitous, which are crucial for the exchange of knowledge. These two spaces represent iconic cultural hotspots where innovative artists, notably (pop) musicians, came together in the 1960s. Because of their many famous visitors and residents, both spaces are well documented in (auto)biographies, monographs on art scenes in London and New York, as well as in newspapers. Below, we will explore how these two spaces played an important role at a time of cultural revolution, by connecting people and scenes to the micro geography of concrete places and by functioning as nodes of knowledge exchange and, hence, as milieus of innovation.Art Worlds, Scenes and Places The romantic view that artists are solitary geniuses was discarded already long ago and replaced by a conceptualization that sees them as part of broader social configurations, or art worlds. According to Howard Becker (34), these art worlds consist “of all the people necessary to the production of the characteristic works” – in other words, not just artists, but also “support personnel” such as sound engineers, editors, critics, and managers. Without this “resource pool” the production of art would be virtually impossible. Art worlds are also about the consumption of art. The concept of scene has been used to articulate the local processes of taste making and reputation building, as they “provide ways of social belonging attuned to the demands of a culture in which individuals increasingly define themselves” (Silver et al. 2295). Individuals who share certain aesthetic preferences come together, both socially and spatially (Currid) and locations such as cafés and nightclubs offer important settings where members of an art world may drink, eat, meet, gossip, and exchange knowledge. The urban fabric provides an important backdrop for these exchanges: as Jane Jacobs (181) observed, “old ideas can sometimes use new buildings. New ideas must come from old buildings.” In order to function as relational spaces, these amenities have to meet two sets of conditions. The first set comprises the locational characteristics, which Durmaz identifies as centrality and proximity. The second set relates to socio-economic characteristics. From an economic perspective, the amenity has to be viable– either independently or through patronage or state subsidies. Becoming a cultural hotspot is not just a matter of good bookkeeping. The atmosphere of an amenity has to be tolerant towards forms of cultural and social experimentation and, arguably, even transgression. In addition, a successful space has to have attractors: persons who fulfil key roles in a particular art world in evaluation, curation, and gatekeeping. To what extent did the Indica Gallery and the Chelsea Hotel meet these two sets of conditions in the 1960s? We turn to this question now.A Hotel and a GalleryThe Indica Gallery and the Chelsea Hotel were both highly central – the former located right in the middle of St. James’s in the central London Borough of Westminster (cf. Kloosterman) and the latter close to Greenwich Village in Manhattan. In the post-war, these locations provided a vacant and fertile ground for artists, who moved in as firms and wealthier residents headed for the green suburbs. As Ramanathan recounts, “For artists, downtown New York, from Chambers Street in Tribeca to the Meatpacking District and Chelsea, was an ideal stomping ground. The neighbourhoods were full of old factories that had emptied out in the postwar years; they had room for art, if not crown molding and prewar charm” (Ramanathan). Similarly in London, “Despite its posh address the area [the area surrounding the Indica Gallery] then had a boho feel. William Burroughs, Brion Gysin and Anthony Blunt all had flats in the same street.” (Perry no pagination). Such central locations were essential to attract the desired attention and interest of key gatekeepers, as Barry Miles – one of Indica’s founding members - states: “In those days a gallery virtually had to be in Mayfair or else critics and buyers would not visit” (Miles 73). In addition, the Indica Gallery’s next-door neighbour was the Scotch of St James club. The then up and coming singer Marianne Faithfull, married to Indica founder John Dunbar, reportedly “needed to be seen” in this “trendy ‘in’ club for the new rock aristocracy” (Miles 73). Undoubtedly, their cultural importance was also linked to the fact that they were both located in well-connected budding global cities with a strong media presence (Krätke).Over and above location, these spaces also met important socio-economic conditions. In the 1960s, the neighbourhood surrounding the Chelsea Hotel was in transition with an abundance of available and affordable space. After moving out of the Chelsea Hotel, Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe (Smith) had no difficulty finding a cheap loft to rent nearby. Rates in the Chelsea Hotel – when they were settled, that is - were incredibly low to current standards. According to Tippins (350), the typical Chelsea Hotel room rate in 1967 was $ 10 per week, which would amount to some $ 67.30 per week in 2013. Again, a more or less similar story can be told for the Indica Gallery. When Barry Miles, Peter Asher and John Dunbar founded the Gallery in September 1965, the premises were empty and the rent was low: "We paid 19 quid a week rent" according to John Dunbar (Perry). These cheap spaces provided fruitful economic conditions for cultural experimentation. Innovative relational spaces require not only accessibility in spatial and financial terms, but also an atmosphere conducive to cultural experimentation. This implies some kind of benevolent, preferably even stimulating, management that is willing and able to create such an atmosphere. At the Chelsea Hotel and Indica Gallery alike, those in charge were certainly not first and foremost focused on profit maximisation. Instead they were very much active members of the art worlds themselves, displaying a “taste for creative work” (Caves) and looking for ways in which their spaces could make a contribution to culture in a wider sense. This holds for Stanley Bard who ran the Chelsea Hotel for decades: “Working besides his father, Stanley {Bard} had gotten to know many of these people. He had attended their performances and exhibitions, read their books, and had been invited to their parties. Young and malleable, he soon came to see the world largely from their point of view” (Tippins 166). Such affinity with the artistic scene meant that Bard was more than accommodating. As Patti Smith recalls (100), “you weren’t immediately kicked out if you got behind on the rent … Mostly everybody owed Bard something”. While others recall a slightly less flexible attitude towards missed rents - “… the residents greatly appreciated a landlord who tolerated everything, except, quite naturally, a deficit” (Tippins 132) – the progressive atmosphere at the Chelsea was acknowledged by many others. For example, “[t]he greatest advantage of life at the Chelsea, [Arthur] Miller had to acknowledge, was that no one gave a damn what anyone else chose to do sexually” (Tippins 155).Similarly at the Indica Gallery, Miles, Asher and Dunbar were not first and foremost interested in making as much money as possible. The trio was itself drawn from various artistic fields: John Dunbar, an art critic for The Scotsman, wanted to set up an experimental gallery with Peter Asher (half of the pop duo Peter & Gordon) and Barry Miles (painter and writer). When asked about Indica's origins, Dunbar said: "There was a reason why we did Indica in the first place: to have fun" (Nevin). Recollections of the Gallery mention “a brew pot for the counterculture movement”, (Ramanathan) or “a haven for the free-wheeling imagination, a land of free expression and cultural collaboration where underground seeds were allowed to take root” (Campbell-Johnston).Part of the attraction of both spaces was the almost assured presence of interesting and famous persons, whom by virtue of their fame and appeal contributed to drawing others in. The roll calls of the Chelsea Hotel (Tippins) and of the Indica Gallery are impressive and partly overlapping: for instance, Allen Ginsberg was a notable visitor of the Indica Gallery and a prominent resident of the Chelsea Hotel, whereas Barry Miles was also a long-term resident of the Chelsea Hotel. The guest books read as a cultural who-is-who of the 1960s, spanning multiple artistic fields: there are not just (pop) musicians, but also writers, poets, actors, film makers, fashion designers, and assorted support personnel. If innovation in culture, as anywhere else, is coming up with new combinations and crossovers, then the cross-fertilisation fostered by the coming together of different art worlds in these spaces was conducive to these new combinations. Moreover, as the especially the biographies of Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Leonard Cohen, and Patti Smith testify, these spaces served as repositories of accessible cultural capital and as incubators for new ideas. Both Leonard Cohen and Patti Smith benefited from the presence of Harry Smith who curated the Anthology of American Music at the Chelsea Hotel. As Patti Smith (115) recalls: “We met a lot of intriguing people at the Chelsea but somehow when I close my eyes to think of them, Harry is always the first person I see”. Leonard Cohen was also drawn to Harry Smith: “Along with other assorted Chelsea residents and writers and music celebrities who were passing through, he would sit at Smith’s feet and listen to his labyrinthine monologue” (Simmons 197).Paul McCartney, actively scanning the city for new and different forms of cultural capital (Miles; Kloosterman) could tap into different art worlds through the networks centred on the Indica Gallery. Indeed he was credited with lending more than a helping hand to Indica over the years: “Miles and Dunbar bridged the gap between the avant-garde rebels and the rock stars of the day, principally through their friendship with Paul McCartney, who helped to put up the shop’s bookshelves, drew its flyers and designed its wrapping paper. Later when Indica ran into difficulties, he lent his friends several thousands of pounds to pay their creditors” (Sandbrook 526).Sheltered Spaces Inevitably, the rather lenient attitude towards money among those who managed these cultural breeding spaces led them to serious financial difficulties. The Indica Gallery closed two years after opening its doors. The Chelsea Hotel held out much longer, but the place went into a long period of decline and deterioration culminating in the removal of Stanley Bard as manager and banishment from the building in 2007 (Tippins). Notwithstanding their patchy record as viable business models, their role as cultural hotspots is beyond doubt. It is possibly because they offered a different kind of environment, partly sheltered from more mundane moneymaking considerations, that they could thrive as cultural hotspots (Brandellero and Kloosterman). Their central location, close to other amenities (such as night clubs, venues, cafés), the tolerant atmosphere towards deviant lifestyles (drugs, sex), and the continuous flow of key actors – musicians of course, but also other artists, managers and critics – also fostered cultural innovation. Reflecting on these two spaces nowadays brings a number of questions to the fore. We are witnessing an increasing upward pressure on rents in global cities – notably in London and New York. As cheap spaces become rarer, one may question the impact this will have on the gestation of new ideas (cf. Currid). If the examples of the Indica Gallery and the Chelsea Hotel are anything to go by, their instrumental role as cultural hotspots turned out to be financially unsustainable against the backdrop of a changing urban milieu. The question then is how can cities continue to provide the right set of conditions that allow such spaces to bud and thrive? As the Chelsea Hotel undergoes an alleged $40 million dollar renovation, which will turn it into a boutique hotel (Rich), the jury is still out on whether central urban locations are destined to become - to paraphrase John Lennon’s ‘In my life’, places which ‘had their moments’ – or mere repositories of past cultural achievements.ReferencesAnderson, P. “Watch this Space.” Sydney Morning Herald, 19 Apr. 2014.Becker, H.S. Art Worlds. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982.Bell, I. Once upon a Time: The Lives of Bob Dylan. Edinburgh/London: Mainstream Publishing, 2012.Brandellero, A.M.C. The Art of Being Different: Exploring Diversity in the Cultural Industries. Dissertation. Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam, 2011.Brandellero, A.M.C., and R.C. Kloosterman. “Keeping the Market at Bay: Exploring the Loci of Innovation in the Cultural Industries.” Creative Industries Journal 3.1 (2010): 61-77.Campbell, J. “Review: A Life in Books: Barry Miles.” The Guardian, 20 Mar. 2010.Campbell-Johnston, R. “They All Wanted to Change the World.” The Times, 22 Nov. 2006Caves, R.E. Creative Industries: Contracts between Art and Commerce. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000.Currid, E. The Warhol Economy: How Fashion, Art, and Music Drive New York City. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007.Durmaz, S.B. “Analyzing the Quality of Place: Creative Clusters in Soho and Beyoğlu.” Journal of Urban Design 20.1 (2015): 93-124.Gibson, C. “Recording Studios: Relational Spaces of Creativity in the City.” Built Environment 31.3 (2005): 192-207.Hutton, T.A. Cities and the Cultural Economy. London/New York: Routledge, 2016.Jacobs, J. The Death and Life of Great American Cities, New York: Vintage Books, 1961.Jury, L. “Sixties Art Swings Back into London: Exhibition Brings to Life Decade of the 'Original Young British Artists'.” London Evening Standard, 3 Sep. 2013 Kloosterman, R.C. “Come Together: An Introduction to Music and the City.” Built Environment 31.3 (2005): 181-191.Krätke, S. “Global Media Cities in a World-Wide Urban Network.” European Planning Studies 11.6 (2003): 605-628.Miles, B. In the Sixties. London: Pimlico, 2003.Nevin, C. “Happening, Man!” The Independent, 21 Nov. 2006Norman, P. John Lennon: The Life. London: HarperCollins Publishers, 2008.Perry, G. “In This Humble Yard Our Art Boom was Born.” The Times, 11 Oct. 2006Ramanathan, L. “I, Y O K O.” The Washington Post, 10 May 2015.Rich, N. “Where the Walls Still Talk.” Vanity Fair, 8 Oct. 2013. Sandbrook, Dominic. White Heat: A History of Britain in the Swinging Sixties. London: Abacus, 2009. Scott, A.J. “The US Recorded Music Industry: On the Relations between Organization, Location, and Creativity in the Cultural Economy.” Environment and Planning A 31.11 (1999): 1965-1984.Silver, D., T.N. Clark, and C.J.N. Yanez . “Scenes: Social Context in an Age of Contingency.” Social Forces 88.5 (2010): 293-324.Simmons, S. I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen. London: Jonathan Cape, 2012.Smith, P. Just Kids. London: Bloomsbury, 2010.Tippins, S. Inside the Dream Palace: The Life and Times of New York’s Legendary Chelsea Hotel. London/New York: Simon & Schuster, 2013.Van Klyton, A.C. “Space and Place in World Music Production.” City, Culture and Society 6.4 (2015): 101-108.Verboord, M., and A.M.C. Brandellero. “The Globalization of Popular Music, 1960-2010: A Multilevel Analysis of Music Flows.” Communication Research 2016. DOI: 10.1177/0093650215623834.Watson, A. “Global Music City: Knowledge and Geographical Proximity in London's Recorded Music Industry.” Area 40.1 (2008): 12-23.Watson, A. Cultural Production in and beyond the Recording Studio. London: Routledge, 2014.Watson, A., M. Hoyler, and C. Mager. “Spaces and Networks of Musical Creativity in the City.” Geography Compass 3.2 (2009): 856–878.

Food is not a trifling matter on Japanese television. More visible than such cultural staples as sumo and enka, food-related talk abounds. Aired year-round and positioned on every channel in every time period throughout the broadcast day, the lenses of food shows are calibrated at a wider angle than heavily-trafficked samurai dramas, beisboru or music shows. Simply, more aspects of everyday life, social history and cultural values pass through food programming. The array of shows work to reproduce traditional Japanese cuisine and cultural mores, educating viewers about regional customs and history. They also teach viewers about the "peculiar" practices of far-away countries. Thus, food shows engage globalisation and assist the integration of outside influences and lifestyles in Japan. However, food-talk is also about nihonjinron -- the uniqueness of Japanese culture1. As such, it tends toward cultural nationalism2. Food-talk is often framed in the context of competition and teaches viewers about planning and aesthetics, imparting class values and a consumption ethic. Food discourse is also inevitably about the reproduction of popular culture. Whether it is Jackie Chan plugging a new movie on a "guess the price" food show or a group of celebs are taking a day-trip to a resort town, food-mediated discourse enables the cultural industry and the national economy to persist -- even expand. To offer a taste of the array of cultural discourse that flows through food, this article serves up an ideal week of Japanese TV programming. Competition for Kisses: Over-Cooked Idols and Half-Baked Sexuality Monday, 10:00 p.m.: SMAP x SMAP SMAP is one of the longest-running, most successful male idol groups in Japan. At least one of their members can be found on TV every day. On this variety show, all five appear. One segment is called "Bistro SMAP" where the leader of the group, Nakai-kun, ushers a (almost always) female guest into his establishment and inquires what she would like to eat. She states her preference and the other four SMAP members (in teams of two) begin preparing the meal. Nakai entertains the guest on a dais overlooking the cooking crews. While the food is being prepared he asks standard questions about the talento's career; "how did you get in this business", "what are your favorite memories", "tell us about your recent work" -- the sort of banal banter that fills many cooking shows. Next, Nakai leads the guest into the kitchen and introduces her to the cooks. Finally, she samples both culinary efforts with the camera catching the reactions of anguish or glee from the opposing team. Each team then tastes the other group's dish. Unlike many food shows, the boys eat without savoring the food. The impression conveyed is that these are everyday boys -- not mega CD-selling pop idols with multiple product endorsements, commercials and television commitments. Finally, the moment of truth arrives: which meal is best. The winners jump for joy, the losers stagger in disappointment. The reason: the winners receive a kiss from the judge (on an agreed-upon innocuous body part). Food as entrée into discourse on sexuality. But, there is more than mere sex in the works, here. For, with each collected kiss, a set of red lips is affixed to the side of the chef's white cap. Conquests. After some months the kisses are tallied and the SMAPster with the most lips wins a prize. Food begets sexuality which begets measures of skill which begets material success. Food is but a prop in managing each idol's image. Putting a Price-tag on Taste (Or: Food as Leveller) Tuesday 8:00 p.m.: Ninki mono de ikou (Let's Go with the Popular People) An idol's image is an essential aspect of this show. The ostensible purpose is to observe five famous people appraising a series of paired items -- each seemingly identical. Which is authentic and which is a bargain-basement copy? One suspects, though, that the deeper aim is to reveal just how unsophisticated, bumbling and downright stupid "talento" can be. Items include guitars, calligraphy, baseball gloves and photographs. During evaluation, the audience is exposed to the history, use and finer points of each object, as well as the guest's decision-making process (via hidden camera). Every week at least one food item is presented: pasta, cat food, seaweed, steak. During wine week contestants smelled, tasted, swirled and regarded the brew's hue. One compared the sound each glass made, while another poured the wines on a napkin to inspect patterns of dispersion! Guests' reasoning and behaviors are monitored from a control booth by two very opinionated hosts. One effect of the recurrent criticism is a levelling -- stars are no more (and often much less) competent (and sacrosanct) than the audience. Technique, Preparation and Procedure? Old Values Give Way to New Wednesday 9:00: Tonerus no nama de daradara ikasette (Tunnels' Allow Us to Go Aimlessly, as We Are) This is one of two prime time shows featuring the comedy team "Tunnels"3. In this show both members of the duo engage in challenging themselves, one another and select members of their regular "team" to master a craft. Last year it was ballet and flamenco dance. This month: karate, soccer and cooking. Ishibashi Takaaki (or "Taka-san") and his new foil (a ne'er-do-well former Yomiuri Giants baseball player) Sadaoka Hiyoshi, are being taught by a master chef. The emphasis is on technique and process: learning theki (the aura, the essence) of cooking. After taking copious notes both men are left on their own to prepare a meal, then present it to a young femaletalento, who selects her favorite. In one segment, the men learned how to prepare croquette -- striving to master the proper procedure for flouring, egg-beating, breading, heating oil, frying and draining. In the most recent episode, Taka prepared his shortcake to perfection, impressing even the sensei. Sadaoka, who is slow on the uptake and tends to be lax, took poor notes and clearly botched his effort. Nonetheless, the talento chose Sadaoka's version because it was different. Certain he was going to win, Taka fell into profound shock. For years a popular host of youth-oriented shows, he concluded: "I guess I just don't understand today's young people". In Japanese television, just as in life, it seems there is no accounting for taste. More, whatever taste once was, it certainly has changed. "We Japanese": Messages of Distinctiveness (Or: Old Values NEVER Die) Thursday, 9:00 p.m.: Douchi no ryori shiou: (Which One? Cooking Show) By contrast, on this night viewers are served procedure, craft and the eternal order of things. Above all, validation of Japanese culinary instincts and traditions. Like many Japanese cooking showsDouchi involves competition between rival foods to win the hearts of a panel of seven singers, actors, writers and athletes.Douchi's difference is that two hosts front for rival dishes, seeking to sway the panel during the in-studio preparation. The dishes are prepared by chefs fromTsuji ryori kyoshitsu, a major cooking academy in Osaka, and are generally comparable (for instance, beef curry versus beef stew). On the surface Douchi is a standard infotainment show. Video tours of places and ingredients associated with the dish entertain the audience and assist in making the guests' decisions more agonising. Two seating areas are situated in front of each chef and panellists are given a number of opportunities to switch sides. Much playful bantering, impassioned appeals and mock intimidation transpire throughout the show. It is not uncommon for the show to pit a foreign against a domestic dish; and most often the indigenous food prevails. For, despite the recent "internationalisation" of Japanese society, many Japanese have little changed from the "we-stick-with-what-we-know-best" attitude that is a Japanese hallmark. Ironically, this message came across most clearly in a recent show pitting spaghetti and meat balls against tarako supagetei (spicy fish eggs and flaked seaweed over Italian noodles) -- a Japanese favorite. One guest, former American, now current Japanese Grand Sumo Champion, Akebono, insisted from the outset that he preferred the Italian version because "it's what my momma always cooked for me". Similarly the three Japanese who settled on tarako did so without so much as a sample or qualm. "Nothing could taste better than tarako" one pronounced even before beginning. A clear message in Douchi is that Japanese food is distinct, special, irreplaceable and (if you're not opposed by a 200 kilogram giant) unbeatable. Society as War: Reifying the Strong and Powerful Friday, 11:00 p.m.: Ryori no tetsujin. (The Ironmen of Cooking) Like sumo this show throws the weak into the ring with the strong for the amusement of the audience. The weak in this case being an outsider who runs his own restaurant. Usually the challengers are Japanese or else operate in Japan, though occasionally they come from overseas (Canada, America, France, Italy). Almost without exception they are men. The "ironmen" are four famous Japanese chefs who specialise in a particular cuisine (Japanese, Chinese, French and Italian). The contest has very strict rules. The challenger can choose which chef he will battle. Both are provided with fully-equipped kitchens positioned on a sprawling sound stage. They must prepare a full-course meal for four celebrity judges within a set time frame. Only prior to the start are they informed of which one key ingredient must be used in every course. It could be crab, onion, radish, pears -- just about any food imaginable. The contestants must finish within the time limit and satisfy the judges in terms of planning, creativity, composition, aesthetics and taste. In the event of a tie, a one course playoff results. The show is played like a sports contest, with a reporter and cameras wading into the trenches, conducting interviews and play-by-play commentary. Jump-cut editing quickens the pace of the show and the running clock adds a dimension of suspense and excitement. Consistent with one message encoded in Japanese history, it is very hard to defeat the big power. Although the ironmen are not weekly winners, their consistency in defeating challengers works to perpetuate the deep-seated cultural myth4. Food Makes the Man Saturday 12:00: Merenge no kimochi (Feelings like Meringue) Relative to the full-scale carnage of Friday night, Saturdays are positively quiescent. Two shows -- one at noon, the other at 11:30 p.m. -- employ food as medium through which intimate glimpses of an idol's life are gleaned.Merenge's title makes no bones about its purpose: it unabashedly promises fluff. In likening mood to food -- and particularly in the day-trip depicted here -- we are reminded of the Puffy's famous ditty about eating crab: "taking the car out for a spin with a caramel spirit ... let's go eat crab!"Merengue treats food as a state of mind, a many-pronged road to inner peace. To keep it fluffy,Merenge is hosted by three attractive women whose job it is to act frivolous and idly chat with idols. The show's centrepiece is a segment where the male guest introduces his favorite (or most cookable) recipe. In-between cutting, beating, grating, simmering, ladling, baking and serving, the audience is entertained and their idol's true inner character is revealed. Continuity Editing Running throughout the day, every day, on all (but the two public) stations, is advertising. Ads are often used as a device to heighten tension or underscore the food show's major themes, for it is always just before the denouement (a judge's decision, the delivery of a story's punch-line or a final tally) that an ad interrupts. Ads, however, are not necessarily departures from the world of food, as a large proportion of them are devoted to edibles. In this way, they underscore food's intimate relationship to economy -- a point that certain cooking shows make with their tie-in goods for sale or maps to, menus of and prices for the featured restaurants. While a considerable amount of primary ad discourse is centred on food (alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, coffees, sodas, instant or packaged items), it is ersatz food (vitamin-enriched waters, energy drinks, sugarless gums and food supplements) which has recently come to dominate ad space. Embedded in this commercial discourse are deeper social themes such as health, diet, body, sexuality and even death5. Underscoring the larger point: in Japan, if it is television you are tuned into, food-mediated discourse is inescapable. Food for Conclusion The question remains: "why food?" What is it that qualifies food as a suitable source and medium for filtering the raw material of popular culture? For one, food is something that all Japanese share in common. It is an essential part of daily life. Beyond that, though, the legacy of the not-so-distant past -- embedded in the consciousness of nearly a third of the population -- is food shortages giving rise to overwhelming abundance. Within less than a generation's time Japanese have been transported from famine (when roasted potatoes were considered a meal and chocolate was an unimaginable luxury) to excess (where McDonald's is a common daily meal, scores of canned drink options can be found on every street corner, and yesterday's leftover 7-Eleven bentos are tossed). Because of food's history, its place in Japanese folklore, its ubiquity, its easy availability, and its penetration into many aspects of everyday life, TV's food-talk is of interest to almost all viewers. Moreover, because it is a part of the structure of every viewer's life, it serves as a fathomable conduit for all manner of other talk. To invoke information theory, there is very little noise on the channel when food is involved6. For this reason food is a convenient vehicle for information transmission on Japanese television. Food serves as a comfortable podium from which to educate, entertain, assist social reproduction and further cultural production. Footnotes 1. For an excellent treatment of this ethic, see P.N. Dale, The Myth of Japanese Uniqueness. London: Routledge, 1986. 2. A predilection I have discerned in other Japanese media, such as commercials. See my "The Color of Difference: Critiquing Cultural Convergence via Television Advertising", Interdisciplinary Information Sciences 5.1 (March 1999): 15-36. 3. The other, also a cooking show which we won't cover here, appears on Thursdays and is called Tunnerusu no minasan no okage deshita. ("Tunnels' Because of Everyone"). It involves two guests -- a male and female -- whose job it is to guess which of 4 prepared dishes includes one item that the other guest absolutely detests. There is more than a bit of sadism in this show as, in-between casual conversation, the guest is forced to continually eat something that turns his or her stomach -- all the while smiling and pretending s/he loves it. In many ways this suits the Japanese cultural value of gaman, of bearing up under intolerable conditions. 4. After 300-plus airings, the tetsujin show is just now being put to bed for good. It closes with the four iron men pairing off and doing battle against one another. Although Chinese food won out over Japanese in the semi-final, the larger message -- that four Japanese cooks will do battle to determine the true iron chef -- goes a certain way toward reifying the notion of "we Japanese" supported in so many other cooking shows. 5. An analysis of such secondary discourse can be found in my "The Commercialized Body: A Comparative Study of Culture and Values". Interdisciplinary Information Sciences 2.2 (September 1996): 199-215. 6. The concept is derived from C. Shannon and W. Weaver, The Mathematical Theory of Communication. Urbana, Ill.: University of Illinois Press, 1949. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Todd Holden. "'And Now for the Main (Dis)course...': Or, Food as Entrée in Contemporary Japanese Television." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.7 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/entree.php>. Chicago style: Todd Holden, "'And Now for the Main (Dis)course...': Or, Food as Entrée in Contemporary Japanese Television," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 7 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/entree.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Todd Holden. (1999) "And now for the main (dis)course...": or, food as entrée in contemporary Japanese television. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(7). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/entree.php> ([your date of access]).