The waiter greets us at the door, "table for two?" he asks and we proceed to the dark mahogany chairs by the window. The chinatown restaurant is filled with steam and the babbling voices further cloud the air. The leather menu has a typical list of dishes, fried ho fun with beef or Hong Kong style chicken grab my attention. The waiter returns and our orders are taken, it seems the traditions of a restaurant have been preserved, the personal treatment of the waiter and the feel of the menus.

"What makes this place electric anyway?" My girlfriend asks.

"Wait 'til you see the kitchen" I replied and taking her hand we strolled through the bustle to the counter where the steam was pouring up and along the ceiling. Here, everything is automated. Ingredients are placed in at the top and the machines do the rest, chopping sieving, mixing, boiling and whirring away. I've always wondered why it has taken so long to create machines good enough to cook, now I understand. The process is incredibly complex and delicate. Each vegetable is scanned to constantly check its cooking rate, the oversized pans slide delicately from side to side with occasional rolling movements to turn the ingredients.

"The machines don't taste but the process is scientific, if done well enough" one of the chefs exclaims, suddenly standing next to me as if he'd slid out from the floor. It's the sound of the place that is so astonishing, hearing the whole process simultaneously creates a cacophonic orchestra of noises, crunching and bubbling like an icelandic mud pool.

To the left is a window, behind it stand the chefs, dressed in suits. They are programmers now, tapping away at keyboards to redesign their menus, carefully adjusting the length of cooking time, the quantity of ingredients and relaying them back to the machines. Finally a silence indicates the completion of our dish which emerges slowly rising towards the counter on a metal crafted platform. We run back to our seats and await the waiter's swift and delicate delivery, as he places it on the cloth the flavours fill my nostrils with the traditions of generations, he exclaims wryly "enjoy your meal, there's nothing like the real thing".

Comment
This description discusses the progression of technology and its impact on tradition, how does technology affect the inheritance of traditions, in this case cooking? At what point is something real whether it is hand crafted or programmed? How sensitive does technology have to become to match our own skills and is their replacement enevitable?