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Well, the research into it affected me.
William Peter Blatty
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Just a few doors down from North Market, almost mirroring the distance on the map between Iran and India, sits the aptly named Indian eaterie, ‘Corner Cafe,’ a charming family-run establishment which began trading in 1976 in Sheepscar, Leeds, and due to its roaring success, the family opened a sister restaurant in Burley in 1986, which ranks an impressive #12 out of 1,492 restaurants in Leeds on Tripadvisor, averaging a user score of 4.5/5 <https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g186411-d718549-Reviews-The_Corner_Cafe-Leeds_West_Yorkshire_England.html>
Now let’s get semiotic.
The first prominent feature which stood out to me was the curvature of each ‘C’ in the restaurant’s name, which, whilst I cannot be sure, is possibly inspired by a certain Indian script. However, after attempting to cross-reference a variety of scripts online (e.g. Malayalam; Oriya,; Bengali) I was unable to confirm this assumption. This will indeed be a question to posit if I can land an interview with one of the proprietors in the coming weeks.
What I can confirm after enjoying a fiery madras on a brisk March evening is the fact that the Corner Cafe know how to corner their market, as exhibited by the sagacious juxtaposing of traditional Indian beers such as Cobra and Kingfisher with a wide selection of locally sourced ales, and even ‘Leeds Gin.’ Another interesting word-use in the menu was ‘puddings’ as opposed to desserts. Whilst this may seem unimportant, it is worth noting that pudding is synonymous with desserts in the UK, whilst Indian restaurants such as Mumtaz http://mumtazleeds.co.uk/menu.html opt for ‘dessert.’ I feel as though the use of ‘pudding’ accurately befits the cosy ‘cafe’ image of the restaurant, moreover, the cafe offers vegetarian and vegan options, catering to the needs of one and all. Whilst the welcoming atmosphere, inclusive menu and heightened cultural awareness seemingly tick all the boxes for this cosy cafeteria, the sign I noticed in the window upon departure had my semiotic senses tingling.
Within the ambiguous job advertisement, ‘experienced’ and ‘must be well spoken’ were the topics of interest. In this instance, we must establish the the relationship between the sign-maker’s (SM, Corner Cafe proprietors) motivation and form in order to make educated inferences of their desired ‘interest’, which derives from the sociocultural background of the SM (Kress, 2010). Therefore, people who belong to another cultural grouping may view the sign differently; a point I will expand on in due course. Firstly, though, what does it mean, in this context, to be experienced? After surveying the job website Indeed, <https://www.indeed.co.uk/Restaurant-jobs-in-Leeds> I researched numerous waiter/waitress vacancies and the definition of this term was vague. Surprisingly, Leeds’ luxury Hilton hotel states that previous industry experience is ‘advantageous’, although not necessary, <https://hilton.taleo.net/careersection/hww_external/jobdetail.ftl?lang=en&job=1033882&src=JB-11960> whilst the independent Harewood Arms Hotel, amongs others, adopt a more personal approach to the recruitment process, as exhibited in the final line of their advertisement:
‘If you think you are the right person to join our team, please get in touch.’
Therefore, the crude A4 sign which makes substantial demands does not seem to befit the cafe’s cosy, family orientated image. Furthermore, what does ‘well spoken’ mean in this context? Are they referring to being well spoken in Delhi or Doncaster? To me, being well spoken has ties with English R.P, due to my extensive socialisation growing up in the UK. But to some people, R.P sounds unnatural, or as my Korean friend who shied away from applying to the Corner Cafe, claims ‘a bit posh.’ This view may be due to R.P’s lack of a regional dialect, its connection to the BBC, or according to Crystal (2007), its perception by some as having an association with ‘undeserved privilege.’ And whilst R.P may sound posh to my friend, which accents are located on the other end of the spectrum, the antithesis of posh, to a non-native speaker? Do people who speak R.P consider themselves the beneficiaries of underserved privileges? By asking these questions, we can begin to appreciate the complexities and the plethora of possible interpretations when interpreting signage. But let us revisit my friend’s aversion of applying for a job she desperately needed, a prospective role in which the equivocal ‘experience’ requirement was arguably fulfilled, having worked at a high-end Korean bulgogi (barbeque) restaurant in the bustling South Korean capital, Seoul, for three years.
‘Well I struggle to pronounce my ‘r’s and ‘l’s sometimes... and when people speak too fast here, I can’t keep up.
Of course, I understood her concerns, problems with enunciation and perhaps her being half a step behind the speed of native English speakers. But I wasn’t satisfied with her answer, despite accepting that she was delivering the truth. The part that concerned me was that her truth enveloped by a sorry inferiority complex; she had perceived the sign’s language as a barrier to entry, ‘well spoken’ did not apply to her, but if it didn’t apply to her, who did it really apply to?
Crystal, David (2007). ‘Language and Time’. BBC voices. UK: BBC. [Retrieved 18 April 2017].
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As you can see, North Market features a number of eye-catching signs, which for a budding semiotic researcher, was a welcome sight. For our discussion, we shall start with the main blue shop sign which features the shop’s English name; an Arabic equivalent; the halal logo; a telephone number; the type of food sold; and the countries in which they are imported from. Firstly, I’d like to draw attention to the way it is divided, with the left side written in English, whilst the right side is in Arabic. This signals to me a warm welcome to shoppers of all nationalities and creeds, but the information I obtained from the young Iranian proprietor shared with me suggested that this wasn’t the case.
Upon entering the shop, John instantly struck up an impressive rapport with the shopkeeper (SK), sharing with him our true intentions: To explore the linguistic and semiotic landscape of Burley, and that his shop contained some fascinating artefacts which would greatly benefit our research. Buoyed by our interest in the shop, he invited us to take a look around, and even ensured we indulged in some Iranian sweets (zoolbia bamieh) before we left. However, it was the conversation prior to our sweet desserts which left me craving further frank discussion, free from sugar coating.
According to the SK, his customers were in fact, mainly people seeking to buy halal meat and poultry, so the green language in the windows seemed to be serving its purpose. On the downside, his reasonably priced chicken breasts (one small yellow and red sign on each window) were often overlooked.
‘Why do you think that is?’ I asked.
‘They all go down there, to Tesco, even though mine’s cheaper!’
His reply rode on sharp, sardonic wit. The type built in turmoil, or trenches. He was losing the war, but remained staunch in the fight.
‘The are lots of languages on your signs here’ John stated (referring to the signs inside the shop, which featured multiple languages).
‘Is that a good thing?’ SK enunciated his words slowly, his demeanour almost sheepish.
‘Of course, yes!’ I found myself blurting out, nodding like an overly-apologetic woodpecker.
‘It’s a great thing.’
Unfortunately, a sudden rush of customers entering and requiring help prevented any further dialogue on this occasion. However, after reflecting (Kolb, 1984; Moon, 2004) on the experience and furthering my critical knowledge of semiotics in the hours that followed, I would like to posit some questions regarding this experience. Firstly, would the strategic placement of any British cultural artefacts or symbols* (perhaps a Union Jack) attract more natives into the store? I do not in any way suggest that the customers purchasing halal products were not native British, rather, the clientele were, according to SK, largely attracted by the multitude of halal goods in the shop. Whilst this of course attracts a certain demographic of customers, it may alienate others, especially those, perhaps, who are uncomfortable, or indeed, have no knowledge about halal meat. Having sensed the SK’s frustration surrounding the shop’s inability to sell its halal products to non-Muslims, I began to fully comprehend his quandary after reading that the halal food market in the UK is worth £1bn (Muslim Council of Britain). <https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2014/may/18/halal-food-uk-ethical-organic-safe> [accessed 24 April 2017].
However, it is worth noting that the store’s flagship drink, Istak, which appears on a large sign on the door, is in fact, an Iranian non-alcoholic beer, which features a paltry 1.5/5 score on the beer enthusiast’s best friend, <https://www.ratebeer.com/beer/istak-malt-natural/80806/>
In this instance, maybe the cultural attachments to the store’s products have less effect than the actual quality of the products. To explore these ponderings in further detail, and posit some additional questions to the SK regarding his background, I will visit the shop on my way home from university next week to hopefully arrange a meeting, and of course, try this beer for myself.
* A form of this particular sign-making practice can be found in Adami’s (2017) study of Leeds Kirkgate market. In this example, a British butcher strategically placed a ‘lucky cat’ next to the belly pork to attract more Chinese customers, due to the cat’s assumed provenance. Furthermore, in the visual, multimodal shop front, the Union Jack and images of Yorkshire are present, further reinforcing the ‘Britishness of their goods as the ‘traditional’ and ‘local’ are used to sell this image. In this case, the butchers’ have cleverly maintained their loyal patrons whilst reaching out the ‘the other’, who are, in this case, the Chinese customers. To some, the butchers’ marketing ploy may seem crude; perhaps a somewhat ‘tacky’ or distasteful move to secure new clientele. This may indeed be true, despite the butcher’s assertion that the Chinese children who frequent his shop ‘love waving to it.’ But do the hand gestures of children equate to intercultural meshing? In any case, I have selected a quote that I feel neatly encapsulates the debate:
‘Meaning is always negotiated in the semiotic process, never simply inexorably from above by an omnipotent author through an absolute code.’ Social semiotics is interested in whats happens in the actions between participants’ (the sign makers and the people who view them).
- Hodge, R., Kress, G. (1988). Social semiotics. Ithaca, New York: Cornell UP, p.12.
In other words, all signs are subjective entities, whose meanings are malleable, so a sign or artefact that prompts one person to buy some belly pork may cause another to head straight to the bar.
More information regarding Adami’s fascinating study can be found in my supporting discussion. Alternatively, the complete paper can be found at: <
https://www.tilburguniversity.edu/upload/0677a845-216b-4fc1-828d-1ec041bfd333_TPCS_177_Adami.pdf
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The excess of ethnography
Having concluded that an ethnographic approach to my project is too problematic and time-consuming for my limited resources to handle, I have decided to change my focus and chronicle my experiences of being an amateur researcher. I'm hoping that my blogging and the reflective skills I've refined will help me achieve this aim. Please refer to the critical discourse below and the further exhibits to come.
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Couldn’t land an interview at Joey’s; chef ‘too busy.’
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Joey’s diner presents an intriguing deviation from its neighbouring international establishments as it’s the sole British ‘greasy spoon cafe’ in this part of Burley. However, whilst its main selling point may appear to be ‘hearty British grub’, as the lady behind the counter informed me when I asked what they specialise in, if we peel back the semiotic layers, we begin to unearth the evolution of the British cafe before our very eyes.
The first thing I noticed (as a guy of slightly under average height) were the blackboards, reminiscent of cosy eateries and dreamy school days, leaning against the window. Scrawled upon their surface were freshly chalked British delights such as the coveted ‘full English breakfast’ and a colloquial nod to baked potatoes (‘jacket pots’). However, if we cast our eyes a little higher, we find a more sophisticated menu tucked in the corner which features dishes from far away continents, although, for all their wonderful exotic spices, Joey’s website is quick to mention that all of their meat is sourced from Allan, down the road in Horsforth. <http://www.joeysdiner.co.uk/#catering> [accessed 10/03/2017].
What impresses me most about Joey’s is its sheer mass appeal; from ‘brekkies for the brickies’ to wraps and gourmet burgers for the scores of student ambling by after an all-nighter. However, what I most intriguing about the establishment is its placement of signs. The blackboards featuring the basic British meals are on the ground, whilst the more refined menu is located above it, with the colourful Just Eat (online ordering site) sign situated more or less in one’s eye line. And this plethora of visual stimuli is topped of by the Joey’s sign, finished off in a arty, calligraphy-like font. This to me, reads like a social strata, with the working class (cheaper) meals being located at the bottom, whilst the more eclectic menu sits higher (middle class/student population), whereas Just Eat sits at the top. Even the small indoor blackboard denoting today’s soup is small and almost an afterthought, featuring the cheapest item they sell, no less. I couldn’t help but think of Oliver Twist, pleading with Joey to allow him something from one of the more affluent menu choices.
Of course, the menu placement could simply represent the revenue streams they expect, with the most money being made from the more visible signs. Nevertheless, even if my social strata theory is so wayward we almost end up in Bradford, the fact remains that it’s a concept I’d like to further pursue.
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Discovery - 3/4
Having further studied the image when I arrived home, I noticed that the word ‘style’ is italicised, conveying the message that the business is not American-owned but ‘in the style of.’ This discovery has prompted me to investigate the percentage of businesses in my study who are owned by proprietors whose nationality aligns with the shop’s outward appearance. I will then endeavour to land interviews with them to discover their back stories and create a detailed, qualitative account of the immigration patterns of this superdiverse area.
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Sandwiched in between the British Asian restaurant, My Lahore, and the anglicized Bulldog Sports, lies the self-styled American takeaway restaurant, Big Phillie’s. At first sight, the takeaway did not appear to offer much value to my project as I simply saw it as an American takeaway, seizing on the absence of a Burger King or KFC in this part of town. They’d answered the call of a niche in the market. Phillie’s smart. I pictured an Italian-American gangster swaggering behind the counter, a la Goodfellas, baking Momma’s inspired pizzas whilst sharpening hungry looking knives. All from the sign.
‘Where do you think the owners are from?’ asked John.
John’s sudden intervention snapped me out of the hazy, Scorsese scenario.
‘Erm.. well I doubt they’re American, I haven’t met any Americans around here, except for a couple of students at university, so at the risk of playing it safe, I’ll say… Britain?’
‘Look closer at the sign’ came the seasoned response.
I looked up, staring blankly at the arbitrary nature of the restaurant’s name and phone number.
‘Who do you think the sign is aimed at?
Resisting a rapid retort which involved something along the lines of (or firmly on those lines) ‘people in Burley who want a burger’, my response time-lapse rapidly picked up speed, evolving into an excited unravelling of the sign’s semantics.
‘Ah! There’s a halal sign in the top right corner.’
John nodded knowingly.
And so, the understanding of the ‘association between signifier and signified’ (Adami, 2017) began to quickly assimilate into my knowledge.
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If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn't be called research, would it?
Albert Einsten
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