Authenticity and Commercialisation: A Dialogical, Autoethnographic Exploration of the Tensions in Gastrotourism

Abstract

Gastrotourism is a significant revenue generator worldwide and relates to the deliberate seeking out of experiences related to eating and drinking during travel by tourists. Taking in the cultural, social, and personal dimensions related to gastrotourism, this dialogical, conversational autoethnography allows the personal stories of the two authors to emerge, contextualised in the body of theory surrounding this particular topic. Methodologically, the autoethnographic lens allows for the exploration of personal insights that would not necessarily be brought to the fore through more traditional research methods and follows the food-consumption experiences of two individual travellers seeking authenticity in their personal journeys. The lived encounters of the two researchers during trips across the European continent and beyond are detailed, and reveal such findings as the importance of authenticity, national identity and culinary heritage in gastrotourism. Thus, in connecting with this study, the reader can engage with a multi-faceted, polysemous, and emotionally stimulating autoethnographic explanation at the interface between consumer behaviour and gastrotourism.

1. Introduction

1.1. Consumption and Marketing in Gastrotourism

Within this article, we use the term ‘gastrotourism’ as a descriptor for a situation where food and drink become an important and integral part of the tourist experience. Gastrotourism comes third only to culture and nature as a reason for visiting a destination [1] and is one of the fastest developing fields in tourism [2,3]. As a travel experience, it is becoming ever more popular, enhanced by the attractiveness of food festivals, tasting events and gourmet restaurants [4,5]. Developing understanding of the customer journey is central to the consumer-based approach that has become prevalent within the experience-economy [6], and moving from a service-oriented to a consumer-based approach, the ‘experience economy’ has emerged as a new paradigm that enhances the understanding of customers’ needs and desires (ibid).

Food and wine are seen as important constituent parts of tourism and can be defined as motivating factors for travel [7], as they are both multi-sensory and engaging in nature [8]. Additionally, a significant number of tourists are shown to seek an interactive experience based on food and drink [9,10], as food can be considered a fundamental element of culture and additionally reflects the dietary predilections of consumers, moulded by such aspects as culture and availability [2]. Such is the growth of gastrotourism as motivation for travel that UNESCO has added traditional recipes and foods to its List of Intangible Cultural Heritage [11], evidencing a growing awareness of cuisine as part of cultural heritage, and the mounting trend towards food experiences during travel as a mode of tourism [12,13]. However, Engisch [14] challenges whether there is justification for UNESCO doing so, as it is questionable whether cuisine is capable of bearing heritage value.

1.2. Commercialisation of the Gastrotourist Experience

Given that the gastrotourist experience sits within the representation of cultural practices and communities, we consider that the customer experience of service delivery forms an important part of intangible cultural heritage. UNESCO [15] provides us with a definition of intangible cultural heritage, which encompasses the way in which communities and individuals draw upon their recognised traditions and knowledge to provide new possibilities and promote transformation [16]. The character of a place can often be defined by its local cuisine, which can then be used to determine place or destination imaging [17,18,19,20,21], with the expressiveness of a region’s food having the ability to be used to differentiate a destination in a competitive tourist marketplace [20] and to form a societal identity [22].

Zhang and Yang [23] discuss the frontstage-backstage metaphor in the commercialisation of heritage and posit that staged authenticity (frontstage) can demonstrate commercial intent, whilst backstage, care is taken to conserve elements of heritage, although this model appears to have little effect on tackling tensions between commercialisation related to tourism, and the perpetuation of intangible cultural heritage [16].

Consumers and tourists have an impact on the spaces they visit, creating a conflict between the original purpose of a locus and the needs of the visitor [24] and additionally causing the emergence of altered behaviour patterns and adopted identity [16,24]. Interestingly, the co-production by consumers and service providers of a hybrid space can appear (as is evidenced within the following autoethnographic text) to give the impression of a real-life, intimate, and private setting [25], the tensions of which can be resolved through the principles of cultural heritage [16].

1.3. On Authenticity

The perception of authenticity in tourism and hospitality is crucial to its success [26] and has long been debated as a controversial topic [27,28,29,30,31,32,33,34,35], having been discussed through a sociological lens in relation to tourism since the 1970s [36,37]. Debates surrounding authenticity in tourism have reiterated the philosophical development of Heidegger and Sartre [38], but (pertinent to this particular article) have also focused on authenticity as an influencing component of customer loyalty [39], planned behaviour [40,41], and consumer satisfaction [42].

It is suggested that Boorstin’s [43] denunciation of mass tourism has contributed to the justification of the need for authenticity [26,44], but we should also consider the subjective nature of the understanding of the construct of authenticity, as Wang [37] (p. 351) suggests that it relates to ‘personal or intersubjective feelings activated by the liminal process of tourist activities’. Wang (ibid) goes on to describe the negotiable nature of authenticity in tourism as many colours seen through a prism, as opposed to explaining authenticity as being monochromatic.

Borghini and Engisch [45] posit that food identity and its authenticity have been the subject of philosophical debate, with questions being raised relating to the authority required to pronounce food as authentic [13], along with its subjectivity [46].

Within this article, we give due consideration to the fact that authenticity is multi-faceted [47,48], the perception of which is influenced by such factors as social background, partiality, and discernment, all related to the tourist’s individual value system [48,49]. Regarding the authenticity of food that relates to gastrotourism, we note that foods and cuisine are frequently tethered to specific cultural groups, attaining significance through the way they are used by such communities [45,50], and noting that the identities of such communities are dynamic, and as these change, so may the food offerings that emanate from such groups [51].

2. Methodology

Autoethnography can be used to achieve ‘…setting a scene, telling a story, weaving intricate connections among life and art, experience and theory, evocation and explanation…’ [52] (p. 765). Transdisciplinary in its approach, it rose in popularity in the final decades of the 20th century to enable social and human scientists to ‘situate the writer-as-participant centre-stage’ [53] (p. 992). Rather than being disparaged as annoyances, subjectivity and emotionality then became recognised as methodological and epistemological resources [54], and the value of the method was acknowledged.

In a critically reflexive manner, within this work, personal narratives are linked with theoretical and philosophical constructs [55,56,57,58], thus situating individuals within their own cultural and social settings [56].

We adopt the dialogical method of autoethnography, where a discourse between the two contributing authors is an advantageous mechanism representing the shared understanding and/or disagreements between the actors [53]. Eliciting from a second author a reaction to another author’s contribution can bring useful expansion of meaning [59], and the documentation of the reactions of co-researchers means that they too become contributors to the narratives [60]. This paper will take a dyadic, conversational, autoethnographic approach, with a ‘call and response’ mechanism being punctuated by citations from literature that relate the ‘auto’ (self) to the social and theoretical. Whilst a full-blown literature review can normally be used to establish gaps, debates, and a synthesis of existing knowledge, it can be perceived to contradict the onto-epistemological approach of the autoethnographic method. The method used allows extant and relevant literature that links directly to the authors’ experiences to be linked to the narrative without exerting bias on the emerging contributions. To our knowledge, there are no autoethnographic studies relating to the construct of gastrotourism, and we aim to address this gap with this unique, subjective, personal, and introspective account of our experiences.

We note that there is a gap in the literature relating to food tourism from a researcher-participant-consumer perspective, and we address this disparity with our paper. Within this article, we detail the gastrotourist experiences of two individual researchers, each with different cultural backgrounds (one Welsh living in England, one Italian living in Wales) visiting different parts of the world, and through an autoethnographic lens, are invited to comprehend the diversities and congruities in their searches for authentic food experiences in the countries within which they travel.

Differing from the majority of extant research within the field of gastrotourism, here, we use an autoethnographic method to gain insight into our lived experiences and thus provide a deep and provocative insight into the topic. Our use of dialogue allows us to offer plurality of meaning and thus achieve polysemy. Through this openness of meaning, we avoid narrative entrapment, or the ‘finalisation’ described by Frank [61], and we hope that other researchers will be able to extend our study through other methods.

3. Materials and Methods

As this paper uses an autoethnographic method of exploration of the gastrotourism experiences of the two authors, we will, within this paper, combine the sections normally attributed to materials, results, and discussion within the dialogical, autoethnographic section that follows.

4. Ethics

This autoethnographic paper is based on the personal experiences and reflections of the two researchers involved in the dialogue. As both researchers and subjects, we give informed consent for the use and analysis of our own narratives. Where the experiences of others are included, any individuals who are potentially identifiable were informed verbally about the nature of the study and gave informed consent for their inclusion. Care has been taken to present these narratives in a way that minimises any potential harm or breach of privacy. A non-rigid and reactive framework of ethics is necessary in autoethnographic research [62,63,64,65], and with this research, we took into consideration Ellis’s [66] (p. 4) findings that researchers need to ‘deal with the reality and practice of changing relationships with our research participants over time’. Dickert et al. [67] consider that there are many ways of securing research participation that do not involve in-depth written consent, and, given the close relationship between the authors and other actors mentioned within the autoethnographic data, verbal informed consent was considered appropriate. With one participant, the linguistic barriers that would have been exacerbated by a written form of informed consent were not considered to be practical and would have potentially reduced the autonomy of the actor to involve themselves in the project. This research has been guided by ethical principles with due regard to awareness of authorial exposure and adheres to institutional standards for ethical qualitative research. Ethical approval was obtained from the University of South Wales (USW) Faculty Research Ethics Committee (reference number: 230221LR).

5. The Dialogical Autoethnography

Lizzie: I love travelling, but there are some types of tourist experiences that leave me cold. Not for me, the package tours full of people, flocking to the beach-front hotels, sun-loungers and bars of certain sunny areas. There are a few metaphors used to describe various tourist resorts, such as ‘herd’, ‘flocks’, ‘swarms’, ’stags’, and ‘hens’ [68]. I prefer a more sedate, cultural experience. Yes, I know this makes me sound like an elitist, but if an area has been altered significantly to accommodate tourists, then I would prefer to avoid it. Is it possible, though, to be a tourist and not have an impact on the environment you visit? Wheeller and Hall (ibid) write of ‘tourist fuddling’—eliminating the undesirable tourist in favour of those who are more advantageous to the environment, and it is possible that I have been subject to this practice without being aware. As a marketer, I consider myself to be pretty savvy when it comes to my consumer behaviour, but have I been more gullible than I realise?

5.1. More than Döner Kebabs: Seeking an Authentic Gastrotourism Experience in Türkiye

On my travels across Europe and into Asia, I steadfastly avoid restaurants that offer the ‘Full English Breakfast’ and head instead to the establishments that are frequented by locals. On visits to Türkiye, I eschew the restaurants of touristy Dalyan and head instead to a restaurant near Dalaman. Here, I am served with an eye-wateringly colourful breakfast consisting of seasonal fresh fruit such as watermelon, honeydew melon, apples, apricots, honey, ezme (a spicy, finely-ground pepper salsa), tangy cacık (yogurt and cucumber), oven-warm, home-made bread (three types, just for variety), crunchy, taste-laden salads, peppers in yogurt, oven-roasted potatoes, and fried eggs. This is all washed down with delicious, freshly-squeezed pomegranate, apple, or orange juice (whichever is in season), spring water, and limitless cups of fragrant çay (Turkish tea). Food heaven—no, not just food heaven—authentic, mouth-watering, bizarrely-good-for-you food heaven. I know that research indicates that some independently owned restaurants focus on healthy eating for the benefit of community health (see, for example, [69]), but this happens naturally in Türkiye. Here, we are normally the only non-Turks, but some of the Turkish customers are tourists, coming from distant Istanbul or Ankara for their own holidays. Is this really authentic, then, or is it a feast manufactured for tourists, albeit of the same nationality as the restaurant owners?

Observing the non-local Turks who are greeted with a flamboyant reception, I am reminded that some tourist destinations appear to have attempted elimination of the less sophisticated travellers in favour of those who have a higher disposable income, ostensibly in order to preserve cultural heritage [70]. On hearing my strangled but well-meaning attempts to speak to her in her own language, the woman in charge of the restaurant—yes, in a country scoring high on the masculinity dimension of culture [71], there is a boss-lady there—expressed her delight and presented me with an enormous jar of home-produced, amber honey. I felt honoured, pleased that she had recognised my efforts and, cognisant of my shaky grasp of the difficult-to-learn language, more than slightly embarrassed that I was unable to better converse with her. Perhaps she recognised my attempts to use language and embrace the ‘variability, negotiability, and adaptability’ ([72], p14) required for effective communication and to dissolve tensions within tourism [73]. The rise of women’s equal treatment in Türkiye since the 1930s has been well documented (see, for example, [74]) and has been framed by the Turkish government as an important step towards Westernisation of the country [74]. This notwithstanding, Türkiye has the lowest female labour participation rate in OECD countries [75], with decision-making being considered an indicator of autonomy [76,77]. This woman certainly appeared to be capable of making her own decisions and certainly gave at least the illusion of being in charge of the whole operation. Whether the autonomy was real or just perceived, the offering of a gift to the linguistically-challenged, fair-haired Welsh woman was repeated each time we visited, and never did we come away with empty hands, either carrying out honey, bags of lemons and tomatoes, apples, or oranges, and always being sent off with hugs and good wishes and encouragement to return.

The experience adds weight to the argument that food reinforces social bonds and can be used in the expression of cultural identity, forging and developing cultural networks between communities and countries [78] with travellers creating associations between their destinations and the local food they consume [2]. I am also mindful that when tourists make decisions, friendliness is of paramount importance [79,80] and the kindliness of our host was an important factor in our repeat visits [81]. Additionally, I acknowledge that knowing what to expect from a restaurant is a factor in encouraging return [82], as risk is reduced when one is familiar with both the processes involved and the food.

Teresa: I agree with you 100%, and more! Mass tourism? Not for me either. When I visit a new place, I want to discover its real side as much as possible, beyond the crowded landmarks and postcard-perfect spots. Considering the suggestion that destinations embracing café culture have been described as essential locations of social interface [83], perhaps it is unsurprising that I like to sit in a café, preferably outside, sunglasses on, sipping a coffee or maybe a prosecco (depending on the time of the day), and just watching life go by. Discovering the local food, new flavours, and colours is an adventure on its own. It is about experiencing a place through its flavours and aromas. Also, I usually try to learn the greetings, order in the native language, and embrace the full experience.

5.2. A Taste of Poland: Nostalgia on a Plate

My last trip to Poland was something amazing. I went to Rabka-Zdrój, a lovely spa town between Kraków and Zakopane. Quite different from my first time in Poland, where I visited Warsaw and Kraków. This time, I stayed in a Sanatorium, with a Polish friend, where I was the only non-Polish speaker, at least for the week I was there.

The food was traditionally Polish, home-cooked, and hearty. For breakfast, we were offered meat cold cuts, cheeses, boiled or scrambled eggs, and fresh bread, accompanied by butter, cottage cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers and radishes, and rich soups and a main dish of meat and vegetables for lunch, and then a lighter dinner, usually with meat as well. However, as I am a vegetarian, possibly the only one, or one of the few who had ever booked the venue, they did their best, similar meals, just minus the meat, replaced by aubergines or other vegetable treats. And the soups? The soups were divine. I especially remember the flavour of ‘Zupa grzybowa’, a mushroom soup made with wild forest mushrooms (often porcini or chanterelle), or ‘Zupa ogórkowa’, a dill pickle soup made from sour cucumbers, potatoes, and sometimes meat (typically pork or chicken). However, just for me, it was made and served without meat [84]. On the first night, though, they did not know what to serve me, so they brought out the children’s meal option. Cooked pasta with a sweet strawberry sauce and cream. As an Italian, it was something unusual. However, I tried it, but one mouthful was all I could manage. My friend lit up and said it reminded her of her childhood, a treat she had as a child [2]. Isn’t it fascinating? How tastes, scents, even a single bite of something can transport us back to another time, another place, or enable us to revisit past experiences?

However, reflecting on the experience, I also recognise that my positive reception may have been shaped significantly by traveling with a Polish friend, whose presence likely influenced how I was perceived and treated. My friend was able to mediate conversations, explain cultural norms, and perhaps ease any reservations about a foreign guest in a largely local setting. This reflects on how personal relationships can shape tourist experience and access to social spaces [85]. It is important to note that traveling with a local companion may have shielded me from some social tensions or exclusions that other outsiders might face, highlighting the unequal experiences among visitors.

At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that such experiences are situated within broader historical, social, and economic contexts. Rabka-Zdrój, where the sanatorium I visited is located, has a long-standing reputation as a health resort dating back to the 19th century. Historically, it was renowned for treating children with respiratory illnesses and was shaped by the medical and social policies of various political eras, including the Austro-Hungarian Empire, interwar Poland, and the post-World War II socialist state [86,87]. Reflecting on these political histories and subsequent economic transitions helps to explain how community identities, social norms, and hospitality practices in Rabka-Zdrój have been shaped over time. Moreover, locals’ behaviours and attitudes towards tourists are mediated by these broader social and economic forces, rather than simply reflecting innate generosity [88].

Lizzie: That sounds wonderful, Teresa—apart from the sweet pasta dish. Isn’t it curious how we mould our expectations on our previous gastronomical experiences, which are more than just a matter of taste; they are sensory journeys that involve the flavours and cultural traditions of food, which in turn help to shape both personal and collective identity [89]. Our past food-related experiences condition our expectations, shaping how we perceive flavours. Attention, expectations and beliefs can all play a crucial role in this process. For example, visual cues, such as the colour of food, can create expectations that shape the actual flavour experience [90]. I remember a school exchange visit to France, where there was a jug full of bright green cordial on the table. I thought it was similar to the fizzy drink that my mother used to buy as a special treat, called ‘Tropicade’, which had a sweet, fruity taste. Instead, on gulping it down, I found it was a rather unpleasant (to me) minty taste, like mouthwash. The magic of ‘neurogastronomy’, an emerging interdisciplinary field that explores gastronomy through the lens of the brain and behaviour [91]. Neurogastronomy can provide scientific insights into the sensory and emotional responses that drive the enjoyment of food while travelling, adding a deep layer of understanding to the experience of gastrotourism [92].

5.3. On Offal, Religious Feasts and Cucina Povera

Lizzie: Reading about your vegetarian experience, Teresa, brings to mind a small restaurant in Dalaman, Türkiye, which is an offshoot of a spotlessly clean butchers’ shop offering customers the opportunity to consume the meat they have chosen, freshly delivered from a charcoal grill with accompanying breads, and salads drenched in pomegranate molasses and olive oil. On one occasion, during the Islamic holy month of Ramadan, we were seated in the restaurant, waiting for the canon to sound, signifying that those observing the fast may eat Iftar—the welcome meal after a day of fasting [93]. I am not a follower of Islam, but I am sensitive to the fact that others may be fasting when I am on my travels and make every attempt to be sympathetic by not eating in public during the day.

For Ramadan, the restaurant was providing a set menu, and once the reverberations of the sunset cannon, which was fired from the grounds of the adjacent mosque, had faded, we were served soup as a starter. I took a few mouthfuls and found that the flavoursome soup contained shreds of meat and something that looked vaguely like chicken. I asked Gary, my husband, what he thought it was, and, trying to hide a knowing smile, he said it was brain. We had inadvertently ordered Kelle Paça, or ‘head and trotter soup’. It is written that this soup is normally served at breakfast [94], and that is exactly what Iftar is—the breaking of the fast. My stomach churned. I managed to finish the soup minus the offal and made a mental note to make sure that, henceforth, soup would be of the chicken or lentil variety. I am not a fussy eater, but I really do not like the thought of eating offal, although I know it is something that is prized in certain geographical areas.

The food in this restaurant is, unsurprisingly, Halal, or permitted by Islamic Law [95]. Halal tourism is a significant component of the wider area of gastrotourism, and this market segment is projected to number 230 million people by 2026 [96]. This notwithstanding, I am narrating the food-related activities of a non-Islamic traveller to (amongst others) an Islamic country almost coincidentally to consume halal food without religious motivation and partake in the pleasurable phenomenon of gastrotourism [97] for hedonistic reasons [98]. I am, however, always in search of authentic food experiences.

A few months on in the same restaurant, having finished our delicious, carnivore-appropriate meal, we were given a ceremoniously presented plate of lambs’ liver kebabs. Gary ate two, but that left four skewers of offal that I could not manage, and so I surreptitiously bundled the warm and fragrant liver chunks into a paper napkin and secreted them in my handbag. We left the butchers’ shop, thanking everybody for a wonderful meal, leaving a hefty tip and receiving a chunk of rose-flavoured, sugar-powdered lokum (Turkish Delight) and a handful of lemon cologne to clear our nasal passages and cool ourselves. Exiting the restaurant, I suddenly realised that to my embarrassment, I was generating an enormous amount of interest from the street dogs, and, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin [99], trotted around the corner where, out of line of sight from the butchers, the dogs were given an unusual treat. Although we do not see much offal on restaurant menus within the UK, it is customary for it to be used in Turkish cuisine [100], and the restaurant staff certainly seemed to be enjoying their feast as we departed.

Teresa: I totally get that. Offal is definitely one of those things that can make some people cringe. I mean, the thought of eating things like brain, kidneys, or tripe just does not sit right with many. It is one of those foods that is deeply embedded in some cultures and cuisines, but for a lot of people, especially those who are not used to it, the idea alone is enough to make your stomach do flips! As a vegetarian, I am chill with people eating meat. I am not here to convince anyone to stop; everyone has their own preferences. We all have different tastes and beliefs when it comes to food, and I totally respect that. Offal is one of those ‘acquired tastes’ that some people really enjoy because of its texture and strong, earthy flavours [101]. But for someone who is not into it, it can feel a bit much. There is just something about the thought of eating organs, even though they are perfectly safe and packed with nutrients, that does not sit well with everyone.

However, it is quite traditional in Italy, and in other parts of Europe, to eat cuts of meat that would not necessarily be the first choice. These cuts are often used in well-known, iconic dishes, and food-lovers who are in the know often hunt down renowned restaurants or little ‘trattorias’ that serve them. Take Rome, for example. There is ‘Coda alla Vaccinara’, a dish where oxtail is braised in a tomato-based sauce with celery, carrots, and sometimes a bit of white wine. It is rich, flavourful, and sometimes served with bread or pasta, like ‘Rigatoni al Ragù di Coda alla Vaccinara’. And from Rome, you have got ‘Trippa alla Romana’, where tripe is simmered in tomato sauce with onions, garlic, and Pecorino Romano cheese. Or, of course, the classic ‘Pasta alla Carbonara’. This Roman pasta dish uses ‘guanciale’ (pork cheek), the traditional ingredient, which is fried crispy and mixed with pasta, eggs, Pecorino Romano cheese, and black pepper to make a creamy sauce. And just to be clear, NO bacon and absolutely NO cream! [102].

However, I think it is really important that cuisine celebrates all ingredients, especially those that make up traditional dishes, ingredients that celebrate the ‘cucina povera’ (translated as ‘poor kitchen’). This culinary tradition was born out of necessity, a way of making the most of inexpensive, simple, and often humble ingredients. The idea is to create flavourful and nourishing meals with minimal resources. It is about using what you have, often leftovers, local produce, and low-cost cuts of meat or vegetables that are overlooked in many kitchens [103]. The philosophy behind cucina povera is rooted in times of economic hardship, but it is more than just that. It emphasises creativity, resourcefulness, and, most importantly, a deep respect for food. Take the classic ‘pasta e fagioli’, just pasta and beans. Simple ingredients, but when put together, they create something comforting and nourishing. Or ‘panzanella’, a traditional bread salad made with stale bread, tomatoes, onions, and olive oil. Again, just basic ingredients, but packed with flavour [104].

What is beautiful about this tradition is that it reminds us that we do not always need expensive ingredients to create something delicious. And if we eat less meat, focusing on more plant-based meals and simple ingredients, we are not only honouring these traditions but also contributing to a healthier planet. Cucina povera teaches us that less can be more, and there is a lot of value in simplicity, not just in food, but in how we approach what we consume and how we care for the world around us [104]. Cucina povera not only reflects a frugal approach to food but also embodies a deep respect for community, tradition, and sustainability. As research on urban poverty highlights, food carries social and cultural significance beyond mere sustenance, shaping identity and belonging [105]. Meanwhile, the Slow Food movement champions the same principles of simplicity, locality, and ethical consumption, demonstrating how traditional cuisines rooted in necessity can inspire more sustainable modern food choices [106,107]. The rise of ‘agriturismo’, farm-based hospitality that promotes regional, seasonal food, further strengthens this connection, allowing people to experience food grown and prepared with respect for the land [108]. It also offers a unique way to explore a country, providing full immersion in its traditional gastronomy and rural heritage.

Lizzie: Teresa, I love the concept of ‘cucina povera’ and acknowledge that it is something that people have, of necessity, adopted in cultures all over the world. My husband speaks of his uncle being sent out to trap pigeons during the second World War, and those, along with rabbits, were an important part of the family diet for some time due to their impecunious situation. It is very interesting to see that these days, some top restaurants will serve an haute cuisine version of these meats—not so much a necessity these days as a treat, and one which will definitely attract visitors to restaurants, whether at home or abroad.

I remember while leading a student study-visit to Hungary, some of our international MBA students took great delight in competing to eat the most outlandish items. This competitive sport was documented by Heinrichs [109] while writing about culinary thriftiness. Thankful for my chicken salad choice, I recall them being presented with plates of zúza pörkölt—a stew of chicken gizzards—and that was probably not the most curious of dishes that they ordered that day! I have heard this phenomenon called ‘neo-primitive cuisine’, although it is also written about using the term ‘nose-to-tail cuisine’. One of the most off-putting things I have encountered in terms of food is a Vietnamese soup called ‘pha lau’, which has slices of intestines simmered in a rich, blood broth [109]. Neurogastronomy, thanks for making my stomach lurch just by reading that description. I will stick to my chicken Caesar salad, thank you.

6. Conclusions

We both feel it has been enlightening and enjoyable to have developed this autoethnography together and to find similarities not only in the way in which we seek gastrotourist experiences, but also in the way in which different cultures address the consumer experience. We know that individuals’ stories are at the heart of autoethnography and that something unique happens to us through storytelling [110]. We have subjectively explored both the emic and idiographic perspectives, as is appropriate for autoethnography [111] and have found both commonalities and differences in our lived experiences.

Using autoethnography as a method for exploring our lived-through events has, in line with Grant’s [112] discourse on crafting papers in this vein allowed us to ‘address and connect with what it means to be alive and moving along lived-through experiences’ (p. 198).

Supporting the Proustian [113] notion that tastes can bring to the fore vivid, involuntary memories, we also believe that food and drink can be evocative, possibly because we engage so many senses in the experience—taste, touch, smell, and sight, and even, on some occasions, sound. The connections then between these sensory experiences make the links to memory, culture and also emotion easily accessible, taking us to specific moments in our pasts, like tasting freshly caught and cooked lobster for the first time at a beach-side restaurant on a quiet and undeveloped Greek island, and in our imagination, hearing the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, smelling the salt air mingling with the delicious aroma of the lobster, seeing the setting sun above the turquoise Aegean Sea, and feeling the happiness and contentment of that time.

We acknowledge that authenticity in tourist food experiences is both subjective [37] and dynamic [51], and that the experience considered by us to be authentic is manufactured for tourists [68].

Although as authors we have significantly different backgrounds with regards to travel experiences, we have each sought authenticity in gastro-tourism, choosing our destinations based upon the genuineness of dishes offered by restaurants. As a vegetarian, Teresa is not evangelistic about her meat-free choices, but as a meat-eater, even Lizzie is unable to face dishes made of offal. However, we both feel it is still important to consume fewer animal products and immerse oneself in the traditional and authentic cuisine of the locus we are visiting.

Within this article, we have aimed to embrace authorial exposure and produce accounts which are reflexive, to the extent that we demonstrate adequate levels of self-awareness and self-exposure for the reader to make a judgement about our points of view [112]. With this in mind, we will not attempt to impose any interpretation on the reader, as we have made statements, reflected on them, contextualised them within the social and theoretical, and are allowing our writing from that point onwards to speak to the reader itself.

We consider that future research may draw more fully upon such elements as food marketing and consumer satisfaction in the overarching area of gastrotourism. Additionally, we recognise the need for exploration of gastrotourist experiences in countries and cultural groups other than those explored within this article and hope that autoethnography will be perceived by researchers as an effective research tool in this area.

We hope that in reading this autoethnographic account of authenticity in gastrotourist experiences, other authors will be inspired to take up the baton, continue the conversation, and contribute to the rich, thick data that emerges from this method of research.