Haters gotta hate...and write, apparently.
This article in Slate is either a perfect example of horrible food writing, or a perfect example of me not getting it. Like other articles I’ve written about, this story has been done to death. Yes, there are frequently long wait times in New York restaurants. Yes, it’s especially bad during Sunday brunch. Yes, this now applies to Brooklyn as well. I mean, I get it, it's in Slate’s A Fine Whine* section, but there’s nothing terribly fine (or interesting, or original) about it. Again I ask the question, “This person got paid actual money to write this?”
But a boring, pointless article isn’t the problem here. This is what the author, Jessica Grose, has to say about food in general:
On a more basic level, I fundamentally don’t care about food. I’m sure there are nontasters who get specific cravings for turkey sandwiches or strawberries. But when I’m hungry, all I want is to replenish my blood sugar, and I don’t give a fig how that happens. In college, my friends used to call me “the goat” because I would eat whatever trash was lying around—including chicken bones, really old pizza, and their scraps. In A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers fantasizes about a pill he could take once a day that would meet his nutritional requirements. Dear Dave, if you’re reading this, please manufacture such a pill because I would order a lifetime supply
I’m going to paste the first sentence in here one more time to make sure that I’m not hallucinating.
I fundamentally don’t care about food.
I fundamentally don’t get this. Is there any subset of journalism where people are paid to write about things they have no interest in other than food writing? I can’t imagine a sportswriter who has no interest in sports of any kind being allowed to publish and article proudly declaring their disintrest in the subject, and then complaining about how long the lines are at the stadiums. Can you?
Of course not. But then, sports is a populist pursuit, even though it’s played by millionaires who work for billionaires. New York restaurants–yes, this now applies to Brooklyn as well–are elitist and snobby.
Seriously, though. I’m very critical of restaurants and food, and expect food and restaurant journalism to be more critical than me. But hating the concept of eating isn’t criticism; it’s jackassery. Well paid professional jackassery, apparently.
*Unless you’re one of those types whose happiness is so fragile you can’t bear even a hint of negativity, the articles in A Fine Whine can be pretty good. But this one wasn’t.