Food Writing Grows Up

Also a vintage menu from one of America's greatest chefs. A punchy new vinegar from Jose Andres. An anniversary. And a movie.

I was recently asked what I think about modern food writing. The question made me go back and look at my introduction to Best American Food Writing of 2018. I would say that since then things have gotten even better!

Here it is, along with links to many of those articles.

Food writing is stepping out.

It’s about time.

For far too long its’s been the timid little sister of the writing world, afraid to raise it’s voice. Food writers were missionaries of the delicious celebrating rural simplicity - usually in other countries- or luxuriating in the extravagance of urban fare. Sensual and sensuous, their tools were nostalgia and travel.  One sent you back to better times, the other off to explore new places. The food writer’s stock in trade was flavor and aroma, their goal to make you very, very hungry.

But that was in another time, an era when America’s interest in food was so minimal that serious writers refused to choose it as their subject. It was, they thought, beneath them. I plead guilty: fifty years ago, when I began to write, I bristled at being labeled a “food writer.” Back then food writing was tepid stuff, created primarily by women for women. When Mary Frances Fisher began writing in the thirties she used only her initials, hoping readers would think she was a man and take her seriously. Even forty years later, I understood:  “I’m a writer,” I kept insisting, “not a food writer.”

I had my heroes of course - A.J Liebling, MFK Fisher, Joseph Mitchell - but they all belonged to the past. By the time I stepped into the field food writing was held in such contempt that when Jacques Pepin, studying for a PhD in philosophy and literature at Columbia, proposed writing a doctoral thesis on the history of French food in the context of French literature he was turned down flat. He’d planned to start with Ronsard’s “Apology to a Field Salad,” go on to the wedding feast in Madame Bovary, and of course, deal with the famous madeleine. But it was not to be. “Cuisine,” his adviser pontificated, “is not a serious art form. It’s far too trivial for academic study.”

This situation endured for a very long time. As recently as twenty years ago, when my first memoir was published, book stores had no idea what to do with it. The biography people refused to embrace a book about adventures at the table. “We don’t keep it on the main floor,” one salesman told me when I asked where I might find the book,  “it’s about food."  He made a contemptuous gesture and pointed upstairs. “Go look in cookbooks.” But the cookbook people were equally disdainful. “What we sell,” they told me, “are recipes.” The notion that food writing might offer more than advice about ingredients struck them as absurd.

A few years later, when I arrived at Gourmet Magazine, little had changed. My publishers were horrified when I suggested that an epicurean magazine should offer its readers more than recipes, restaurants and resorts; the old formula they said, was working very well. Any hope that readers might think otherwise were soon dashed; when we began stretching the boundaries to include literary articles by prominent writers many longtime readers howled in protest.

I couldn’t help thinking about that as I began to read the articles series editor Sylvia Killingsworth chose for consideration in this book. Immersed in a fabulous feast of words, I thought how thrilled I would have been to have had such bounty when I still had a magazine. Back then only a handful of writers were willing to tackle food subjects and it took great persuasion to get the best to change their minds. Even later, after Gourmet readers had broadened their outlook, many writers still refused to believe that subscribers to an epicurean publication were interested in articles venturing beyond entertainment.

The situation so distressed me that when I addressed the Association of Editorial Newspaper Editors twelve years ago, I used my time to beg them to start covering food. I began by saying, “I’d like to try and convince you that many of the important issues we’re dealing with today are, ultimately, about food. And that they belong not only in food sections where, in my opinion they do not often enough appear, but also, very much, on the editorial pages of our newspapers.”  I was desperately trying to prove that what we eat has an impact on our lives extending far beyond the table.

That speech would be ridiculous today: over the past few years Americans have changed their minds about food. We’ve shaken off our indifference, transformed our outlook and recognized that food offers a unique perspective on almost every subject. Nothing could make me happier. These days so many writers are fascinated by food that it’s difficult to pick up a newspaper or magazine without finding an article focused on some aspect of edible culture.

What happened?

I hate to admit this, but much of the credit goes to food television which turned chefs into celebrities and made cooking cool. An entire generation grew up watching smart, articulate people talk about food in interesting ways; the result is that young Americans are the most sophisticated eaters this country has ever raised. Millennials have tugged food into the realm of popular culture and given restaurants a new kind of respect.  Previous generations went to restaurants to celebrate special occasions but eating out has become an everyday occurrence. Food used to be something to eat; now it is something to talk about, as important as music, art and movies.

The internet certainly played its part. As we spend increasing hours buried in our computers the very fact that food can't be consumed virtually gives it a special resonance. You can, of course, post pictures of what you’re eating - people do that by the millions - but that’s no substitute for the scent of onions caramelizing in butter, the sound of stock burbling on the stove, or the shocking coldness of an ice cream cone. And no photograph will ever be as thrilling as a slice of chocolate cake. Even the most avid technocrat must occasionally escape from virtual space, and what better place to do it than the kitchen with all its dangerous knives and delicious aromas?

This grand passion for food eventually led to questions; it was pretty much inevitable. Where, we began asking, is our food coming from?  What is going into it? Who’s in charge? The answers have been unsettling: modern technology has changed the way almost everything we eat is raised, caught, created, consumed and transported. These days it’s impossible to ignore the fact that this has reshaped not only our bodies, but also our communities and the way we relate to each other. Food is, in a very real sense, redesigning the world.

In the face of all this is it any wonder that writers in almost every field have embraced food? And that has created yet another dramatic shift. Ten years ago a book called Best American Food Writing would have been filled with articles gleaned from epicurean publications. Not any more. These articles come from an enormously wide swath of publications: literary magazines, newspapers, science journals, business publications, sports magazines and the internet. It’s become abundantly clear that no matter which corner of the world you’re focused upon, food has something important to tell you.

When I became a food editor my mantra was that every great writer has at least one good food story in them, and I made it my job to ferret that out. But it turns out I was wrong; every writer has at least a dozen great food stories, and they are now producing them at an unprecedented pace.

It’s exciting - and daunting. Choosing the articles for this book was one of the hardest tasks I’ve ever faced. It would have been easy to fill these pages with moving personal essays about growing up and discovering the wonderful world of flavor. I was certainly tempted. I love rich, delicious prose, and I could sit for hours reading Tejal Rao tell about growing up with cookbooks.  Few people describe food as poetically as Ligaya Mishan. And reading Wyatt Williams is always a pleasure.

I’m also easily seduced by writers who travel to places I’ve never been and return with fabulous tales.  I loved tagging along with Anya Von Bremzen as she uncovered the glories of Baku. Alex Halberstadt’s lyrical visit to a Japanese temple opened up a whole new world to me. And when John T. Edge takes the great American smokemaster to Spain, I’m thrilled that they’ve taken me with them.

But other voices clamored to be heard. Angry voices. Raucous voices. Impolite voices. This was the year when race, class and gender became fodder for food writers, and many spoke up with clear-headed rage. I dare you to read Amanda Cohen’s screed on women chefs without laughing, crying and ultimately searching your conscience. Lauren Michelle Jackson, Marissa Higgins and Lauren Collins each had a similar effect on me, and I both wept and winced as I read their words. This is the new sound of food writing - muscular, passionate, powerful - and intent on fomenting change.

For many years we turned a blind eye to the important part politics play in deciding what we eat. Our ignorance is over: food writers are embracing the subject with new rigor.  As Jane Black chronicles the revenge of the lunch lady she takes us into the complicated world of the school lunchroom with all its messy local politics.  Clint Rainey explores the convoluted place that cheese now occupies on the national table; it is a clear demonstration of how profoundly government policy impacts our daily diet. And when Ligaya Mishan starts to examine the effect immigration policy has had on Asian-American food, she ends up exploring what it is like to be caught between the obligations of inheritance and the desire for self expression. This is a story about the third generation, about what happens when the food of other places becomes the food of America.

 But there’s another, equally compelling side to that particular coin.  When Julia O’Malley tells us about a talented young hunter she is really asking a profound question: what happens when the ancestral food ways of native cultures bump up against modern mores?  It’s an ethical issue, and the answers are uncomfortable.

For most of human history raising food has been man’s major occupation, which is why agriculture has such a unique way of connecting the past to the present. Now food writers are beginning to understand what farmers have always known: plants are, in a very real sense, living history. Agriculture has always had an honored place at the food writing table, but that too is changing. When Shane Mitchell looks at rice, he sees not just a grain, but a crime. Ted Genoways takes us down to the farm, hoping to make us understand how profoundly modern production has changed the lives of farmers.  And although Harold McGee begins with a simple question, his answer goes beyond yes and no to look at the unique way cooking and science might interact.

I’ve chosen writings from across the spectrum, hoping to offer a snapshot of the way America eats at this particular moment in time. That’s why I’ve included restaurant reviews.  No longer content to be consumer reporters who tell us where to spend our money, the best restaurant critics are now bending the form. They’re cultural critics now, and they understand that the places we choose to eat not only tell the world who we think we are, but also who we want to be.

Restaurants themselves have been constantly evolving, and the way we look at them is evolving too. In the past, chef profiles tended to be pleasant little personality pieces focused on what some famous person was cooking, along with the reasons why. We would have learned about their childhoods, their families, their homes. But restaurants have become big business and the profiles I’ve included here go beyond personality to examine the new face of chefs who are turning themselves into valuable brands.

Food in America is an almost six trillion dollar industry, so it’s no surprise that some of the best food writing takes us deep into the world of business. But here too food writers are bringing something special to the table, another way of peering behind the curtain.

 “Produce,” says Dana Goodyear as she explores the strawberry business,  “is war!”  Her reporting goes beyond market share and dollars to demonstrate something crucial about the intersection of agriculture and business. Beth Kowitt explores the brave new world of alternative meat, beginning with this rather startling statement: “Animals are lousy tools for converting matter into muscle tissue.” Building on that, she initiates us into the mysteries of a world that did not even exist a few years ago. What, these writers are really asking, do these foods tell us about the way we now live?

Food writing may be turning up in the most surprising places but  I did not expect to find it in a magazine dedicated to competitive sports.  But The NBA’s Secret Addiction is a testament to the central place food has come to occupy inmodern culture.  More than that, it is incontrovertible proof of food writing’s uncanny ability to delve into the secrets of hitherto hidden worlds.

But while some food writers are busy tearing down walls and creating transparency, others continue taking the long view. For these writers food is simply a jumping off point, a way of talking about larger issues. In many ways these are the most satisfying pieces because they offer us the entire world in an oyster, an orange or a country store. These writers start small and think big, reminding us along the way that this thing that we do, this activity that keeps us alive, can be a way of making sense of the world. These writers insist that we pay attention to our food, pointing out that it is something to cherish and protect.  And in the end their words are a reminder that in an increasingly complicated world, appreciating what we eat is a simple way to find grace.

This is the first time this series has included a volume on food writing, and I am honored to be the inaugural editor. My one regret is for the many wonderful words that got left on the cutting room floor, the many talented writers I couldn’t include.

But all those lost articles give me hope. They are proof, if we need it, that food writing is not only alive and well, but growing bolder every day.  I like to think that if Mary Frances Fisher were still with us she would no longer feel the need to hide behind her initials. I hope that no University will ever again sneer at the notion of a food-focused thesis. And I know one thing for sure: these days I not only admit to being a food writer, but I do it with great pride.

Michel Richard was one of the most talented chefs I have ever reviewed. A one-time pastry chef, he opened a restaurant in Los Angeles in 1987 and discovered how happy he was in the kitchen. His food was playful and endlessly inventive and Citrus instantly became one of the city’s most exciting restaurants.

You can read my review here.

I’m a longtime fan of the vinegars created by Lindera Farms, and I am never without a few of their creations.

They’ve just collaborated with Chef Jose Andres on two new - and very unusual -vinegars. The Gazpacho vinegar turns all the flavors of the cold soup - tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, olive oil - into an intriguing dressing for a salad. (As a bonus, this vinegar is made from cosmetically challenged vegetables that would otherwise have gone to waste.).

And that Sangria sipping vinegar makes a lovely, lively, nonalcoholic aperitif.

Gramercy Tavern is celebrating its 30th anniversary by inviting a number of alumni chefs to take over the kitchen. I went on Tuesday night when Kyle Knall, who opened Birch in Milwaukee in 2021, was cooking.

It was a wonderful night; all manner of food folk came out to celebrate both the restaurant and the chef. My favorite dish was this ricotta-filled pasta, featuring an unusual blend of corn, feta and jalapenos. The flavors rocked, but it was the texture that blew me away: the pasta was so tender it seemed to evaporate in your mouth.

As many of you know, I spent the covid years working on a documentary, Food and Country, that explores our broken food system. Although I spoke to a wide swath of people across the American food landscape, director Laura Gabbert and I ultimately chose to focus on the people who produce our food - independent farmers, ranchers, and chefs - and let them tell their stories.

I’m excited to report that after 18 months of festival appearances and community screenings, we are finally going to be in movie theaters - and then available to rent via video on demand.

If you’re in New York City from October 2-5, please come join me, Laura and other special guests for post-screening discussions.

You can view the NYC schedule and purchase tickets here. 

You can access all of our national screenings and showtimes here.

Finally, you can keep up with all of our activities at www.foodandcountryfilm.com.