Is the term ‘food writer’ a valid description?
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I regularly sign up for a range of culinary websites, including Christopher Kimball's Milk Street. In his latest newsletter, Kimball made waves by taking a bold stance on food writers, asserting that the very concept of being a "food writer" is questionable, since writing about food shouldn't be any different from simply being a writer. Amidst his critique of contemporary food writing, he lamented how modern food writers tend to embellish the simplest dishes with a barrage of unnecessary, flowery adjectives. Implicitly, he seemed to suggest that food writing used to be clearer and straightforward, implying that those older styles were superior.
Accompanying his argument, Kimball expanded further, critiquing American food preferences. During a recent visit to Calabria, he noted that locals preferred familiar, locally sourced meals that highlighted ingredients in their purest form, contrasting this with Americans' penchant for indulgent creations like "Awesome Pretzel Chicken Tenders." He went on to say, "A well-made burger doesn’t need Donkey Sauce. Dinner doesn’t have to be theater. Ovens should only need two settings—bake and broil—not twelve." His entire email carried the tone of an older person lamenting societal changes.
This kind of critique of perceived excess has been a recurring theme in Kimball's work for years. Back in 2012, he told The New York Times' Alex Halberstadt, "I hate the idea that cooking should be a celebration or a party… Cooking is about putting food on the table night after night, and there isn’t anything glamorous about it." Later in the same interview, he remarked, "There’s something about pleasure I find annoying." It’s clear why he might disdain overly romanticized descriptions or metaphors about food.
Nostalgia for a bygone era is another hallmark of Kimball's persona. Since his days at Cook’s Illustrated, he has cultivated an image of a down-to-earth Everyman, often waxing poetic about life on a simple Vermont farm where he writes about farming, chopping wood, raising cattle, and other quintessentially rural pursuits. For those familiar with farm life, this seems like little more than rural role-playing. No one who actually spends summers and falls chopping wood to heat their home during winter is likely penning sentimental essays about the experience. Kimball portrays himself as a humble country boy, though he actually grew up in affluent Westchester County, New York, attending an exclusive prep school. (The family did own a vacation home in Vermont.) Someone who travels to Calabria to immerse themselves in local culture is hardly an Everyman.
There is some merit to what Kimball is saying; undoubtedly, there is plenty of overly simplistic and redundant food writing out there. However, dismissing the entire category of "food writer" as illegitimate is absurd. What else would we call someone whose primary focus is writing about food? If "food writer" doesn’t exist, then neither do "sports writers" or "business writers." The term "food writer" serves as a practical shorthand, which should appease Kimball's desire for simplicity. Similarly, while it’s true that many Americans enjoy bold flavors and large portions, reducing everyone to wanting the latest novelty from a chain restaurant is unfair. Not all Calabrians adhere strictly to Slow Food principles either—some may very well love Applebee’s. Meanwhile, countless Americans deeply appreciate simple, well-prepared meals. The farm-to-table movement is thriving across the country, whether Kimball acknowledges it or not.
As I write this, I’m looking at two full bookshelves filled with works authored or edited by Kimball. In his email, he clarified that he wasn’t aiming to criticize modern food writers outright, acknowledging that many are skilled at their craft. Similarly, I don’t mean to discredit Kimball’s extensive contributions to quality content. Cook’s Illustrated played a pivotal role in my development as a cook, and I’ve enjoyed numerous recipes from Milk Street cookbooks. I just hope he’ll stop relying on this shtick and celebrate what he enjoys without belittling others' preferences. Dinner can absolutely be a form of performance art if that’s what you desire. If you like Donkey Sauce, go ahead and use it! I embrace all ten settings on my oven, and if given the chance, I’d happily try those Awesome Pretzel Chicken Tenders.