John Whiting

To clarify any possible misunderstanding: It is not "my" Newsletter, but the monthly periodical of the Guild of Food Writers, an elective organization representing over three hundred members of our profession in Great Britain. I was asked to write the article by one of the directors, who had been following with interest what was happening on the site. He thought that I had accurately caught the essence of it in what was necessarily a very short piece and made no changes except slight editing for length.

It's a fair cop. I plead innocent on grounds of insanity.

Steve, I had no idea. I didn't even look at the league tables because it never occurred to me that I could be in such elevated company. This changes everything. Which part of the article would you like me to rewrite? [Certainly not the part that identifies you as a James Beard winner! ]

As requested, here is my article written late in May for the July Newsletter of the Guild of Food Writers [uK]. Since then, eGullet has been showing symptoms of resuscitation. ############################################### BUNFIGHT AT THE VIRTUAL BEANERY John Whiting Through the miracle of the Sparklist, many of us [in the Guild of Food Writers] have experienced the delights and dangers of electronic communication. The information flow is exhilarating, but even in this closed list of professionals the temperature sometimes approaches boiling point and when the stewpot is open to the public it can turn into a simmering blood bath. If you enter an internet newsgroup devoted to food you’re liable to discover a milieu closer to “La Grande Bouffe” than “Babette’s Feast”. Chowhound, one of the most widely known food discussion web sites, has survived for several years and is still broadcasting occasionally useful if not consistently reliable information. But the signal-to-noise ratio is closer to short wave than to FM. The format is so open and access so easy that casual visitors may chime in with discordant or irrelevant drivel. The owner’s response has been to censor postings which he regards as unfit or inappropriate. But power corrupts and the criteria for exclusion are sometimes quixotic rather than sensible. A number of useful contributors have been declared persona non grata and shown the door. LAST year a pack of pedigree ex-Chowhounds decided to set up their own kennel with the glottal-stopping moniker “eGullet”. Leaving little to chance, they mapped out a sophisticated web site partitioned off into a network of carefully thought-out culinary and geographical categories, each under the supervision of an expert moderator. “Members” could sign in under a nickname and automatically include a logo and/or signature block in their postings. Running statistics on their participation encouraged activity and continuity. As a vote of confidence in human nature, there would be a minimum of censorship. This optimistic package attracted both dedicated amateurs and established professionals. Stephen Shaw, the “Fat Guy” whose web site won a James Beard award this year, was one of the founding directors. Among those who signed on, LA Times food writer Russ Parsons has made an occasional shrewd contribution and Jay Raynor, the Observer’s restaurant critic, submitted gracefully to a frat-house-type hazing. On a couple of occasions Anthony Bourdain has burst onto the scene like a crazed serial killer, sprayed the screen with a rapid-fire burst of obscenity, and retreated into his lair. You never know what glittering celebrity may show up next. SUCH an exhilarating free-for-all invites the usual nutcases, but in addition to the official moderators, there is a formidable self-appointed cadre who set the tone for most of the high-traffic topics. A posse of vigilantes is constantly on patrol, laconically dropping private jokes and learned wisecracks that cow most of the trolls and wafflers. They can move into an unlikely topic and keep it ticking over for weeks, batting one-liners back and forth like ping-pong balls. The membership numbers among its company an elite of big spenders with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the world’s most expensive restaurants, to which they return with a regularity no mere food writer could afford unless his name was Jeffrey Steingarten. Anyone planning to spend big bucks in a strange city would do well to put out an enquiry on the appropriate “board”, where they will soon gather information more detailed, reliable and up-to-date than the printed guides can manage. These well-heeled punters tend to share a political and economic philosophy that’s altogether appropriate to their conspicuous consumption. In one popular exchange they asserted at length their moral right to spend a hypothetical $4600 on a single meal. They’re as American as a freshly truffled omelette. As in trendy food magazines, the really useful stuff can be low key and soft focus. EGullet has a cooking page where you can go for detailed technical information, much of it from highly skilled practitioners. Such topics don’t lend themselves to wisecracks, and so here the jokers are mostly silent. There’s also a regular feature in which a guest expert is available for a couple of days to answer questions. Shaun Hill made a noteworthy appearance, followed by Washington Post Food Editor Jeanne McMannus. Anthony Bourdain, when called upon to host, made a number of trenchant observations, responding appropriately to both serious enquiry and shameless sycophancy. The ‘ethnic’ pages can produce unexpected riches. The moderator of the Indian section is Suvir Saran, a cultural polymath from Delhi who now lives in New York where he conjures up banquets for the great and the near-great. Questions concerning the history of Indian cuisine have drawn from him a continuing analysis of Indian and Pakistani cultures and their interrelationships, together with an awe-inspiring evocation of their gastronomic complexity and extravagance. It should be required reading for those world leaders who so clumsily attempt to intervene in Asian politics. BUT following his fervent participation in a heated discussion of anti-Semitism and Islamic fundamentalism [now deleted], Suvir became the victim of a monomaniacal campaign to ditch him. He has returned by invitation from the Board but confines his contributions to the self-imposed ghetto of Indian cuisine. He would venture beyond it at his peril, for there is a pack of vociferous carnivores who would still relish his head on a platter. Alas, the real victim of their machinations has been the site itself. The riding of obsessional hobbyhorses and the rampant personalizing of discussion has cast a mushroom cloud of sectarian fallout over every Board. EGullet threatens to become a gastronomic Big Brother, in which the exchange of useful information is drowned out by raucous games of “Let’s You and Him Fight.” Substantial food-centered threads are thinning out, to be replaced by culinary trivia; once-familiar names who could be relied on for thoughtful contributions are quietly disappearing. There has been some infusion of robust new blood, but how long will these promising new members put up with the clubbiness and the vitriol? If the wreckers continue to be given free rein, eGullet will disappear down its own oesophagus. Be they ever so crass, there’s a kind word to be said for editors. EVEN as electronic communication accelerates, the travel budgets and expense accounts of hard-copy journalists shrink to a pittance. With virtual information flowing so freely, food writers around the world surf the net in search of the latest gossip. Thus, like the menus of anonymous fusion restaurants in luxury hotels, the food pages in periodicals thousands of miles apart grow increasingly interchangeable. Is this the future? Are professional food writers doomed to become scavengers furtively scooping up scraps from under the virtual table? It’s time we went back to the wellsprings of our culinary traditions and let down our buckets. There are more important themes than the endless search for the World’s Greatest Chef. Take the wise words of Jane Grigson and carve them on the wall: “We have more than enough masterpieces. What we need is a better standard of ordinariness.” ©2002 John Whiting

One social fact is well documented: throughout Europe the peasants who worked in the rich men's kitchens learned their masters' techniques and took them home, where they were adapted to more humble fare. Thus, over a period of several centuries, it can be difficult if not impossible to arrive at a *class* origin for many recipes.

When evaluating scientific evidence, it is now essential to determine which scientist, which project, and which sponsor paid for the research. Evidence concerning nutrition is inherently no more reliable than the evidence of reputable scientists who for years maintained that there was no connection between smoking and lung cancer. An essential new source comes from the University of California Press:

Only when I pay an extravagant compliment.

My personal favorite is Elizabeth David's in her _Mediterranean Food_.

Given that more and more of the population (including me) have high blood pressure, and given that it increases one's chance of heart disease and ultimately failure, that seems to me a pretty good place to start. When the Grim Reaper finally confronts me, he's not going to be interested in any reasons I give as to why, logically, he shouldn't be there.

I slept through them all.

Probably because they didn't need to. There's no way of verifying this, but it wouldn't surprise me if you were the only reader who had detected the error. (Certainly, I would wager, the only one who cared.)Cabrales, both your knowledge and your standards are very high indeed. I think it's a shame for you to waste your nervous energy worrying about the inaccuracies of those who inhabit what is virtually another universe. (I intend no irony whatsover. Please take this literally, at face value.)

Bear in mind that many periodicals that used to have fact-checking staff who went through their articles looking for errors no longer have that luxury. I know from journalist friends that they must often rely on press releases for information, with no time to check questionable or even apparently spurious claims made on behalf of products or services. The truth is whatever you can get away with.

The seven minimum qualifications for the post of restaurant reviewer may be summarized as (a) omniscience and (b) omnipresence. Only God need apply and he won't necessarily get the job.

I find the 24-hour *anything* vulgar in the extreme. How very American! I knew there was something I'd forgotten. . .

I don't feel the need for a garnish with cheese, but I wouldn't accept the premise that no cheeses are ever enhanced by a complementary flavor. It would be a short step from there to the dictum that no flavors are properly complemented by the addition of cheese. There go salads with blue cheese dressing, cauliflower/broccoli with cheese sauce, potatoes with raclette, cheese omeletes, cheese souflees, tartiflete, aligot . . .

For more than a quarter century I've stayed off-and-on in a cheap hotel at the north edge of Paris near the Porte de Clignancourt in the 18th arrondissement. The neighborhood is now predominantly Arab, but by no means "threatening". The Cignancourt Flea Market is close by and the no. 4 metro is just around the corner -- it will get you into the middle of town by the time you've comfortably settled into your seat. The hotel is a short block away from the busy boulevard Ornano. There are no shops or bars on this little side street so the rooms are quiet. For a long time it was a shabby but respectable pension with many long-term residents, but all that has changed. Everything has a new coat of paint and there's a massive food-and-drink dispensing machine blocking the view of the beautiful old iron staircase at the end of the foyer. But in spite of the clean-up it's still only a one-star hotel, which means that last year the 49 rooms still cost between 140 and 270 francs, the most expensive being a large double with two beds and en suite bathroom. The difference in cost from a centrally located tourist hotel means that my evening meal, even at a good restaurant, could be considered "free". (I prefer to put my money into things that don't happen while I'm asleep, which is why I never buy expensive opera tickets.) Hotel des Olympiades 22, square Clignancourt 75018 Paris Tel 01 46 06 65 91 Fax 01 42 58 12 62 Metro Simplon

I generally consume my cheese with relish and gusto, in equal quantities.

Steven, I'd relish (as it were) all your suggestions -- providing the cheese course was the only course there was!

Toby, thanks. If you discover more I'll be very interested.

(This seems to me to overstate the case against.) As usual in dietary matters, the evidence is stacked by the food manufacturers. For a run-down on changing governmental policy in the UK in response to pressure from big political contributers, see: http://www.healthmatters.org.uk/stories/bussell.html The recommendations exceed in stringency my own personal practice, but that's because I err on the side of self-indulgence.

One thing I like about the French manner of serving cheese is that it is quite normal to eat cheeses of any kind with a knife and fork rather than with bread or biscuits. In those last critical stages of a large meal, it is a mistake to take up precious stomach room with mere starch! The cheese trolley I have never seen surpassed is the heavily-laden behemoth at Le Mas in Longuyon near the Luxembourg border in the Lorraine. Madame Tisserant goes regularly to the markets at Lyon, where she stocks up with cheeses in various stages which complete their affinage in Le Mas's cellars. And she doesn't stop loading your plate until you beg for mercy!

Alas, all uniformly black olives have been dyed. Genuinely ripe olives are varying shades of black/brown.Toby, you say that the Chinese eat olives "fresh". Do you mean, as they come off the tree, untreated in any way? That is truly awesome! A favorite trick with a neophyte in an olive orchard is to pick a couple off the tree, pretend to eat one, give your guest the other and watch his face.

The Lobster Pot! My parents used to take me there in the 1930s. Later, when neon signs were banned on Commercial Street, the Lobster Pot was exempt because their neon sign had been up since time immemorial. See it still glowing, though at a new location, at: http://www.ptownlobsterpot.com/

There's pretty strong evidence that at least a large minority are adversely affected by salt in large quantities. These days most of it comes in processed foods. My own reaction is that I rarely eat commercially processed foods, even crisps/chips or salted nuts; I infrequently eat in restaurants (not more than a couple of times a month); and what I cook myself or my wife cooks for me I salt to taste. I don't like the taste of salt but neither do I like the blandness of unsalted food; I aim for the fine edge in between.Following that pattern, I know that I'm getting much less salt than the average Anglo/American.

Over the years I've been very well served at RSJ on Coin Street, corner of Stamford. Set meals are good and offer three courses at under twenty pounds including coffee and service. It's about as close to the Tate Modern as you could ask for.