Yeah, like those Vogue models can eat like you...

[gabe]

In Vogue, your articles (about the joy of eating) get run alongside photo shoots of malnourished-looking supermodels. Do you think this is a bit like rubbing salt in the wound for people with healthy (though not chic) body types and appetites? Or do you see Vogue as just a soapbox for you, incongruous juxtaposition of rich food and stick insects be damned?

Thanks... love your work, by the way -- it's even worth having to breathe those perfume-insert fumes.

[Jeffrey Steingarten]

Dear Gabe,

You make an important though ultimately incorrect point. Just kidding.

Look. I do not write for incredible gorgeous models. I write for the minority of Vogue subscribers who have or may some day have an interest in good food; for people like you who, I assume, buy or steal copies of my articles at the dentist, at the carwash waiting room (in southern California), or at your wife's gynecologist; and for people who will some day buy or steal my books. The readers I have in mind as I write are: Anna Wintour, my editor, people who've sent me positive letters; food-writer friends; members of eGullet and others who know a lot about eating.

But hey, have you ever stood next to a supermodel. I remember some party, the kind I'm never invited to, where I was forced to stand in close proximity to Christie Turlington. Yes, her interest in things like yoga shows that she's obsessed by the need for self-improvement and preservation. But I was able to detect that her body is made out of different materials from mine. Her skin was an even pink, smooth, sleek, unblemished, and fitted perfectly to the underlying flesh. I wanted to ask her whether she believed that we two were members of the same species, and why. I don't believe we are--any more than a fat house cat is truly related to an Ocelot. By the same token, why assume that she doesn't consume 15,000 calories of the most fabulous food every day, while you and I grow fat on 2,500?

For even further proof, I can report on my lunch with Giselle. So here was my idea. I had heard from a Vogue sittings eidtor that Giselle has all kinds of youthful Brazilian food memories and many modern theories, none of which involve dieting. I proposed the idea that I interview her over lunch. Anna went for it. I bought a new tape recorder, the kind that doesn't have tape. I engaged the services of an overnight transcription company. Giselle's agent suggested Nobu, around the corner from Giselle's apartment or loft. I love Nobu, but I found out that Giselle does not eat raw fish. Her favorite is that Brazilian meat place, Plataforma Chur... (sp?)(ck?), where I've eaten well. She agreed. We sat at her special table in the far corner, near a window or terrace full of light. You don't really order; they come around with long skewers of everything, and everything is dripping with the most savory juice. Much of the time, they would serve her and then forget about me. I had to interrupt our interview to beg for my share of the food, of the little special crispy morsels they saved just for her. There was no loss here because the interview was a flop. We didn't get along. She didn't understand my jokes. She was immune to my quite evident charm. But I did take two things of great value from the experience. First, I ate some really scrumptuous meat. And second, I saw the perfect Giselle is an sbsolute hog, a total pig, at table.

I asked her my question about Ocelots and fat house cats. She was misbelieving. I explained. "You're silly," she replied. "Of course we're the same species. We both have language. We both see the same things." I'm not so sure.

[Fat Guy]

Let me add a bit of testimony to that of the esteemed Mr. Steingarten. I write -- on a much smaller scale, and without the same kinds of editorial resources (or skill) -- for Elle, a competing fashion magazine. And along the way I've dealt with a few preternaturally thin and attractive women, one of whom is my editor. Well, let me tell you, I have had some lunches with this woman where I couldn't believe my eyes: she kept pace with me -- Fat Guy, I call myself! -- during a marathon meal at Douglas Rodriguez's new place OLA, which as you may know serves mountains of gut-busting low-carb food. Rodriguez knew we were media and sent us pretty much everything on the menu in treble portions, and she ate. We went to Town and she ate, and then afterwards she tasted various chocolates I'd just received from all over the world in preparation for a chocolate story. We went to Mix and the guys in the kitchen are still talking about how much we ate. Some of these women can eat, plain and simple. Along the lines of Mr. Steingarten's Plataforma project, I had an assignment to go have some supermodels cook for me. It didn't amount to enough to write about, so it was ditched. Yet some supermodels not only eat, but also cook and even take cooking classes at a fairly serious level.

But beyond that, there are some other things one learns writing for this audience:

For one thing, the fashion magazines in general have a strong commitment to food writing. Vogue and GQ have perhaps the best in-depth food writing out there -- better than anything being published in any food magazine. Certainly if you look at the Beard Awards track record, these two fashion magazines are quite dominant in their categories. Others, like Harpers Bazaar, Elle, and Mirabella, don't have as much food coverage but do occasionally bust out with a good food-related story.

For another thing, fashion magazines and their editors are heavily oriented towards aesthetics. And ultimately the whole area of food connoissuership falls under that umbrella. Thus, while not all fashion magazine people are foodies, they do tend to be able to relate to those who have a fascination with the aesthetics of anything. They also tend to be excellent at choosing good food photographers and making stories look great. And because these magazines are high-circulation, big-budget, and well-staffed, they tend to have good editorial and fact-checking mechanisms (I consider myself a very rigorous fact checker, but the people at Elle often hit me with queries that make me go back to my sources for follow-up).

And for still another thing, I have received many, many nice e-mails and notes from Elle readers that have indicated an interest in food and food writing. Maybe some of these people don't eat with gusto, but they still seem to enjoy reading about food.

Finally, I think the generally well-educated, professional, upscale audiences of magazines like Vogue and Elle just plain enjoy good writing like what Mr. Steingarten produces. You don't have to love food to love Jeffrey Steingarten's writing. You just have to love words.

And if all else fails, there's always binge-and-purge.

[Jason Perlow]

And if all else fails, there's always binge-and-purge.

Damn, why didn't I think of that one?

[Jeffrey Steingarten]

I've tried B 'n' P (binge and purge) only a few times. They call it bulemia to make it sound like a disease. That is way harsh. It's part of the double-bind into which our culture puts the overweight. I've looked at the identical twin studies. Raised together, their weight will show an 80% correlation. Raised apart, it'll be 70%. So, genes account for 70% of our overweight, nurture 10%, with the remaining 20% for the environment (which today means McDonalds, etc.) and will power.

Maybe that's why people who lose weight gain it back 95% of the time. And yet every attempt to classify chubbiness as a medical matter is ultimately derided. Whenever some new hope such as leptin fails, the Times writes the same cruel and ignorant editorial: Yes, someday those mad, mad scientists may discover a silver bullet. But until then, we stick with the tried and true--diet and exercise. Let's just pull up our socks!

Tried and true? It doesn't work! It's just a way of making it our fault and punishing us for it. Perhaps B 'n' P is the only out. Until the true Fen/Phen returns.

To change the subject: I'd like to congratulate Mr. Shaw on his appointment to Elle. When I started writing about food, Elle had the most extensive and in some ways the best food coverage of any non-food magazine. There were eleven pages in each issue, beautifully photographed, with lots of recipes, and it was mainly about France or about French cooks in the USA. For a while, the young Jonathan Gold was writing the articles, though he was rarely allowed to travel.

And then, during an advertising recession, probably around 1993, Elle underwent a transformation--along with the other fashion magazines. During these periods, the business people become much more powerful and crass, and what they consider inessential is discarded. The French-born woman in charge of food at American Elle--I had lunch with her once but can't remember her name --was fired. I was lucky to survive. Those days are gone. But let me wish Mr. Shaw luck and courage in bringing back some of what Elle gave to fashion foodies a decade ago.