Secrets of the City

I liked the article (especially the title, as I am a self proclaimed Food Slut), I don’t think she came off as an elitist at all. Sounds to me like Ann is a former food critic moving on to other writing ventures…

I for one wish her well…

Hey Ann, get in touch with me and lets go split a nacho and a pitcher at Cuzzy’s to celebrate this new chapter in your life!

I can’t read that article because there’s no site pass today!

Sure there is–something about a Honda Civic and a chrysalis.

Good find.

Like all scenes, I imagine the foodie scene can be irritatingly insular and over-wrought. But there is something in the tone of this that I don’t like — I suspect it’s my lack of sympathy for the narrator.

At the same time, I still occasionally say that I wasn’t able to really enjoy music until I stopped writing about it, so I can see where the strange guilt in this piece is coming from.

Towards the end, she gets to a more thorough critique of the food writing industry, and this is the damning quote for the local magazine:

“‘Food porn,’ I was told at the Monday editorial meeting. That was key. Enough with the essays about science and art; no more interviews with God-fearing conductors. Starting immediately, the magazine was slashing word counts and doubling the number of photos. Also, we needed more chefs. Cute ones. Funny-looking was fine if they were ethnic; but for the most part, we were looking for young, white, rock star guys.”

Bauer writes: “Truth be told, food alone didn’t rivet me. And I certainly was no chef. On nights when I wasn’t dining out, I could be found in my kitchen dumping a block of frozen hamburger into a pan, turning the burner to high, and hacking at the meat until it was loose enough for me to mix with a couple of jars of spaghetti sauce.”

It’s no surprise she didn’t like her job. I bet she likes, nay, perfers, Ragu. Probably with Creamette macaroni. With a paper plate and plastic fork. While watching Married with Children.

The articles she proposed struck me as more interesting than the ones she had to write, but I was bothered by the prostitution metaphor.

Doing things that you wouldn’t choose to do because your boss says so” sounds like the definition of a job. Was she forced to lie? Was she forced to humiliate herself? The word “prostitute” is like the word “war”; you probably shouldn’t throw it around unless you’ve experienced the real thing. “

[Also, a cross-reference: a post from July about Ann Bauer's book.]

Find me a job that isn’t prostituting yourself. I solicit every day.

I actually have little to no opinion at all about the article. Other than this, I suppose: Someone is actually surprised that the members of the upper echelon of any scene — food, art, music — become apathetic towards what was once their passion? Doy.

Evidently, I have to see Klute.

Yeah, but does she tip at the bad waitress?

Well, it’s published in Salon, the journal of those so much smarter than the general popoulation, so take it from there.

Speaking as Ann Bauer’s equivalent (loosely) at her (former) competing magazine, I find her essay maddeningly cynical and ironically self-hating. Why would Minnesota Monthly hire a restaurant “critic”/editor (they were mostly features, not real reviews) who had no knowledge of the topic or real passion for it? What must they think of their readers? And what are we to think of Ms. Bauer, who went from just looking for a meal ticket to enamored with the most vain, least meaningful trappings of her beat, to complete and utter indifference, but still had to be pryed from the beat. Her insights into the editorial process at MM are amusing, and should be spotlighted for its readers. The people who we write for do actually merit some consideration in my shop, where, whatever its flaws, the cynical realm of “food porn” has never entered the discussion. The Twin Cities is full of engaging food journalists, many of them highly eccentric, all with their strengths and weaknesses, but I’ve never seen anything from any of them as cynical as Ms. Bauer’s tell-all.

Good points, Adam. You wrote what I wish I could have written had I not been so sputteringly stupified by the condescension of it all.

(Hi, by the way. We met at TCR years ago.)

Evidently, I have to see Klute.

You should. Jane Fonda can make herself cry until she’s dripping snot. Paging Oscar!

Cross-link: Hans’ thoughts at The Rake.

Predictable? Granted. Flamewar? Hardly.