My Foodie Idol (or “Why I Do What I Do”)

“You can be a decent critic if you know about food, but to be a really good one you need to know about life.”

At her most notorious, Ruth Reichl’s very presence in Manhattan brought restaurateurs into such a state of agitation that cautionary memos circulated around kitchens: “Watch out for this woman. Unruly hair. Smiles a lot.”

During her stint as head restaurant critic for The New York Times (from 1993 to 1999), she was known to resort to elaborate costumes to conceal her identity –  a feat which she chronicled in her memoir, Garlic and Sapphires. She’s been awarded with four James Beard Awards (for both journalism and restaurant criticism) and numerous awards from the Association of American Food Journalists. In 2007, she was named Adweek’s Editor of the Year. Her memoirs have sold millions and it’s rumored that the story of her life will soon hit the big screen.

But on a personal note, her work has driven me (and countless others) to passionately chase a career in food journalism.

Reichl never went to school to be a food professional; she studied sociology and art history at University of Michigan. She spent a childhood in Manhattan, then time at a Montreal boarding school. She traveled to Europe as a teenager, traveled through South Africa with her college roommate, but never stepped foot in a culinary institute.

In fact, when she started, food writing wasn’t considered much of a career at all. Her education was in living – in a healthy curiosity about all there is to consume.

Reichl’s work in food began during a pivotal time in American history, during the emotional and revved up time following the Vietnam War, when sustainable eating became something of importance and American cuisine became more than just burgers and Betty Crocker. As the chef and co-owner of the Swallow Restaurant in Berkely, California, she played an integral part in the culinary revolution that blossomed at that time.

Reichl has the remarkable ability to be in the right place at the right time, recounting in her memoirs about dinners with Alice Waters; trailing a young upstart named Wolfgang Puck as he tried to open his first restaurant; befriending James Beard and Marion Cunningham.

She began her food writing career in 1972 with a now out of print cookbook, Mmmmm: A Feastiary, consisting of earnest recipes and considerable quirk. She moved on to become a restaurant critic for New West and California magazines, then moved to the Los Angeles Times where she was restaurant critic and eventually a food editor.

It was at The New York Times that her writing really gained national attention. She’s been credited with “democratizing” the world of food criticism, making it more accessible to the average readers. Rather than continue with the same conservative (snobby) platform that her predecessors had created, Reichl was subversive, favoring offbeat sushi restaurants and insider finds rather than the four-star French restaurants that had previously dominated restaurant coverage.

Famously, she brought down a well-known French restaurant, Le Cirque, with her dual review portraying the vastly different treatment she received while dining in disguise and when she was recognized as herself.

I admire Reichl as much for her work as a critic, as for the way she tells a story through her experiences with food. Her first two memoirs, Tender at the Bone and Comfort Me With Apples, deal with food in the context of family, politics, sexuality, love, loss and growth. When Reichl writes about food, she wants the reader to feel the connection to the meal and the experience.

You can’t describe taste, she says, but you can describe feeling. Flavors are conveyed in a way that gives them context in life – like the passage that recalls the taste of truffle like the way “a forest smells in autumn when the leaves are turning colors and someone, far off, is burning them.”

In April 1999, Reichl left the Times and joined Gourmet Magazine as editor in chief. She described the switch here:

“To me, in many ways, the magazine is like another collective that I’m in, a lot of us working together with a common goal, bringing a lot of different viewpoints. I can’t write about the politics of genetic modification, but I can ask someone to do it. I can’t do fast recipes, but I can get someone else to. So we sit down and decide what we want to cover, and we have the manpower to do it. It’s really exciting. One person comes up with an idea, and we all refine it, get it down to its essence, then go out and do it. It’s broadened the scope of what I can do. The truth is, as much as I loved writing restaurant reviews, it always felt very self-indulgent to me. It was so much fun, I loved doing it, but there’s so much else to say about food. Now, we’re saying it.”

In October 2009, publisher Conde Nast decided to shutter the print version of Gourmet. After 68 years of living vicariously through the luxe photographs and alluring stories within its pages, at-home gourmands were left in shock. This move was not for lack of readership (circulation was up at the time), but as a strategic move economically.

I heard the news while visiting a friend in Berlin. It was such a shock. How many years had I idolized this magazine, its slick pages, sensuous photography…wasn’t I supposed to write for them someday? What happened to that dream? We drank heavily that night and made the most indulgent crepes imaginable – for dinner. I dedicated my weekly newspaper column to mourning the magazine, but couldn’t bring myself to write about it on my own blog. I tracked down an imported copy of the final issue (for £6, thank you very much) and devoured the entire thing cover to cover in my London bedroom.

I admired the way Reichl approached the loss with dignity and optimist. This was not the end of food journalism – it was the evolution. She continued her work through a blog on her personal Web site, devoted more time to Gourmet.com, the award-winning multimedia version of her beloved baby, and embarked on a book signing tour for her latest cookbook. Life moves forward, she told us.

And so it does. In a way, I feel like we are on the precipice of another great food revolution, one that seems very Ruth-like in nature; this new democratic era where everyday people get to be critics, thanks to an abundance of incredible food blogs and a chorus of passionate voices. We’re moving towards great transformations in the worlds of food and journalism; is it my time to be a part of the uprising?

I’m ready, fork in one hand, pen in the other.

Why do you do what you do? Do you have a foodie hero? Tell us about it in the comments.