Killing The Reviewer?

Some musings, this afternoon, on the ethics of food blogging. 

Dianne Jacob, author of “Will Write For Food” (the book anyone interested in food writing should own), posted a piece this week entitled “5 Ways Bloggers Changed Restaurant Reviewing“. In the wake of Sam Sifton stepping down from his post as reviewer at the NYTimes, she observes a shift in restaurant/reviewer dynamics (both positive and negative) that she attributes to food bloggers. What are food bloggers doing differently?

According to Dianne: “Food bloggers don’t wait to review. Restaurants have opening events for bloggers. Bloggers are more likely to cover an event than to review the food. Blog write-ups are more positive than print reviews. Bloggers celebrate all kinds of restaurants, not just fine dining.” 

Before I comment, I want to say that Dianne’s posts are always thought provoking. Usually I agree with her, but even when I don’t I appreciate her clarity, opinion, and commitment to discourse. (She’s also brilliant at responding to comments.) In this case, I agree that a shift has occurred but I’m not sure to what degree these generalizations about food bloggers are the cause.  I’m pretty sure that Sifton didn’t step down because of Yelpers and bloggers. But, the piece did make me question my role in the shift.

As queen of my small corner of the internet, The Second Lunch, am I a culprit? Do I commit blogging sins? Ethical blunders? Have I unintentionally axed Sifton when I write about Ma Po Tofu in Belmont?

I like to eat out, and I like to write about my experiences. Writing about a good experience extends the pleasure of the event, and is in itself a little hedonistic. Nobody pays me to write about bad experiences – so I usually don’t – but I recognize this is probably a mistake on my part. Some of my favorite pieces by other writers are negative reviews. Writing honest distaste is a craft in itself.

For a long time, I avoided writing about any restaurants or products because I didn’t want to offend anyone. I wasn’t sure that it was “fair” to write about something that I’ve only experienced once or twice, and frankly, I didn’t want to get un-invited to a future event because of a negative slant in my posts. I used to be much more snarky on my personal blog, and I’ve held myself back in this slightly more public space by an invisible standard I’ve been trying to set here. An erroneous standard, I believe. Why should I be afraid of my experiences swaying an audience? Some people are more critical in print than they are in person. I’m the opposite. I’m never afraid to speak my mind to someone in person. (My closest friends are chuckling at the understatement.) Now, people who I’ve never met read this blog. I know they do, because somewhere along the line I started obsessively checking my Google Analytics and Feedburner, sigh. As more people started reading, I committed a sin: I tried to be someone I’m not. I held back because I was afraid. I denied myself the experience of writing because I didn’t want to offend anyone by being myself. Yes, I understand this is counter-intuitive. And it made for some terribly boring writing.

Which brings me to my first goal in this space: becoming a better writer. What makes a good writer? Practice. Let’s face it, I don’t have the time or financial assets to practice writing traditional print-style reviews. And in order to become a good writer, you have to write what you know. So sometimes this means that I write about a place that just opened, or an event that I’ve been invited to. I’d love to write about my meal at Per Se, but I can’t afford that. I’d love to write long form pieces, but a blog isn’t really the ideal space to write 3000 words. So I write about my little experiences. I could write these pieces and file them away for thirty years, or rip them up because they aren’t good enough, but the internet allows me to self-publish. Publishing here motivates me to work harder at my writing.

My second goal? Being part of a community. I’m not sure that someone who publishes reviews of restaurants in a major publication feels the same sense of community as those who write (and read) food blogs. Traditional media has long relegated the writer to a lonely position. The Dining & Wine section doesn’t offer space for comments. When I write a post, I’d like to think that I’m offering a reader an opportunity to live vicariously and encouraging discussion. I like reading and responding to comments. I like the conversation that spills off the blogs and onto Twitter. I like the fact that I’ve met so many people because of this space.

As a part of the community, I feel obligation to both my readership and society at large. I was interested to read one of Dianne’s responses in the comments of her post: “If your sympathy is on the side of the restaurant, you are not representing your readers.” While I agree that traditional reviewing requires you to be on the side of the reader, as a blogger I also have a relationship to the food world in its entirety, including restaurant owners, chefs, authors, etc.

Who am I writing for? Unlike a traditional reviewer, I’m writing for myself as much as (and sometimes more than) I’m writing for a reader. My blog is a place for self-discovery. 

What about anonymity? I’m not anonymous, because I want to interact with members of the community. I want to learn. When I take photos, I’m taking them for myself and for my readers. I understand ethics, and reasons why one might want to conduct an anonymous review, but I submit that so many people have the desire to share things publicly now that a blogger wielding a fancy DSLR will rarely affect the quality of the meal. Bloggers are now required by law to disclose freebies, and I when I read about a free meal a blogger received, I take that into account – just as I take into account the fact that a professional reviewer is often being paid to eat at a restaurant, and doesn’t feel the sting as much as someone who has to shell out the cash on their own. (Although this is changing as more print-media reviewers are seeing major budget cuts).

Accepting freebies? A few years ago I was at a dinner with Dianne (same one!) and her husband Owen. Owen worked as a professional technology reviewer, and told me (to my surprise) that reviewers must return test products as part of an ethical standard. I think this is changing. I don’t find it to be an ethical conundrum to accept free products. I just don’t.

And how about other food bloggers influencing my actions? The bloggers who intrigue me are the ones who don’t gush, who write thoughtful pieces, and who seek a wide variety of personal experiences. As a reader, I’m wary of those who constantly shill for free products and PR events, but I don’t discount them automatically because they accepted something free. You read enough crap and you very quickly learn to skip over the fluff, and seek out the good stuff. Earlier this week Jen at Tiny Urban Kitchen put up a mini-review of Clover, a restaurant in Harvard Square I’ve been meaning to try. The review wasn’t glowing, but it was positive. The photos were excellent (most in-print publications can’t afford to have so many high quality photos in their articles). When my friend Amanda texted me at 8:30 in the morning letting me know that there were *free cider donuts* at Clover I sprinted out of bed. A blogger had planted the seed, and yes, I succumbed to a freebie.

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, but keep it civil please!  I don’t want to have to reach out from my sovereign territory and hit someone with a stick. But I can! Because I’m a blogger!

So my questions for you: a) Do you write about restaurants? Why? Are you “reviewing”? b) Do you accept freebies? Have any qualms? c) Who are you writing for? 

Finding Chinese Food: Golden Garden

On the way back from our strenuous shopping trip to Ikea, Devon jokingly said he needed $50 dollars worth of Chinese food. Immediately. Preferably two orders of egg rolls. And by jokingly, well, he wasn’t. I’ve been feeding him too many cruciferous vegetables. After five healthy home cooked dinners this week, take-out Chinese food was the appropriate antidote.

The conundrum: where do we get Chinese food in our new city

Finding good Chinese food is a crucial task for any relocation, and not one I take lightly. When we moved to San Francisco, well-researched Chinese take-out was the first meal we ate – on the floor of our apartment the day we moved in, New Years Eve. My thought process was that if we were going to kill each other building Ikea furniture and unpacking boxes, our last meal had damn well be a good one.

San Francisco has long been a good city for Chinese food, because it became a stopping point for many immigrants from diverse regions of China. In New England, the iterations of Chinese food are less regional, and skew towards a “Chinese-American” that has little to do with native cuisines. And they are often significantly altered for a more… Puritan palate. (For a fascinating book on the topic, I highly recommend Jenny 8. Lee’s book ‘The Fortune Cookie Chronicles’.)

This is not to say the Boston area takes this type of food lightly. I grew up with classic landmarks of Chinese-American food that rivaled anything in the country. The 1200 seat Kowloon Restaurant was opened in the 1950’s, and is still popular to this day. In the late 1980’s, Rick Chang built a 51,000 square foot copy of Beijing’s Imperial Palace, and opened a restaurant that served 5000 meals a day, and even had a separate Kosher catering kitchen for the 40% Jewish clientele. Alas, the restaurant closed a decade later due to bad management, a recession, and tax evasion, among other things. These are the nostalgic spots with the pu-pu platters, tropical drinks with umbrellas and deep fried egg rolls the size of a small burrito. I’ve never been above this type of dining, but they fulfill a different category of culinary desire.

You then have restaurants that serve food with a semblance of what you can actually find in China, which is typically what I’m looking for. Most restaurants have something in between these two. They can still have General Gao’s Chicken on the menu, but as long as they have some decent native-style dishes, I’m a happy camper. (You know, the ones that your Asian grandmother would semi-approve of, or at least recognize the components of the plate. We all know that she can make it better.)

From my preliminary findings, Chung Shin Yuan seemed like a good idea, but after further research, it was noted that the place is really only good for it’s Taiwanese Dim Sum on weekends. (I’ll jump on that soon). Next on my list? Golden Garden, in nearby Belmont.

We were too far for their 3 mile delivery radius, but after reading scores of reviews recommending their dumplings, we drove over to Belmont at 6:30. The restaurant is located on the corner of an unassuming neighborhood block. There were no cars around. Indeed, we were the only ones seated in the restaurant – although many people stopped by to pick up take-out as we ate. This was a relaxing experience after an afternoon with new-college-parents in Ikea. Devon actually got deliberately rammed by a mother with a cart.

We sat right next to the window. Our waiter was new, maybe a college student, but on top of things. Tea arrived immediately, and we were entertained by the “authentic Chinese-American restaurant zodiac placemats”. I had forgotten about these which seemingly were too kitschy for Chinese restaurants in San Francisco, and I feel nostalgic about every time I see them. Devon is a Pig (zodiacally speaking),  and I am a Tiger. We don’t technically clash, according to the chart.

I wish we ordered more adventurously, but I tend to be cautious on my first experience. The menu had Szechuan cuisine, so I went that route. (Although, later I found out the chefs are from Dongbei, in Northern China, which would explain the lamb on the menu.)

After some deliberation, we ended up with a cup of egg drop soup for Devon, an order of pork and leek dumplings to share, ma po tofu, and rice noodles with pork.

Aside from the egg drop soup, which was slightly bland but serviceable, the food was a success. The dumplings – which you can purchase frozen in bags of 50 – were moist, succulent, and really flavorful. The dumpling wrappers were thin but didn’t break, and they were also boiled, rather than steamed or fried, which really makes a difference in texture.

Devon’s noodles, which I had successfully recommended he get rather than sweet and sour pork, came to the table looking unassuming, with small strips of pork and chopped scallions,  and was surprisingly well seasoned. The next morning they also made a shockingly good stir fry with cubes of zucchini and bitter greens.

My ma po tofu was soft and jiggly – Devon has “textural issues” with food, and hated it. I found it outstanding. The tofu was soft and fresh, the dish had a great ratio of tofu to meat sauce, and it was spicy enough that I had to order an extra bowl of rice. On my next visit, I plan on ordering more of the house specialties: the cucumber with garlic from the “cold delicacies”, the cumin-scented lamb, and a few of the offal dishes.

The bill came to $27 dollars and we had plenty of leftovers to take home.

Golden Garden

617-489-4428
63 Concord Ave. Belmont, MA 02478

Golden Garden on Urbanspoon

Putting Down Roots

A few weeks ago, we got it in our heads to look at apartments in Boston. The two months of living with my parents was surprisingly calm, but we both enjoy having our own space. I missed cooking for two, instead of cooking for four. I missed sweet, blissful silence. We looked at apartments online, and visited a few outrageously expensive small spaces. More expensive than our apartment in San Francisco? The size of a padded cell with sloping ceilings that even I was sure to hit my head on? “But it’s right in Harvard Square…” I tried to rationalize, ignoring the fact the oven was half size. It’s a good thing Devon has more sense than I do about these things.

And then….

We found “the one”. The knee-buckling, makes you feel wobbly, teen movie first love, “one”.

The top floor of an 1890 Victorian home in Newton, a suburb of Boston. There were no photos on Craigslist, and the description seemed too good to be true. The house had all the charm we both wanted:three bedrooms, a living room with a turret, a large eat in kitchen, two bathrooms, and a clawfoot tub. A small balcony off my office. Three parking spaces. Heat and hot water included. Exactly what we were paying in San Francisco, but double the size. Better yet, the house needed a little bit of love – not the big stuff, but painting, little projects, upkeep, and the landlord would be willing to fund our “This Old House” fantasies.

The landlord emailed us the next morning to let us know that he was planning on showing the place again, but if we wanted it, it was ours.

What did we do? Turn it down. 

I wasn’t sure I was ready to move yet. I loved spending so much time with my mom.  Devon and I were both working freelance. And I was scared of ghosts in an old house. Yes, ghosts. Living in Newton was too “adult”. Turning down that house seemed stupid and I regretted it. And then three weeks later the landlord sent us another email. The people he had shown it to had jumped at the apartment (we knew they would), but failed the credit check. The place was still ours if we wanted it.

By that time, Devon had a new job at creative agency doing what he is really good at. I was ready. We brought my mom along. We tactfully asked if anyone had complained about hauntings. The landlord looked at us and laughed out loud. I took that as a good sign.

And now, we are here.

We sold almost everything we owned in San Francisco larger than my cookbooks and his guitars, so we are starting from scratch in a house that has more space than either of us could have hoped for. We’ve been working on the necessities. We have our internet set up. I have a new library card. We have a bed, our TV, and one single chair. I’ll be back in the kitchen, writing long to-do lists, choosing color swatches, patching up walls, having people over, and keeping you all updated. It feels exquisite.

And, I’ll finally have a place to put these: