Now I Am Become Death.
“Don’t do it. You’re worth more than that,” Jon replied when I asked him about writing for the guide.
“The venues are *beep* and you’ll be forced to say nice things,” he said.
“Pay is shit. They only started asking people of colour because there were complaints that they’re too ‘white’,” the text flowed through, like Don Draper trying to talk Joan out of sleeping with the head of Jaguar to win the account in Mad Men1.
“It’s not worth it,” Don and Jon said in unison.
And like Joan, an invisible tear rolled down my cheek.
Because I already submitted a review the week before.
Just like the rich telling you money isn’t important, Jon has the talent, the experience, the ethics, the choice, to reject the guide.
Not I. I cannot reject what I don’t have. If I do that, I’ll sound like those gaming nerds with waifu pillows who claim relationships are overrated - technically true, but not very persuasive.
I think I made this argument before: if you don’t take the microphone when offered, don’t complain about not given the chance to speak.
Besides, work is work - all I had to do was write one review2 and come November, I’ll have a ‘food critic’ title under my belt.
Six weeks shy of November, Jesus released his book.
In the book, he claimed the current biggest danger to a restaurant, is a terrible review, written by an untrained food writer. Countless businesses, chefs, and families are being held hostage by the broken system constructed by the food media.
It never occurred to me that when he said ‘food critic’, he meant me.
I’m not the guy with ‘power’. I’m the guy trying to come up with a better adjective other than ‘crunchy’. (Crispy? Brittle? Cracking? Gutsy! )
But still, suddenly, food critic = uncool.
Now I am become death, the destroyer of restaurants.
And I thought it was the terrible food and poor business models that destroy restaurants.
Pop quiz hot shot: What is the difference between a food critic, and a phleb with a phone and money to eat out?
Back in my day3, a food critic gets paid by publications in exchange for their opinions. They eat anonymously and pay out of pocket.
The rest are usually labelled as food writers, bloggers, or as Ralph Fiennes uttered disgustingly in The Menu - ‘foodie’. Then there’s ‘influencers’ who receive comped meals in exchange for positive reviews and exposure, we call that paid / sponsored advertising, and the scum of the scum are the ones who received comp meals, and still gave one star reviews.
Surely, being paid to eat and write about food can’t be difficult?
It must be fun.
It’s not difficult if we compare it to the procedure of removing one’s appendicitis.
It’s not difficult when you’re ranting on Google, to your newsletter subscribers, on a blog, but when you have to condense an experience into 140 words and not sound like an idiot, go through a checklist, and be reviewed by editors, to earn your ‘pay’ … I agree with Jon that towards the end, the money is simply a symbolic gesture.
It’s a weird sense of responsibility, powered by an inflated ego.
Yes, you need a bit of ego, pride and standard to know if the service is slow, if the staff is being a little too pushy, if the plates are from K-Mart4, if the menu is just Japanese gobbledygook, or if the food is microwaved. To know that your opinion matters.
Can’t book under our real names, can’t use credit cards because nowadays payment systems have records of everything. You also have to photograph the menu, document what you ate, keep receipts. There’s a little bit of James Bond thrill in that.
I asked a senior food writer how they did it before phones, she said there was a lot of hiding in the toilet cubicle, pens and notebooks.
The hard part isn’t the writing, it’s the buildup to the exact moment before pen to paper, finger to keyboard.
The hardest part, was being objective. Yes, that includes trying food you dislike. To be reflective, and decide if it’s actually your fault that you dislike certain dishes.
I wish it were as easy as being my daughter in the supermarket when she was three, thumping her legs on the floor going: I don’t like it!
No, it’s a little bit like being the parent instead.
It’s against my contract to reveal places, but I think I’m allowed to share:
We ate at this restaurant on a Saturday night, and just before I hit ‘send’ to the editors on Monday, I wanted to confirm their opening hours one last time.
Google: Permanently Closed.
What.
I checked their Instagram page, and sure enough, their most recent post at 10am started with ‘It’s been a great 4 years …’
My review of the restaurant was a positive one.
I recommended it to be included in the guide.
Can I play a reverse UNO card - if a publication pays writers and photographers to review the restaurant, what happens when the restaurant goes out of business? Who refunds the publication? Is it fair? What happens to my beautifully crafted review? Is it not also the restaurant’s responsibility to validate the publication?
No, it doesn’t work that way.
So here’s a second reveal - restaurants close down with or without reviews.
During our writers’ briefing, I was hit with isolation and anxiety, PTSD from high school/university/corporate world orientation. I had to text Jon:
Is that what Captain Marvel looks like OMG
Wine, crackers and cheese OMG
I did take three things out from the briefing: sure, there’s a ‘points’ system, but ultimately:
Instead of thinking why it should be in the guide, think of any reason why it should not be included in the guide;
Is the food, good?
Are the people around you, having a good time?
Never once were we taught to rub our palms thinking: boy you’re going down tonight.
Or like Joaquin Phoenix in The Gladiator, thumb hanging mid air.
Maybe those who think what reviewing is about, never get approached to write.
Through weird timing and serendipity, I’ve had a week of meeting the Avengers5 of the world of food writing.
All of them had something to say about Jesus, but after a minute, we moved on to something else. Because we have our own lives to attend to.
Only when a friend told me point blank ‘he is literally attacking you’ with the emphasis on ‘you’ as in me, that I felt a little hurt.
I’m not the guy with ‘power’. I’m the guy trying to come up with a better adjective other than ‘sour’. (Acidic? Puckery? Vinegary? Sharp? Zesty! )
None of the Avengers came to defend the attack from Jesus, on social media, or openly on the press.
Maybe that’s why he pushed it and kept punching, even on the day before the launch.
Cut to Miss Marvel, the chief reviewer, who countered with an opinion piece.
I’m glad she did it, I was wondering if it would be Lady Di. I sent her a thank you message. It was a well needed Kamehameha.
And I wonder, did she do it with a sigh, eyes rolling?
Was this after all, a tad childish?
It’s no surprise that the rest of Australia finds Melburnians insufferable6.
A book launch can’t only be a book launch.
A guide can’t just be a guide.
This was supposed to be a celebration, a party.
For readers to know we have good food in Victoria, and where to find such good food.
The year Chae was awarded chef of the year. (The first Korean female? Can anyone confirm?)
Supposed to be Moon Mart’s week, cafe of the year.
Aoi Tsuki - one hat to two.
Sushi On, Yugen Omakase - two hats.
Why are we not talking about the Koreans dominating Melbourne’s dining scene?
What are they doing right?
What can we learn from them?
Danny’s Kopitiam - critic’s pick of the year, sure, but M Yong Tofu is in it too! Malaymas, Kakilang, Hor Kitchen, Pappa Laksa… I’m not sure the Hojiak guys know what they’re up against in the Malaysian ring.
Where is Myth and CC Wok. Where’s Lulu’s, why no Laksa King, some people will be butt hurt by no Gai Wong etc.
One of my favourite games to play with friends is to go through the guide and count how many of our favourite places are NOT in the guide.
This was supposed to be fun.
No, but we’re Melburnians, of course there has to be a higher meaning.
Of course there’s a deeper cause. Some ethical drama.
Food can’t be food, food has to be about suffering.
We’re Melburnians.
This was also supposed to be about me!
Revealing to you that I’ve been eating and writing undercover for the year.
For the greater good (food). I even designed an email banner to celebrate.
To tell you I did not go to *beep* venues, but mum and pop places, places without table services, without wine lists, where their front of house was their family, at places where being included in the guide would help both the business and the community.
Even though half of my subscribers aren’t even in Melbourne, let me plug that The Good Food Guide is available now for $14.99 at your local newstand, or as part of the digital subscription with The Age.
I am one of the forty five professional eaters who contributed to the guide. I now understand more about reviewing a restaurant, and I’m glad I did it.
You can read it if you want, but you don’t have to.
I’ll still accept you for who you are.
Season 5 Episode 11 ‘The Other Woman’.
I wrote more than that.
Nowadays it seems like anyone can be a food critic.
Some of those Asko stuff is fire though.
Not my words, but Lee Tran’s.
Look at Sydney’s guide, no dramas there.