You
would be forgiven for thinking that the title of B. R. Myers’ piece, “The Moral
Crusade Against Foodies,” initially sounds like a satirical look at some
obscure, on-going critique of the poorly-defined group of American epicureans
known as “foodies.” After all, “moral crusades” have never ended well
historically and in contemporary society seem to belong primarily to the
bigoted and the mentally unstable. While Myers is neither, his crusade is
unironic to the point of being unsettling.
This
could have been remedied if the “moral” element of his passage had been
elaborated on in a way that clearly defined the goal of his crusade, but early
on it is made clear that Myers has little interest in elaborating on his views in
a constructive way. The passage invites us to infer that the author is a vegan
and then confirm our suspicion—maybe too condescending of a word—via the
internet, and subsequently accept that he stands firmly on the moral high
ground as a matter of fact. If the author had intended for anything else,
perhaps he would have spent more time justifying veganism—of the militant
variety, if his petulant tone signifies anything—as a remotely plausible 21st
century lifestyle for anyone but affluent Western society and the comfortable
middle-class.
Of
course, that argument would inevitably read like the doe-eyed appeal of a naïve
idealist, rather than the scornful preaching of a jaded ascetic. As such, Myers
instead chooses to satisfy our love of unhinged fury with by indignantly re-labeling
foodie-ism as a form of gluttony—a foodie is hazily defined for the reader in-text
as a modern, affluent glutton best represented in literature by the likes of
Anthony Bourdain, Alice Waters and Michael Pollan. I enjoy mocking the entitled
and pretentious as much as the next self-respecting man, but without any
courage on the part of the author to make a serious personal argument—of any
damn kind—the passage gets tedious fast. It’s difficult to enjoy Myers’ humorous
put-downs of Bourdain and Waters while trying to chew on his overwrought,
pseudo-religious “Moral Crusade” against gluttony, which in Myers’ eyes is the
sin of treating food as anything other than form of sustenance—pleasure or
artistry are highly discouraged.
Perhaps
the most frustrating thing about Myers’ article is the casual way he disregards
his subjects. I’ll accept that mining for damning quotes is an integral part of
Professional Criticism, but
cherry-picking quotes from The Omnivore’s
Dilemma to illustrate instances of gluttonous thought in food writing seems
a bit shortsighted to me. Personal hypocrisies aside—thought I’d argue such hypocrisies
exist primarily in Myer’s mind—Pollan’s book is, at least, a responsible and
informed look at America’s food culture and its future. Myers’ article, as
stated, offers little when it comes to serious discussion of the food culture
he seemingly abhors and fills in its blanks with character assaults. In one short
passage, with a swift motion of his hands, Myers disregards the authors
featured in The Best Food Writing 2009: “Seven
pages on sardines. Eight pages on marshmallow fluff! The lack of drama and
affect only makes the gloating obsessiveness more striking.”
Had Myers
actually read Liesener’s marshmallow fluff article, he might have recognized
that it and much of its sister stories use food writing as a vehicle to discuss
the human condition and food’s role in culture and society. Of course, as a
viewer of eating as little more than an exaggerated primal act, Myers would
likely feel alienated by that interpretation, much like everyone who isn’t B.
R. Myers feels alienated by his writing. Teasing aside, Myers’ ranting makes
for pleasurable reading, but at seven pages of length, one wonders if it wouldn’t
be better for him to calm down, step away from his least favorite subculture,
and address what’s really bothering
him.
In closing: infuriating
lapses in good judgment and dedication to straw man arguments aside, B. R.
Myers’ article manages to entertainingly assault the smug, self-assured
doctrines of foodie gluttons by means of smug, self-assured criticism. It’s a
shame, however, that he was unable to make a statement of any real substance in
the process.
