We’re constantly searching for a deeper connection to the food we eat: who makes it, where it comes from and why we love it. We relish the opportunity to meet the executive chef, to have a conversation with our waiter or waitress and to read about the humble origins of our pesto chicken sandwich. We love menus that tell us if our chicken was farm-raised, hand-massaged or grass-fed.
As a result, our obsession with the individuals behind that ever-swinging kitchen door is at its height. Bravo’s Top Chef captures our attention with its “quickfire challenges” and pseudo-celebrity cooks. I grin when these aspiring chefs utter a curse word or toss their spatula in a recap-worthy fit of rage. I watch with bated breath as the hosts act like mini-Simons and Paulas, berating the episode’s worst performers with venomous foodie-speak.
Even the Food Network has infused its traditionally tame shows with a surprising degree of levity. Emeril Lagasse’s signature attitude now pales in comparison to Bobby Flay’s blatant cocksureness. We see recipes come to life in crisp high-definition, with a thumping soundtrack to boot. Slicing a carrot or baking a loaf of bread demands a cinematic montage with sweeping camera angles and carefully primped celebrity chefs.
Not to be outdone, “reality” show Ace of Cakes turns the art of cake-making into a drama-filled adventure. Suddenly, bakers struggling to meet their deadlines becomes a pre-commercial cliffhanger.
If we listened to the station’s many well-fed chefs, we’d be buying the world’s most expensive and exotic ingredients and cooking up a storm of recipes we couldn’t pronounce.
It’s easy to get caught up in the hype and imagine yourself a hotshot restaurateur or chef, especially when you see individuals like Rocco Dispirito and Bobby Flay open their own spots in days with a crew of more than 100 dedicated workers. If they can do it, why can’t we run our own restaurants? Why can’t I have the freedom to yell at my overworked, harried staff?
With the food industry transformed by the fickle finger of popular culture, it’s certainly easy to lose track of the things that made food an experience in the first place.
Simple menus when every painstaking detail of your meal wasn’t laid out on the page. Sitting down at a bar or diner where the owner knows your name and your favorite meal. Enjoying a long dinner with friends that’s filled with enough stories and laughs to last hours. Making that mid-meal snack yourself with a little elbow grease and some culinary know-how.
In this year’s Dining Guide, the Daily’s writers captured that essence, those elements of the dining experience that have been lost in the glamorization of the food industry.
They found individuals on the cutting edge of the food business, restaurateurs testing the limits of what a deli can be and bakers who combine world-class experience with a personal touch. They discovered students who are passionate about the culinary arts and shop owners who memorize customers’ names and cater to a clientele on the run. Along the way, they heard differing sandwich-making philosophies and watched hungry patrons sprint to grab a hot dog.
They found stories of people who are committed to the pursuit of good food coupled with great experiences. And that’s what it’s all about.
