In 2008, I stopped watching the Food Network entirely. Mario Batali, who I believe was cooking the best food in the history of the network, left Iron Chef America (to get nerdy, I’d argue his Parmigiano-Reggiano battle against Andrew Carmellini was the channel’s single best hour of programming ever. Batali served pasta in a wheel of cheese!), and I preferred the culinary shows on other networks, like Bravo’s Top Chef and Bourdain’s Travel Channel series, No Reservations. Most important, I had graduated college and was living in Brooklyn, in the middle of what would become a culinary revolution. I wanted to eat at and learn about the city’s restaurants, and the New York–based Food Network, despite its proximity, was indifferent. Blogs weren’t. Food Network didn’t care about Momofuku’s fried chicken, but Grub Street offered me this very important blog post on the matter that I remember reading and rereading and eventually reciting to anyone who would listen.
One 25-year-old Brooklynite who works in publishing recently complained that all her friends ever want to do these days is go to full moon ceremonies.