I, Foodie

Ever since I've become acquainted with the term "foodie" it is something I would only use as a pejorative. To me it has always represented the worst of people who claim to live life according to the dictates of their pallet and stomach - prestigious chef seeking, organic obsessesd, clueless in the kitchen and always looking for the next hot trend. Food as status and a way to feel smug while nibbling on some locally-sourced canape at a Slow Food meeting. Anytime I've been called foodie I've taken offense, and subjected the person who threw the term at me to a rant of varying length and vitriol on why that doesn't apply and why foodies are scum. So it was quite a blow to the ego when I finally had to acknowledge that perhaps the term foodie could be applied to yours truly.

While reading Tyler Cowen's "Six Rules for Dining Out" he blithely referred to himself as a foodie. As a personal hero of mine in both the food and economic spheres I wondered how he could embrace such a term. Then reality smacked me upside the head.

It's like I'm struggling to climb a hill in San Francisco on my fixie, wearing skinny jeans on my way to some concert at Bottom of the Hill, but would take offense if called a hipster. To everyone else in the world the aforementioned creature is a hipster, yet they would reject the label.

If Mr. Cowen can use the term foodie while maintaining his credibility, integrity, and general awesomeness, perhaps I should get off my high horse and acknowledge that I'm a foodie. So fuck it. Next time someone calls me a foodie I'll embrace the term, point out my metaphorical skinny jeans and wax nostalgic about the Chef's Tasting. And give them a rundown of the salami that should be ready pretty soon from my curing fridge.