Steve: Chris, we’ve got a problem. Over the past 25 years, the journalism industry has cut about two-thirds of its total positions, and one of the biggest areas that’s been hit is food criticism. It used to be that the Scene and The Tennessean both employed full-time critics and, more importantly, covered the costs for them to eat out and report back to readers. The Scene still does restaurant reviews with a mix of staffers and freelancers, although that schedule doesn’t keep up with the pace of restaurants in this town. The Tennessean is just a mess, rarely writing anything critical — although I’d say that Nancy Vienneau’s restaurant pieces are informative, and I believe her when she says something is good. This is at a time when Nashville is at peak restaurant. Don’t you want to be a critic?
Chris: Not gonna be me. I grew up here, and I’m not going to wear big-ass Ruth Reichl sunglasses as some sort of stupid disguise.
Steve: Let’s break down why there aren’t more, and how food writers in this town get around being critical. First, for someone like you who freelances for a living, dropping a nuclear bomb on a restaurant is usually not your M.O., but it’s not like you never have a bad meal. You oftentimes just won’t write about that place. And it’s especially hard if you’re paying for the meal yourself.
Chris: I get paid to write, not for my meals. The responsible move dictated by accepted journalistic standards before sharing a negative review would be return visits, but if I have a crappy $200 meal, I’m not going to shell out another $400 to go back two more times just to talk shit about a place. Still, people who know me can figure out my code when I say something like, “Of all the places in the urban core to find fast-casual chicken sandwiches, this is another one.” If I don’t think a place is any good, more than likely I’m not going to write about it.
Steve: So the alternative is features?
Chris: I feel like there’s a value to the sort of profiles I like to write. I prefer to wait until a place has been open for a while and talk to the chef and the staff about their philosophies of food and service. What’s working? What are guests loving and ordering over and over again? With so many dining choices in this town, that’s the sort of advice I’d like to read in a story.
But that’s not nearly enough. Someone (more than just one) needs to actually hold these restaurants to account, and I feel like the better places crave that sort of critical attention. One, because they want to hear how they’re doing. Two, good chefs and restaurateurs are always striving to get better, so they need to know what to improve on. Three, established spots see the spotlight shine on the newest and shiniest establishments whether or not they’re actually filling some sort of void or improving the overall culinary scene. (I’m looking at you, steakhouses.) Lastly, even some of our most beloved restaurants can grow stale as chefs get more comfortable in their aprons and get married, have kids, basically acquire a life outside their kitchens. They certainly deserve to enjoy the lifestyle of a civilian, but every now and then a revisit from a critic might rekindle some fire or show where a restaurant has backslid a bit.
Steve: One-hundred percent agree. I get that some restaurants might not want a bad review or even one that gently pushes them to be better. In a competitive landscape, a bad review might be viewed as an economic threat. But writing fairly about both the good and bad parts of a restaurant scene builds trust with readers. The solution is not to do endless “best of” lists and have that substitute for legitimate criticism. When The Tennessean publishes “Nashville’s 25 best restaurants, ranked,” it’s a garbage play for clicks online. Why? Because there’s no systematic approach to writing about restaurants all the time. That list is completely unearned (and sourced in part through Facebook). Also, putting pop-ups alongside barbecue places next to $100-plus tasting menus in a list is a disservice. These are distinctly different businesses aimed at different audiences, and yet, there’s Arnold’s next to The Catbird Seat — both great in their own way, but completely incomparable.
Chris: This takes commitment and dollars from media outlets. And that includes us here at the Scene. Our writers produce entertaining and thoughtful reviews, but there’s just not available financial support to cover all the new and old spots that deserve a review, so we are far more likely to pick someplace we’re already predisposed to like since we don’t always have the time or dining dollars to make as many visits as we should to get a complete picture. Also, sometimes critics check out spots and correctly determine that it just doesn’t merit a review, positive or negative. Ain’t nobody got time (or money) to do that very often if you only have a budget for something like 15 reviews a year.
Steve: And I’ll dispel the idea that the Scene is afraid of losing advertisers. I wrote reviews for this publication that cost the Scene money, and the message I got from publishers was always, “As long as it’s fair, write what you want.” It does seem like a lot of what passes for food criticism, particularly from online outlets, are lists. That’s not to say there’s not a place for lists, if it’s more than “these are my five favorite places.”
Chris: I’m not hating on the chance to enjoy $5 burgers and hot chicken dishes and tacos at restaurants all over town during Scene [insert food type] Week. And it does shine a light on some places that diners might never try without the organized encouragement.
Steve: Right. It just can’t be all that you do. But substantively, the way readers acquire food information is different now. There are forms of social media that have crept into the review space in some pretty ethically sketchy ways. Charlotte Magazine had a great piece along these lines recently arguing that pay-to-play is a big problem in that world.
Chris: Don’t get me started on Instagram influencers. Now, I’ve met some lovely people that make a living doing that, but knowing that people actually get paid to show up at a restaurant and take pictures of themselves (with some fanciful unicorn milkshake partially visible in the background) and then share it with their legion of followers without one word of how the food actually tastes really burns my biscuits. It also makes me really question how marketing budgets are being allocated, but apparently the metrics work out.
Steve: And that’s where there needs to be a disclaimer that someone was paid to do that. Beyond influencers, what would you tell readers looking for information about where to dine? I’d start by saying that aggregate ratings may be good on places like Open Table or Yelp if a place has been rated a lot, but that individual reviews are worthless.
Chris: You can depend on some online review sites, but specifically individuals whose opinions seem to jibe often with your own. For example, when I find a liquor store whose single-barrel whiskey picks I really like, I decide that I must have a similar palate with whoever is doing the choosing, so I’m more likely to shop there. Similarly, if “Steve C.” from Nashville writes thoughtful Yelp reviews and tends to like some of the sorts of places that I do, I’m going to click through his profile to see what else he recommends to look for a new hidden gem. I don’t care whether he’s got a Yelp Elite sash that he wears into restaurants, just that he’s reasonable in his opinions.
Steve: You know who hates the “Yelp Elite” status thingees? Every single restaurant.
Chris: Even better is to ask friends you trust their opinions or ask chefs and restaurant workers where they’re excited about eating right now. Of course, the absolute solution would be for a few professional reviewers to take up the task locally and for media outlets to support them. But that’s where this all started, wasn’t it?
