No One Knows How to Talk About Food Anymore

Everything is amazing.
Every bite is so good.
Every dish is literally unreal.

We’re drowning in food talk that says absolutely nothing.

In a city full of chefs working themselves to the bone to express something—about place, about memory, about skill—most of what gets said in return is a flurry of emojis, a single adjective, or a performative mmm caught on camera. We don’t critique, don’t question, don’t describe. We react. And then we move on.

Food media doesn’t help. The language of most restaurant write-ups reads like it was assembled by a marketing bot with a thesaurus addiction. Every space is chic but cozy, every chef seasonally driven, every menu elevated yet approachable. Even the rare critic who dares to use full sentences rarely risks clarity. Instead of flavor, we get fluff.

And the industry does it too. Chefs write menus like they’re reciting spells—compressed stone fruit, hay-smoked consommé, parmesan air—then roll their eyes when guests ask what anything means. The result is a kind of communicative theatre, where no one admits they’re confused and everyone pretends to understand.

So where does that leave us?

Stuck. In a city that’s producing some of its most thoughtful, creative food in years, we don’t have the words—or maybe the courage—to meet it with the attention it deserves.

It’s not that everything needs to be intellectualized. You don’t need a lexicon to enjoy a croissant. But if language is how we make meaning, then maybe it’s time to start using it again. Ask what’s in the dish. Describe how it felt. Be honest about what didn’t work. Name the thing.

Because silence, masked as politeness, isn’t support.
It’s just a lost opportunity.