The Starving Food Journalist At A Multi-Day Food Event
I know, it's puzzling.
On a recent food adventure, I found a Lyonnais man faster than I found food in Lyon, the gastronomic capital of France.
“I am so jealous of all the delicious French pastries you’re going to consume,” friends texted me, as I announced last-minute that I was jetting to Lyon for the Coupe du Monde de la Pâtisserie.
I, too, imagined myself shaking off croissant dust from my dresses like it was my job for three days straight, but this wasn’t my first rodeo and I know better now. “May I have two,” I ask sweetly to the flight attendant, gesturing at the basket of Stroopwafels. I know these will later come in handy when rummaging around in my bag for something to snack on.
To everyone else: an image of me in a Willy Wonka plot, skipping around in tights and a dress, naughtily indulging in chocolate bars and French pastries and baguettes with never-ending buckets of French butter and marmalade flavors.
Reality: 10 miles into the expo later, I am all kinds of hangry and starving, passing by thousands of food exhibits and displays of everything imaginable, to get to the World Pastry Cup competition, where I stare at life-size chocolate structures being constructed out of Valrhona chocolate. I. Am. Salivating.
I dig my Stroopwafel out of the bottom of my bag, smashed into tiny bits and pieces from its not-so-gingerly journey, and wash it down with the last drops of water from my Swell bottle. “I’ve got to find something to eat,” I tell myself, taking a break from the competition. But the expo is so large I feel like I’m starring in Alice in Wonderland, tripping my balls off on some kind of hallucinogenic drug, where everything I pass by is blurry and reaching out to me with big googly eyes saying, “eat me.”
I made my way to the Spanish section of the expo where I proceeded to roll my left dress sleeve up and flash my Cinjo Jotas Jamón tattoo on my wrist, saying, “amo el Jamón!” I used this tactic with six different Jamón carvers in an effort to tide me over with a few salty slithers of meat—to help me get from point A to point B. It worked.
While I didn’t have an actual meal on this day, I did satiate my appetite with a very handsome and tantalizing Lyonnais man. Slowly undressing this French man, one button at a time, proved to be more stimulating than unwrapping a chocolate truffle when I am hardcore feening for something sweet. The caveat? Sex burns off lots of calories, and lots were burned this day, so I was left feeling even more hungry after we parted ways.
The night concluded with a mediocre-at-best dinner at a hotel, as this was the only option, but I made a new Italian journalist friend so the company was extraordinary!
If a chance to eat does present itself it’s 9/10 ruined by someone trying to talk to me and I’m just too nice to politely say, “can you please shut the f*ck up, I’m starving.” Food festivals and food-centric events are like a mirage to food journalists. The food is not really there, it’s an illusion. I am consistently starving at these events or, on the flip side, slightly intoxicated as it’s much easier to find alcohol than food. If you do find food, it’s always little birdy bites and samples.
I once got caught by a friend at an after-party at a snack table shoveling cheese into my pockets, lined with a napkin. “Is that cheese in your f*cking pockets,?” my friend yells at me. If you know me, the answer is always yes!
Someone, please give me sustenance to help me survive the long hours of socialization before I decide to run amok….to my hotel room and hide! “I must show my face,” I tell myself, in regards to the after-party. One of my favorite memories was with a now-dear friend and fellow journalist. We mustered up the energy to head to a chef’s house to mingle after a day of festival-ing. All I wanted was a warm meal in a quiet room.
We manage to Irish exit the kitchen while talking to an iconic Southern chef, wedging ourselves into a corner table outside, far away from anyone else—but strategically situated next to the sultry leg of Jamon Iberico. “Please don’t stop,” I say to the Jamón carver, as he artfully carves a plate of glossy meat snacks just for us.“I can’t speak right now, I’m so sorry,” I say to my friend. She validates this feeling and we sit in silence, grinning from ear to ear. We exit before it gets rowdy, and as we walk to the Uber, we pass José Andrés on his way inside. We delusionally laugh, both thinking silently, “what have we done?”
There are many other tales of the starving food journalist at a food event but I have to cut myself off at some point. And while I may starve racing around these events, there’s always a reward at the end where I finally sit down at a restaurant with industry friends that are like family—and order exactly what I want to eat and drink. I am already looking forward to gathering at Estadio post-Charleston Food + Wine in March with the most perfect Sevillana gin tonic in hand and even better company in tow.
RECIPE: Peace and Quiet After A Multi-Day Food Event
Ingredients:
A Domino’s thin-crust pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese.
A bottle of Pét-Nat or slightly chilled Gamay.
Directions:
Order Domino’s pizza from the app because you are so lazy.
Moan and groan when you have to get off the couch to answer the door.
Open the bottle of wine.
Sit in silence in your underwear and give zero fucks about the world.
Experience pure bliss!
CURRENTLY BITCHEN ABOUT:
A BITE: Michael’s English Muffins. Stacey brought the new raisin flavor home to shoot and I must admit that I was selfish and ate the last one as I couldn’t resist. The last time I felt this way about an English Muffin was in Saint Helena when first introduced to Model Bakery.
A WINE: LaOsa Trasto Prieto Picudo Rosado, 2018. Let’s drink more aged rosé! I am equally as excited to meet winemaker Noelia de Paz when I am in Spain later this year.
A RESTAURANT: Micro Sillon in Lyon. It was ridiculously cold and windy when I took shelter in this cozy spot that happens to be open on a Sunday. Best described as a “cellar to eat,” it was perfectly warming with great wines BTG plus outstanding cheeses and meats from the surrounding regions of France, and a few enticing small plates.
Bingeing on Bitchen, and it’s so good!