Unpalatable options
I’m writing about restaurants. But here’s why I haven’t returned to dining them in yet
The restaurant industry isn’t just struggling — it’s drowning. ● There’s plenty of devastation to go around. First and foremost are the families and friends of the more than 100,000 dead and who knows how many more to come. ● Even among the healthy, lives are being destroyed, and those who’ve devoted theirs to good food, drink and hospitality are among the hardest hit. We’ve all seen the shuttered businesses, unemployment numbers and food lines. And while I wish I could share the optimism that the worst is behind us, the most sober appraisals, in my estimation, strongly suggest otherwise.
Here’s why I can’t resume dine-in coverage
There is a well-reasoned argument that dining critics should never become cheerleaders for the restaurant industry. I respect that, but I don’t think it compromises my journalistic integrity or reveals any deep, dark secret to say that I want our local restaurant community to thrive. I spent the first half of my time here in Phoenix leading grassroots efforts to help great restaurants find the recognition and success they deserve. That’s where my heart lives.
It would be easier if it didn’t. Because when I say I can’t yet resume my normal dine-in restaurant coverage, I can feel it breaking.
For all the times I’ve mocked those who would rearrange the deck chairs on the Titanic, it’s with no small sense of irony that I suddenly find myself reviewing the canapés.
Reporters — like my colleagues on The Republic’s food and dining team — are busy analyzing the fragility of our restaurant economy and food supply chain, shining a light on what that says about our society, politics and values. They’re doing some of the most important work of their lives.
Meanwhile, I had some really good pizza last week.
‘This isn’t the reopening I anticipated’
Dining critics and restaurant reporters aren’t the same thing. During the pandemic lockdown — in between clipboard duties like writing up family recipes, testing instant noodles and wolfing down some takeout food in the back of my car — I’ve mostly been pacing the sidelines, watching in horror and waiting for my “put me in, coach” moment.
When Arizona restaurants received the governor’s blessing to reopen their dining rooms, that day arrived.
But this isn’t the reopening I anticipated.
I don’t wish to argue the facts. Confirmation bias is a powerful human habit, and if anybody is still persuadable at this point, I don’t expect a medical lecture from a dining critic will be their aha moment.
It shouldn’t be. I am not an expert on infectious disease and I won’t play the part of armchair epidemiologist.
But there are scientists and doctors who have literally devoted their lives to studying and preparing for this exact moment, and their overwhelming consensus is that this reopening is too soon and that we have not adequately prepared during our time in lockdown.
How I chose from a list of ‘terrible’ options
So what’s a dining critic to do? I believe every option I have to write about restaurants will cause harm, and I refuse to decide by convincing myself one won’t. All I can do is be honest with myself, transparent with you and thoughtful about making the best choice I can.
The easy thing would be to ignore the ethical implications. Everyone will make their own decisions, after all. But in a pandemic, “personal choice” is a fig leaf. This isn’t BASE jumping or running with the bulls in Pamplona. Those who choose to dine out may be putting others at grave risk in a very direct and substantial way, and by encouraging them to do so — either actively or passively — I could be doing the same.
I could heed the calls to reopen, but that would mean ignoring the nearunanimous warnings of medical experts. What’s more, as bad as it is for restaurant workers now, how will it be if a premature reopening sets the stage for a second shutdown in a couple of months? Even setting aside the medical concerns and speaking in purely economic terms, I’m not convinced that reopening now is doing anybody any favors.
Conversely, I could completely refocus my work on cooking and non-dining stories until conditions improve. Even under a takeout and delivery model, where there are fewer people in an easily controlled environment, kitchen workers are at risk. Many of them, no doubt, are comfortable with that risk, but many have no choice. I’ve been writing about no-contact takeout and delivery, but I’m nowhere near making peace with it. Am I helping or hurting? I don’t know.
Every option is terrible. A mantra for our times.
When will I return to dining in? I don’t know
For now, I’ve chosen to write about home cooking and no-contact takeout and delivery. I’ll continue to reassess as the situation changes, but I won’t be writing about dine-in options until I feel it’s the responsible thing to do.
Whether that’s in two weeks, two months or two years, I can’t say. I just know that listening to medical experts, driving around town, looking at bars and restaurants that are suddenly jampacked with patrons despite escalating numbers, that time is not now.
I also know that helping restaurants get through this without dining in will mean working twice as hard.
It means ordering takeout and delivery, directly from the restaurant whenever possible to bypass the crippling fees charged by delivery apps. It means buying gift cards, buying merch and contributing to virtual tip jars. It means purchasing from local farmers and ranchers whose restaurant business has dried up. And it means calling representatives and supporting legislation that will make it easier for restaurants to weather the storm.
I won’t pretend that writing about restaurants from a distance feels right. It feels brutally inadequate, especially now. But given the options, for the time being, it’s the only choice I can live with.
My hope is that in a year’s time, people will be able to take this article, shove it in my face and angrily tell me that I was wrong.
I’ve never wanted so badly to be wrong.