As the reckonings in food media consumed our feeds in June and July, my good friend Bong and I commiserated over our shared disappointment, sharing snippets of interviews, screenshots of Instagram Stories, and tweets with each other, in an attempt to come to terms with the realization that the people we had admired for so long weren’t such great people after all.
“Bullshit gaslighting apology”
“I can imagine him typing the non-apology furious, cursing, and losing it.”
“never stanning a dude ever again”
Though I had been a fan of Alison Roman’s and the Bon Appetit team’s, the revelations about their toxic behavior didn’t sting quite as much as when the allegations about Peter Meehan surfaced. When Tammie Teclemariam, the writer who broke the Adam Rapoport brownface story that would send BA’s house of cards tumbling down, a month later, tweeted:
“I’m gonna need a lot of you to be prepared to change your opinion about someone.”
I knew it was gonna hurt. 24 hours later, she posted this thread about Peter Meehan. It did hurt. And I didn’t even know the guy. I was just a fan of his work. ‘Was’ being the operative word here.
When Lucky Peach came out in 2011, I was an instant fan. I awaited the arrival of each issue like I was Billy Madison on Nudie Magazine Day (I can’t tell if that dated reference is problematic, if it is, I’m sorry. If I have one blind spot it’s mid-90s Adam Sandler), devouring it with unbridled joy. Lucky Peach made me want to be a food writer. Each issue felt like it was made by a friend. I still treat my Lucky Peach collection with the same reverence most people reserve for their vintage vinyl collection.
After Meehan was exposed, I found myself thumbing through past issues, just as I had done in late January when frequent LP collaborator Jason Polan, whose work had meant a lot to me, had passed away. Except this time, it was a different kind of grieving. The kind you do when you realize your heroes aren’t the people you thought they were.
Amid the cultural ephemera from the mid-aughts that has fused itself permanently with my brain, like too many ‘90s commercial jingles and lyrics to awful pop-punk songs have, is a line from the film Imaginary Heroes, which starred Sigourney Weaver and Jeff Daniels, that goes:
“One of two things happens when you meet your heroes, either they’re assholes or they’re just like you. Either way, you lose.”
While I know I shouldn’t put too much stock into lines written by the guy who gave us X2: X-Men United, it did make me think of what exactly is lost when the people we look up to let us down. And is there a third option?
We’ve seen over the past few months how reckonings have happened across all media, not just in food. Particularly, the exposé on workplace harassment that has gone on for years on Ellen has painted a grim picture of a celebrity who most people associate with wholesome fun. But as we’ve learned from recent weeks and the growing number of Twitter threads of people sharing their terrible encounters with the comedian, ‘wholesome fun’ she is anything but, at least when it comes to her dealings with ordinary folk.
But perhaps instead of making the case for never having heroes altogether, we can embrace this newfound disillusionment for the clarity it provides. Maybe it’s a reminder to regard the people we admire in more measured ways. Maybe we can use it to pull away and refocus our gaze not just on the people at the forefront, but on the collective efforts behind the work and the people who are too often overlooked.
I still love Lucky Peach. Its association with a man who hurt people won’t change that because the magazine was much bigger than him. Through it, I, and many others, were also introduced to the work of Rachel Khong, Chris Ying, Walter Green, Jason Polan, and other great writers and artists. In the end, they’re the people that made Lucky Peach great. Not just one deeply flawed man.
Maybe there is a third option. Maybe, sometimes, your heroes are just as broken as you expect them to be.
—
Shimeji mushrooms with pesto
I love mushrooms and I love pesto. But I never thought of mixing the two until I came across a dish that did at a quirky little restaurant here in Hanoi called Pepe la Poule. It’s incredibly easy to make and can be eaten as a side dish, mixed with noodles, or as your main.
Ingredients:
For the pesto:
One handful of basil (about 30 grams)
2 large cloves of garlic (about 10 grams)
1 heaping tbsp of nutritional yeast
3 tbsps of sunflower oil or light olive oil
big pinch of salt
For the mushrooms:
1 pack of buna-shimeji mushrooms (or white Beech mushrooms)
2 cloves of garlic, sliced
neutral oil
salt
Directions:
Combine pesto ingredients in a blender and blend until you get the consistency you like. Taste for seasoning and add more salt if needed or oil if you want a smoother blend.
Heat oil in a pan over medium-high heat. When the pan’s hot (after about 30 seconds and the oil’s glistening), add the mushrooms to the pan and distribute so each lays flat on the pan. Don’t move for at least 2 minutes to get a good sear. And definitely don’t salt.
After 2 minutes, flip the mushrooms so they brown evenly. Add the garlic and toss with mushrooms. After one more minute, season with a big pinch of salt and combine. Cook for a few more minutes.
Remove the mushrooms from the pan and place it in a bowl, then top with the pesto and combine. Top with a tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil and a sprinkle of nutritional yeast and enjoy.
As always, thanks for reading and if you want to reach out, I’m on Twitter and Instagram.