I came to the realization a few minutes after rhapsodizing one evening about how Jacqui Kucharski (my favorite bartender in Austin) makes the Boulevardier at Fixe; I’ve become insufferable. Don’t get me wrong, that drink gives me life and Jacqui makes everyone feel like a regular. Both are worth recommending, emphatically even, but it’s probably not the best opening topic for a Scruff date. Somewhere along the way, the skill I most prized in myself – the ability to chat about a wide range of topics – has completely disappeared.
In the past I could charm men with an array of fun facts about Taylor Swift or show my intellectual side by quoting Salon. Now I just blabber about food, who the best breadmaker in town is, where to get afternoon beignets and morning pizza, why in the world a bar wouldn’t carry Campari (seriously, why?). But at least until the second drink (my dates almost invariably need a second drink), I do all that in a voice that does not resemble any cast member of Designing Women. Still, I wonder why first dates do not become seconds or thirds. Then I wonder where I can get a decent late-night roti.
Insufferable.
It started out innocently enough. Mine is not that common of a job, so typically there is at least some cursory interest in what I do. When I first became a food editor, I answered those questions with a little bit of embarrassment. My enthusiasm for food was certainly as acute, but I demurred from going full hog. Everyone kind of loves food, sure, but even in a nation of foodies, no one really cares that much. I thought, better to just talk about Broad City.
But that was before I was fully entrenched in Austin’s food community. Suddenly, there was a whole cadre of folks blabbering about food – publicists and other writers and foragers and cicerones. The initial conversations with that group were almost invariably about food. Over time, many of those people became friends and the array of talking points would expand to general updates about their life. What did you eat at Trans Pecos? What are you feeding your kids?
It’s no wonder that there are so many local couples who both work in some aspect of food. Once you begin obsessing over terroir or the provenance of your pork, it’s all downhill. Only people who have similarly drank the (locally sourced, artisanal) Kool-Aid could possibly understand why it is so damn important for you to make your own ketchup.
Maybe the answer is in giving up the apps, deleting Tinder until they allow you to trade recipes. Maybe I’ll hold out for a meet cute in a restaurant kitchen (I rakishly lean near the range, he reaches for the stock pot, I suffer third-degree burns). Or maybe if I want to meet my smart, sensitive lumberjack I should start expanding my horizons.
I hear Violet Crown is screening a documentary on Central Texas barbecue next week.
This article appears in October 2 • 2015.