“I couldn’t be flyer in my Topsiders, even if my Topsiders had wings.”
People are always, like, coming up to us and saying “Ohmigod guys, I like, totes love Food Dudes! I read it, like, every month. Like, where do you get your inspiration?” Well, dear readers, the answer to that question is arrestingly complex. For those among you who want to know how the magic happens, this week we provide you with a basic guide on how to be more like us—a week in review of sorts. Just remember it’s a long, treacherous road, and even if you complete all of these steps, you’ll only be part of the way there. The biggest mistake you can make is to be true to yourself. Being second-rate food columnists for a marginal college publication is a lifestyle you have to commit to fully.
Thursday: Receive first market share of the season. Pretend you’re excited to find a use for seven pounds of root vegetables. Secretly hate yourself.
Friday: Beat the odds and make a halfway-decent soup with the majority of your market share, but decide that you don’t want soup and opt for a dinner of rum and grapefruit juice. Neglect the soup until it has spoiled.
Saturday: Travel to the J. Crew at Providence Place with a wish-list that far exceeds both your wallet and your capacity for insecurity-induced pastel wearing. Seriously contemplate going to Taco Bell, but decide against it. Spend the entire walk back lamenting the fact that iced coffee costs more than regular, even though the only difference is ice. Bully a friend into giving you half of his legendary sourdough starter, smuggled over from Scotland. Realize you have no idea what to do with it and pray that you don’t wake up to find it sitting at your computer, drinking your single malt, and listening to Miles Davis. Hide your single malt, and rest assured that your place in the upper echelons of Brown’s obnoxious food elite is cemented by your possession of a sourdough starter.
Sunday: Relieve six months of anticipation by finally executing a long-running pipe dream to visit Olneyville New York System Wieners. Take the convoluted and treacherous road to the North Providence location. Feign enjoyment as you take down two flimsy and utterly plain hot dogs covered in mashed cardboard masquerading as special beef sauce. Do everything you can not to laugh at the hostile-robot service and orthodontist’s office-meets-Quiznos vibe. Be highly disappointed but not very surprised. Ride back home in uncomfortable silence, purge, and exfoliate.
Monday: Sit in front of a computer in an earnest attempt to get work done. Black-in 40 minutes later with fourteen different Lionel Messi highlight videos playing in loop and a glass of flat seltzer between your legs. Check the standings of La Liga, even though you know they haven’t changed since yesterday. Acquiescing to your fate, proceed on to Red Sox and Celtics recaps. Consider whether your good fortune to live in the time of Roger Federer, Albert Pujols, and Messi is evidence of a benevolent higher power. Think about times when you can talk about writing your column.
Tuesday: Check New York Times online Dining & Wine section for anything new by Mark Bittman, Melissa Clark, or Sam Sifton. Watch all videos three times, transcribe and email all recipes to friends and family. Marvel at Clark’s glory and bemoan Bittman’s infuriatingly incorrect proportions. Entertain the idea that if you had gone to college with Sifton you would have been friends with him, and that if you had gone to middle school with Frank Bruni you would have beaten him up. Cook nothing.
Wednesday: Receive a cutely-phrased email asking where your column is; frantically trade Google docs with your co-writer in an effort to produce something passable. Failing that, opt instead for a poorly-strung-together series of Boston sports references, elitist jargon, and alcohol jokes.
That’s how we do it.