A Dear John Letter to Jonathan Gold.
Dear Jon:
Itโs very hard for me to write this letter. Iโve been struggling aboutย ending it for a long time but Iโve hung in because of the good times – your winning the Pulitzer Prize for Food Writing, your huge success at LA Weekly and The Los Angeles Times, feeling so special standing by your side among the hoards of screaming foodie groupies. But now my gut says I must go.
It began with the juice.ย Pressed Juicery juice.
Youโve become obsessed with Pressed Juicery. Itโs always Pressed Juice. Immune Orange for breakfast, Lemon H2O for aย morning snack, Greens 1.5 at lunch, Roots 2 if youโre stressed out like when you couldnโt get a reservation at Maude despite dropping your name on their voicemail. And then thereโs dinner where you must have your Master Cleanse juice to guard against a possible hangover from corked wine.
I keep asking you to stop the juice. You say you will. Then, when you come home after a long day at the office and restaurant hopping, and I smell the ginger and kale on your breath, I realize you canโt stop. Iโm tired of all the lies.
I suspect the juice dampens your appetite for food. I could see itย when we went to Le Comptoir, the 6-course tasting-menu restaurant in Koreatown. You wereย satisfied with their โminisculeโ (your word not mine) tasting-menu. I call it a 6-course starving-menu.
I donโt understand why you were so enamored withย the vegetable and fruit plate. You gushedย about its probably 20 different elements includingย asparagus, carrot, apple, persimmon, cauliflower, turnip, zucchini, watermelon radish, red pepper, yellow pepper, broccoli – and the precision with which they used tweezers for plating (as you said, “assembled at the last moment with long tweezers, you should probably will yourself to become as excited as a 3-year-old”).
Cโmon, Jon! Youโre a good โ no great โ writer! You know how to be precise in your descriptions. Did you somehow forget that it was ONE sprig of asparagus, ONE Julienned slice of carrot, ONE cauliflower flowerette on the plate? Sure, there were THREE persimmon seeds sprinkled in. But do a few nibbles of veggies do it for you now? You, the man who built his reputation for pigging out on pork belly? It’s the juice, isn’t it? Drink enough and you donโt have to eat anymore?
And the tweezer assembly? What’s exciting about that when tweezers are the most appropriate tool for placing a few measly pieces of produce onto a plate.
And Jon, how could you not notice I was ravenous all night, especially when I demanded during Course Five that you take me to In-N-Out for a 4 x 4? Your insensitivity is one of the main reasons Iโm out. Maybe you were entranced by the improvisational jazz played at ear-piercing, conversation-stopping levels. Or maybe you were distracted by the ass-kissing servers who doted on your every word while they onlyย occasionally gave me a luke-warm โYes, Maโam.โ This whole thing of being ignored while people treat you like the Food God has really gotten old.
And how can you recommend a veggie-centric tasting-menu with microscopic amounts of protein? Two miniscule Wagyu pieces and one scallop? Such picayune amounts of protein make it vegetarian to me – and you know how I feel about that. Are you stepping out on me and veering towards Vegan?
And what about the undercooked food? You tout how the chef cooks vegetables at precise low heat to bring out flavor. I assume the chef was aiming for al dente but I almost broke a tooth on the single country corn kernel he put on my plate.
Based on this love affair with raw veggies, Iโm afraid youโre turning into one of those Raw Veganist people now!
And I know you think I havenโt noticed but Iโm on to you. I know all about your visit to M.A.K.E. in Santa Monica. Yes, I heard the podcast of you on KCRWโs Good Food. I heard you loud and clear when you called their raw, vegan fare โintellectual food, abstracted and cerebral.โ That sounds like love to me. Good for you but itโs not working for me. I want to know what happened to the pork rind pusher that I fell in love with.
And Iโm worried about your judgment in general. You told readersย that the Le Comptoir meal was $69. However, you know and I know that people will get the wine pairingย because you recommended it โ and the truffles because the chef promises theyโre half the price youโd pay anywhere else in town. Next thing they know, people will beย paying $200 per person. Thatโs French Laundry pricing! Yes, your title said โBring Your Walletโ but your article didnโt paint a true picture. It makes me wonder what else you may be hiding from your readers โ and me, too.
I donโt want to put all of the blame for my decision on Pressed Juicery or Le Comptoir. Weโre just not on the same wavelength anymore. Remember the other night when we went to Cassia in Santa Monica? You fell hard for the pot-au-feu, later calling it โbrilliant and soothingโ. Not to me. The broth was bland. I remember the days when you and I bonded over bland broth. Sadly, those days are long gone.
Itโs time to part before things get ugly. I know we love each other but sometimes love isnโt enough. Iโm sure youโll find a Pressed Juice-loving, vegan-vamping, raw food-flirting, tiny plate-popping girl whoโll make you happy.
Know Iโm wishing you all the best with your upcoming Top 100 List. Iโll continue to read your articles, though I just may take them with a heaping tablespoon of Himalayan pink salt.
Cinnamon & sugar kisses,
Di