Conversations about food and drink are a pretty common thing. We write about it here from time to time. It's talked about at the dinner table, where we comment on any new dishes that were cooked and served, or it might just be a general compliment as to how good everything tastes.
There are also the spontaneous trips to the local ice cream parlor and the disagreements over what flavors to get, because eating ice cream never goes out of style, no matter what season it is.
We complain about food a lot, too. For instance, that fast food burger never looks as delicious when it's put in front of you as it does in the commercials we see. The expensive Outback steak might be undercooked. And the "house salad" may look wilted.
When you get home, you might realize that the large sweet tea you ordered and were looking forward to enjoying is only three-fourths full. Along with that is the understandable grumbling about food costs, especially when you order out and have it delivered.
With Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.'s arrival on the scene as the Secretary of Health and Human Services, I've been excited and at times riveted by the MAHA conversations that are being had about harmful food additives, making healthier food choices, the suggestions to put down the phone and get out of the house, etc.
But there is a contingent of folks online (as well as offline, to be honest) who seem to make it their mission to be the Food Police. And I'm not just talking about them starting polite conversations about food. I'm referring to the folks who have made it their mission to tell you, unprompted and unsolicited, that the smoothie you just innocently posted a picture of on Instagram is not made with real fruit, all-natural ingredients, etc and will harm you if you drink it.
Many years ago, when I first dipped my toes into the social media waters, one of the best ways to start conversations was to post a photo of what you were eating or craving. Sometimes I'd post photos of Chick-fil-A or Bojangles food items, or of the cookies I'd baked for Christmas. If I'd prepped a full meal for the family on a special occasion, I'd proudly post that, too. I didn't post food photos every day, but maybe a handful of times each month.
The first few years of being on social media, when I was doing that, the conversations would be fun and light-hearted, with some folks saying the photos made them want to head out and get something from those restaurants or to make a similar meal at home.
But at some point, posting photos (or just general thoughts) about food began to get to the point where it wasn't fun anymore. For example, a friend of mine told me that she'd shared a photo of the sweet iced tea she made for herself to Facebook, and almost immediately, someone jumped in and said something along the lines of "you know the sugar in that tea is bad for your health, right?"
One time, I had uploaded an image of a cup of chili I had bought from Wendy's on a particularly cold day, along with a baked potato. Wendy's certainly doesn't make the best chili, but unless you want to spend the time to make it at home (which I didn't), grabbing it from a restaurant is what you have to do.
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But just a few comments in, there was someone who fussed at me for buying it at Wendy's rather than making it myself because the ingredients in their chili were supposedly "questionable." I refrained from responding, surprised at the food lecture, which was not presented in an "I'm just trying to have a conversation" kind of way. But nothing prepared me for the argument that broke out after that comment from people who were disagreeing with each other on whether it was a good idea to eat Wendy's chili.
I mean, they had entirely taken the fun out of sharing that photo just by their silly Very Online arguments about a danged bowl of fast food chili that I didn't eat very often, but wanted that particular day. Though I told myself that it was just a one-off, it kept happening (with different commenters) over the course of a few months to the point that I pretty much stopped posting food and beverage photos to my social media accounts, outside of rare occasions. It wasn't worth the headaches.
Though this primarily happens online, it also happens offline, and sometimes it bizarrely comes from random strangers. My sister recently told me about a trip she'd taken to her work breakroom to grab a pack of crackers from the snack machine. She hadn't had time to get out for lunch, and was going to use the pack of crackers to tide her over until she could have a regular meal later in the day.
A vendor whom she'd never met just happened to be in the breakroom with her at the time proceeded to question her on her cracker selection, telling her they were a bad choice for her and that she should try something healthier, like some fruit or a vegetable snack tray.
Instead of arguing, she told the person to have a nice day, and she left the breakroom, astonished that someone who didn't know her thought they knew what was best for her to eat. It's one thing to have these back-and-forths with family members (which we did with my dad when he was still with us, because he had to be extra careful about the food he ate), but it's entirely different when it happens with people you don't know.
I think it's great that Americans appear to be having more discussions in general about food and making better lifestyle choices, etc. But the Food Police simply don't appear to know where to draw the line, so sometimes, we have to draw it for them.
What are your thoughts and experiences?
