"I also think it's very important to consider how the food will feel to the person eating it"
About this Quote
In a food culture trained to worship spectacle, Sally Schneider quietly reroutes the spotlight back to the eater. Her line isn’t about plating tricks or chefly virtuosity; it’s a moral and aesthetic claim that food is an experience happening in someone else’s body, not a performance happening on a pass. The key verb is “feel.” Not “taste,” not “look,” not even “enjoy” - feel, with its tactile, emotional, and even social overtones. It nudges cooking out of the realm of image-making and into the realm of care.
The intent is practical but also corrective. Schneider, a writer, is positioned to notice how culinary discourse gets flattened into aspirational lifestyle content: glossy recipes, photogenic crumbs, the tyranny of “craveable.” By insisting on the eater’s sensation, she’s smuggling empathy into a space that often rewards domination - heat, acid, crunch, surprise - as if intensity alone equals quality. “Consider” is doing quiet work here too: it implies planning, restraint, and attention to consequence. How hot is too hot? How rich is too rich? Does this dish comfort, challenge, or exhaust?
The subtext reads like a critique of food media’s camera-first logic. A dish can be stunning and still land as unpleasant: overly chewy, aggressively sweet, anxiety-inducing in its preciousness. Schneider’s framing restores food’s original contract: nourishment includes pleasure, and pleasure includes feeling understood. It’s hospitality as editorial stance, and it’s sharper than it sounds.
The intent is practical but also corrective. Schneider, a writer, is positioned to notice how culinary discourse gets flattened into aspirational lifestyle content: glossy recipes, photogenic crumbs, the tyranny of “craveable.” By insisting on the eater’s sensation, she’s smuggling empathy into a space that often rewards domination - heat, acid, crunch, surprise - as if intensity alone equals quality. “Consider” is doing quiet work here too: it implies planning, restraint, and attention to consequence. How hot is too hot? How rich is too rich? Does this dish comfort, challenge, or exhaust?
The subtext reads like a critique of food media’s camera-first logic. A dish can be stunning and still land as unpleasant: overly chewy, aggressively sweet, anxiety-inducing in its preciousness. Schneider’s framing restores food’s original contract: nourishment includes pleasure, and pleasure includes feeling understood. It’s hospitality as editorial stance, and it’s sharper than it sounds.
Quote Details
| Topic | Cooking |
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