The piece gets under my skin for several reasons. The first of which is I've had my writing compared to David Foster Wallace's several times by people who mean well and honestly wish to flatter. It's like when people attempt to sing my praises by quoting American Psycho. I should just be flattered. I'm not.

The next of which is that the piece really was the turning point for Gourmet. They were a foodie's magazine about food and they decided they wanted to be an everything's magazine about everything. In an attempt to capture market share in a cooking-averse world dominated by The Food Network and useless blogs, they opted to go to long-form bullshit that wasn't about food. This article was in an issue that experienced the third style revamp in as many years, each of which came with the death of columns that were the high points of the magazine. They were bankrupt four years later.

The last of which is it's a disorganized, self-indulgent mess.

You extolled Michael Pollan earlier. You read Pollan and you know where you've been, you know where you're going, and you're on a journey with someone who is certain enough in their adventures to take you by the hand. That's how Ruth Reichl ran Gourmet... for the most part. They were a steadfast authority on food that would ensure that everything you read would enrich your experience with food. This article? Not even David Foster Wallace can tell if you should bother. Is it about lobster? Is it about eating lobster? Is it about the deep humanity of eating another creature? Is it about the deep inhumanity of eating another creature? Who knows? It's written by a genius, so it doesn't matter.

Is this sort of waffling necessary?

No.

Nobody ever compares me to David Petersen.