Sohla El-Waylly - The Best American Food Writing 2022

ONE OF THE most paradoxical things about food is the sheer infinitude of effort that can be expendedor not!on it, with marginal effect on its intrinsic value. Some foods are celebrated for the amount of effort they require, whether in preparation (souffl) or harvest (coconut), while others are praised for their convenience or efficiency (instant rice, Soylent). Though we rightly cheer the things that are easywhat a relief to have dinner ready in under thirty minutes, how lovely that this gas station sells prepackaged apple sliceswe also value very highly the things that take a lot of effort or expertise. You can pay through the nose for dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, but its dinner all the same.

Much the same can be observed of writing. The most popular stuff goes down easy, and you get the sense that its easy enough to produce: David Sedaris essays read as though he just rattled them off into a transcription service that sends them directly to the printer, and mass-market thrillers you can finish in one day top the bestseller lists decade after decade. But the writing that wins the most prestigious awardsPulitzers, Nobels, James Beardsis usually a feat of reporting, research, writing, and editing. Both are highly valued, and neither is per se morally superior, though some may try to argue otherwise.

Curiously, society puts a premium on hiding all that effortYou make it look so easy! is a common compliment for successful writers and cooks alike. Much fuss is made over making things seem effortless, to the point of illogic. I am reminded of a scene from HBOs Succession where Nan Pierce, the matriarch of a WASPy old newspaper family, swoops into the kitchen at the last second to escort a roast out to the dining room, to polite applause. Of course, no one in their right mind believes she actually prepared the hunk of meat, but she claims the credit nonetheless while hiding the true source of effort: a fully staffed kitchen just over the threshold.

So perhaps the paradox of effort is a false one, because even the easy stuff takes work. Theres no denying it: when you eat something, even if its just a can of Spaghetti-Os, someoneusually multiple someoneshas put in a good deal of effort to bring it to you. Behind any line cooks perfect frying-pan flip are hours of practice and dozens of spills, with the forearm burns to show for it. The most successful authors put out books as regularly as once a year, which is a whole lot of work and discipline, no matter how formulaic the stories may be. But so is getting your very first byline in the local newspaper.

Furthermore, all writing is more than just ones persons workthere are editors, producers, designers, and all sorts of people who make publication possible. This goes for food, too. In restaurants you have prep cooks and sauciers and expediters, as well as servers and hosts and dishwashers, to say nothing of the people involved in growing and transporting the ingredients. And those are just the mainstream, commercialized outlets for those pursuits. Many of us write and cook for ourselves or our friends and family; just because they dont pay for it doesnt mean it isnt incredibly valuable.

Writing about food, then, is some of the most intensely social material out there, which is why I love editing this series year after year. In writing as in food, we are communicating with others, telling them something, whether through our perspective, technique, or subject. In the case of Sam Andersons ludic meditation on chips as a snack, or in Liz Cooks lucid rationalization of how she came to taste rat repellent, food writing can be a way of expressing an opinion or a firsthand experience. Or in the case of Sam Deans investigation into the man who didnt invent Flamin Hot Cheetos or Josh Dziezas account of the food-delivery workers who sustain New Yorkers, they are the stories that enlighten and remind us where food does and doesnt come from. But some of my favorites are the ones that use food as a narrative vehicle to talk about something else entirely: travel, love, history, family, pain.

Since this anthology first debuted in 2018, I have gotten to know so many more people who are as entranced and possessed by this topic as I am. Besides confirming, year after year, that Ligaya Mishan is consistently one of the best food writers working today, I love discovering new voicesmany of whom dont necessarily have a background in food journalismwho write wonderfully about the stuff that sustains us all. I love looking off the beaten path for surprising sources of new material.

Indeed, the less we restrict ourselves to a single definition of food writing, the better. This year, for the first time, the anthology will include a piece of fiction, as well as a piece that originally ran in the form of a newsletter. You can bet that if this series had been around in 1934, William Carlos Williamss now-ubiquitous ode to the plums in the icebox would be included.

Its fun to scour the landscape and to see the people who put in good work. And its even more fun to tell them: Good job, I see what youve done. We should celebrate their effort, whether it is the result of six months of reporting or six minutes of feverish typing. Effort comes in many stripes, and so these things come in all forms, from all corners. Try as I may, I cannot be sure that I read it all. If you see something published this year you think deserves a nod, please send it to me by December 31, 2022, at silvia.killingsworth@gmail.com.

S ILVIA K ILLINGSWORTH