There is a microdebate in cyberland about whether the gastronomy thing is the heir to the indie-rock thing I once conceived to be so meaningful. Just about everyone who takes the time to comment on the idea (like the people at the Food Is the New Rock blog) agrees that it is. But it would be more accurate to say that it has inherited everything that was irritating about indie rock—the preciousness, the hero worship, the fruitless pursuit of the authentic. Worse: what were subdued notes of privilege and snobbery in the music are these days out in the open, the power chords that carry the whole thing along. We are talking, after all, about food for the rich—the only people who can afford those $200 VIP tickets to Baconfest.

Thomas Frank, “Chicago Is the Future”