Every food writer struggles when they need to choose adjectives to describe a particular food. There are only so many words one can use to eloquently and accurately describe how a dish or ingredient smells, tastes, and feels in the mouth.
At the same time, phrases used to explain the experience of eating can be difficult to choose for fear of sounding either too abstract or banal and insipid. Because of this, food writers tend to overuse certain words and phrases. Some of them might have been clever at one time—like "artisanal" and "life-changing"—but have saturated food articles to the point that they've become shopworn and bromidic. Others were never a good idea in the first place but for some reason caught on ("unctuous" and "toothsome" come to mind).
Here is a list of some of the words and phrases that could easily be 86'd from food writing.
“Like crack, addictive”: The first food writer who declared a food item was “like crack” probably blew the minds of readers attributing a salted caramel donut or chocolate croissant to street drugs. Today, however, saying a food is addictive suggests you're more likely to overindulge than beg, steal, and borrow to obtain it.
“Bad boy”: An altogether weird term that could have easily been uttered by Guy Fieri, a.k.a. “The Mayor of Flavortown,” or a chef of similar distinction. Meant to describe food that is either substantial in size or impressive in some badass, renegade manner, it now has little effect and is more indicative of the food writer's style than the food itself.
“Sammie”: Abbreviated terms for food generally wind up sounding rather doltish. “Za” in place of pizza and “sammie” for sandwich is the food equivalent of “bruh” to brother. What might be an attempt by a writer to endear readers with casual colloquials instead comes off as prosaic and juvenile.
“Better than sex, orgasmic”: The descriptive “better than sex” tells me more about the writer than anything about the dish. To me, the writer is either having very mundane sex or could mean “I’d rather be eating this than having sex.” There is a way to describe what might be an extraordinarily pleasurable sensory dining experience, but I think it best to keep food criticism out of the bedroom.
“Unctuous”: Somehow, this word made its way into the food writers' lexicon, disguised as a descriptive for everything from rich and luscious to silky and smooth. The actual meaning is “having a greasy or soapy feel.” When used to describe a person, it refers to a sycophant, “excessively or irritatingly flattering”—neither of which most people want to experience.
“Farm to table, organic, sustainable”: At one time, these words meant something significant was happening in the kitchen, and mentioning how ingredients were grown and sourced meant that altruism and community involvement were as imperative as profit. Today, many restaurants use these terms with such negligence, they fail to offer any genuine information and are more likely used as a marketing attempt to describe a style or concept.
“Flavorful”: To describe something as flavorful really tells us nothing. Is it flavorful in a positive way, or does it taste unpleasant? Describing food as flavorful is as helpful as saying it is edible. Now to describe something as flavorless? That is profoundly telling.
“On steroids”: There was—and still is—a food trend that celebrates food that is almost humorously, ridiculously, over the top. "On steroids" indicates excessive use of rich, fatty, or luxurious ingredients, as well as enormity of the portion size. Pumped up and angry food might exist out there, but characterizing a burger as having 'roid rage is not only unappetizing, it’s a little creepy, too. Like the bedroom, it’s best to keep keep performance-enhancing drugs and food writing separate.
This is just a small sampling of the food words and phrases that should be retired. The following words could easily have made the list as well:
- mixologist
- mouthfeel
- toothsome
- nom-nom
- über
- eatery
- epic
- OMG
- to die for
- cooked to perfection
- artisanal
- life-changing
- mind-blowing
- homemade, made in house
Holly Fann is a Culinary Institute of America graduate who cooked in the restaurant industry for more than 15 years before hanging up her apron to write full-time. Published nationally and locally, she resides in St Louis.
