Everyone Loves A Critic. Or At Least This Lady Does.

Comment on Sam Sifton’s “Hey, Mr. Critic!” blog-column:

Dear Mr. Critic,
Perhaps you can help. Until recently, I was not a foodie. Recent circumstances have conspired to render me thus. Since the appointment of a certain auburn-haired, Spanx-wearing resto critic at one of the larger metropolitan papers (which shall for now remain unnamed) I have become an ardent, exegetical reader of food criticism in that newspaper.

I wait eagerly, longingly, for Wednesday’s dispatches, if I am lucky, they appear early on Tuesday night! – savoring each carefully crafted sentence, living/eating vicariously at Prime Meats, assorted Brooklyn dives and gasp – even Nello’s. I have begun listening to Jay-Z (the musician, not the law professor). I am considering purchasing a loft in Williamsburg. I have begun to craft gloriously clever hashtags for my Twitter account. What, pray tell, would you recommend I do to rid myself of this (time consuming) obsession?

Subtle, no?