Response to Steve Heimoff’s Take on the Parker Drama May 26, 2009

Steve Heimoff’s take on the Parker drama (read the WSJ article about how Parker’s independent wine writers received free trips & meals from wine importers, including a $25,000 trip to Australia) is that wine writers are poor and that it is inevitable that they will be treated to free wine, meals and trips throughout their career. Why is it that wine writers can accept free meals/trips while news reporters, who are probably paid less, hold themselves to higher standards? Is it because wine writing is less serious? If so, that’s pretty sad. Sounds to me like Heimoff is protecting himself because he’s taken free meals and trips from wineries/wine import companies whose wines he’s rated.

Heimoff argues that his reviews are always independent, but studies looking at whether doctors are influenced by the free lunches and goodies given to them by pharmaceutical companies show that indeed, physicians subconsciously prescribe more drugs when they are given the free gifts. (Read this NYT article for more).

So if doctors are influenced, why wouldn’t wine writers be? After all, doctors are making decisions that could affect someone’s health — prescribing an unnecessary drug could even kill the person. When it comes to reviewing wine, the consequences are less serious, so wouldn’t the temptation to give someone a few extra points be even greater?

I’m disappointed by Heimoff, and certainly disappointed by Robert Parker’s fellow writers. I think Parker should fire critic Jay Miller and find someone who isn’t going to accept $25,000 worth of free gifts. It’s embarrassing and will bring down the quality of his reputation and that of the Wine Advocate’s.

Respected critics should never accept gifts. There is no such thing as a free lunch (or a free $25,000 trip).

I’m Sorry Tofu, I’m Just Not That Into You May 4, 2009

Dear Tofu,

This dalliance of ours has come to an end. I wish I could say it was me, but really, tofu, it’s you. Your gelatin-like texture, your bland boiled taste, your unappetizing color. And we’ve both tried. I know you tried to hide underneath layers of sauce, trying to camouflage yourself, and you know I tried to scramble, bake, fry, boil and steam you. But it wasn’t meant to be.

Yes, we had our hey-day, back in my vegetarian days, when I embraced you fully. We tried to convince the members of my family that you were tasty, baked and dipped in a thai peanut sauce, hidden in soups and swirled into smoothies. But somehow they didn’t take to you. They outed you amid the strawberry and banana in the fruit smoothie, they picked at you in the stir fry. And no matter how much we tried, they always preferred the chicken or fish to your little white self.

You know I’m a fan of your relatives, the crunchy tempeh, the silky soymilk and the wonderful miso. We continue to get along well and they’re part of my life.

But ever since you appeared in my college cafeteria day after day, over-sauced and dripping in oil, our relationship began to sour. I turned back to eating meat after I could no longer stand eating you and only you. I attempted to including you in my meals, but you usually went bad in the back of the fridge before I could add you to a recipe. No matter how much we tried, it wasn’t working out.

You know we’ll remain acquaintances. I’ll say hello to you in Japanese restaurants when you’re swimming in the salty broth of miso soup. You’ll peek out from underneath curry sauces in Thai dishes. But we can no longer see each other regularly. I can’t do it anymore.

Take care, tofu, and I guess I’ll see you around.

Michelle