Exclusive Evil - The Future of My Human Flesh Reviews
A bold new flavor.
Have a bonus article, as an appetizer. Dedicated to my moral icons, Hannibal and Bari Weiss.
My book (How to Dodge a Cannonball) is almost here. Preorder to save me.
Dear Foodies,
Thank you. Today marks five years covering food culture for the Empire Journal. A weekly joy fueled by your support, editors missing simple metaphors, and the FBI’s inspiring persistence. Like the FBI, that column’s time has come. From now on, my ratings of American cuisine are Substack exclusives. Freer speech makes for freer kitchens.
My passion for cities as menus remains. I’m simply returning to my blogging roots. Before the Journal, Long Pig Picks drifted from host to host, leaving tantalizing breadcrumbs for amateur sleuths and career profilers alike. I drifted too, forming new bonds in each city. And eating them. It wasn’t about money, fame, or even free meals. I ate people to connect. I learned that each community had a flavor, but America was united by texture. And found my voice, detective by detective. That freedom inspired my viral essay, “To Serve Seconds,” lamenting lockdown-era isolation. Who knew that would connect me to the world?
Enter the Empire Journal. Six hundred words, every Tuesday. Suddenly I had money, reach, and unarmed fans. Liberating, at first. Henry James calls writers' words their armor, and there’s truth to that. With each rating of a precinct’s menu and response time, I built a life. I found a partner that loved food even more than I did, and neighbors with unlocked doors.
But time passed, and I noticed strings. Demands from editorial. Advertisers. Next-of-kin. Everything came before the work. My appetite withered, and I killed simply to make rent. Can you imagine losing the joy in Texan burgers or Alaskan sashimi? I fell that low. The young and old were flavorless mush, wasted on a dead pen.
I almost quit.
You kept me going. I’m grateful for every heart I’ve touched. They’re delectable. Lean hearts hide countless subtle flavors, worth every second of chasing joggers. Beyond that, I’m also grateful for my readers. I’m moved every time a young cook shares a neighbor. I just needed a space where food came first. Not pandering. When I found a wire on my editor, I knew it was time for change.
Substack lets me keep killing, my way.
I hope you’ll come along. Substack’s offered me an independent platform on their platform. And notable money. Enough zeroes that I never considered eating the messenger, a gamey-looking fellow named Hamish. I hope he’s doing better today. Hamish seemed like a victim and cause of food poisoning, but he had a trenchant point: America’s ready for open, honest, writing about cannibalism.
Granted, I’m late to the party. Substack’s already made waves for pundits, other food writers, sexual purity activists, demographic purity activists, and comic creators. I haven’t heard about the comics in a while, but a healthy machine runs quietly. Keeping artists out likely helped. In any case, I’m making up for lost time with Long Pig Picks 2.0.
Ownership opens exciting new topics. While my late editor fixated on sponsor-friendly reviews and recipes, food culture lives in the details. For example: fitness. The aforementioned joggers would rather live, making endurance and speed essential. Hence, my planned debut “Equinox: More Than a Buffet.” Followed by free essays on seasoning, reducing food waste, and dieting by eating dieters.
As for paid subscribers? Exclusive photos of my dog. She likes leftovers.
Independence also spares me publishing politics. Many young, well-meaning cannibals fixate on identity. They’re all about who you can’t eat, exiling anyone that roasts a child, spouse, or fellow cannibal. It’s suffocating. As a former husband and father, I adore Substack’s culture of moderation. Free thought needs room to breathe. A bubble of understanding.
Not into the culture war? Me either. Focus on the dog photos.
That said, I pay attention. There’s a divorced elephant in the room. Substack’s declared Musk the god of free speech after years flirting with a sale. From a distance, that seems partisan. It isn’t. Fans of the chancellor simply write better. And personally, I’d rather focus on helping you discover and capture great food.
Besides, after sharing meals in the past, I know Elon has a generous and well-fed mind. One that deserves a chance. I’m confident debate can hold him accountable. That’s why I’ve joined Substack’s upcoming Freer Speech livestreams. Conversations with less vitriol and more exchange. I’m having Elon for lunch, and nothing’s off-limits. However it goes, you’ll enjoy the results.
To the future. It looks delicious. Like you.
Thanks for reading. Spread the love.
