Food Blogger Quotes

It's the Yelp effect. Every halfwit who eats food suddenly thinks he's a food critic. And don't get me started on people “reviewing” books they didn't even read. Who needs information, when you can have an uninformed opinion?

Create a link through which you can market your dream products. Create a blog or a website of your own depending on what you want to be recognized for. Share your experiences through these media.

Master online branding. Online branding makes you known for something specific by people who have not even seen you physically, before.

Many people in this room have an Etsy store where they create unique, unreplicable artifacts or useful items to be sold on a small scale, in a common marketplace where their friends meet and barter. I and many of my friends own more than one spinning wheel. We grow our food again. We make pickles and jams on private, individual scales, when many of our mothers forgot those skills if they ever knew them. We come to conventions, we create small communities of support and distributed skills--when one of us needs help, our village steps in. It’s only that our village is no longer physical, but connected by DSL instead of roads. But look at how we organize our tribes--bloggers preside over large estates, kings and queens whose spouses’ virtues are oft-lauded but whose faces are rarely seen. They have moderators to protect them, to be their knights, a nobility of active commenters and big name fans, a peasantry of regular readers, and vandals starting the occasional flame war just to watch the fields burn. Other villages are more commune-like, sharing out resources on forums or aggregate sites, providing wise women to be consulted, rabbis or priests to explain the world, makers and smiths to fashion magical objects. Groups of performers, acrobats and actors and singers of songs are traveling the roads once more, entertaining for a brief evening in a living room or a wheatfield, known by word of mouth and secret signal. Separate from official government, we create our own hierarchies, laws, and mores, as well as our own folklore and secret history. Even my own guilt about having failed as an academic is quite the crisis of filial piety--you see, my mother is a professor. I have not carried on the family trade. We dwell within a system so large and widespread, so disorganized and unconcerned for anyone but its most privileged and luxurious members, that our powerlessness, when we can summon up the courage to actually face it, is staggering. So we do not face it. We tell ourselves we are Achilles when we have much more in common with the cathedral-worker, laboring anonymously so that the next generation can see some incremental progress. We lack, of course, a Great Work to point to and say: my grandmother made that window; I worked upon the door. Though, I would submit that perhaps the Internet, as an object, as an aggregate entity, is the cathedral we build word by word and image by image, window by window and portal by portal, to stand taller for our children, if only by a little, than it does for us. For most of us are Lancelots, not Galahads. We may see the Grail of a good Classical life, but never touch it. That is for our sons, or their daughters, or further off. And if our villages are online, the real world becomes that dark wood on the edge of civilization, a place of danger and experience, of magic and blood, a place to make one’s name or find death by bear. And here, there be monsters.

Embrace the social media and utilize it wisely to promote your brand. When you optimize the social media, you may go offline, but your brand will never go off-track.

Surround yourself with things that make you smile.” He reached up and caressed her cheek. “You make me smile

Unfortunately, there weren’t any do-overs in life.

Regina Schrambling is both hero and villain. My favorite villain, actually. The former New York Times and LA Times food writer and blogger is easily the Angriest Person Writing About Food. Her weekly blog entries at gastropoda.com are a deeply felt, episodic unburdening, a venting of all her bitterness, rage, contempt, and disappointment with a world that never seems to live up to her expectations. She hates nearly everything—and everybody—and when she doesn’t, she hates herself for allowing such a thing to happen. She never lets an old injury, a long-ago slight, go. She proofreads her former employer, the New York Times, with an eye for detail—every typo, any evidence of further diminution of quality—and when she can latch on to something (as, let’s face it, she always can), she unleashes a withering torrent of ridicule and contempt. She hates Alice Waters. She hates George Bush. (She’ll still be writing about him with the same blind rage long after he’s dead of old age.) She hates Ruth Reichl, Mario Batali, Frank Bruni, Mark Bittman … me. She hates the whole rotten, corrupt, self-interested sea in which she must swim: a daily ordeal, which, at the same time, she feels compelled to chronicle. She hates hypocrisy, silliness, mendacity. She is immaculate in the consistency and regularity of her loathing.

Although Kraft didn't mention the controversy in its news releases, Monday's announcement comes on the heels of a heated Internet campaign against the company for using artificial ingredients. The campaign was led by Vani Hari, a controversial food blogger who goes by the name "Food Babe." Hari was one of several food bloggers to start an online petition two years ago demanding that Kraft remove all artificial food coloring from the product. The petition gathered more than 350,000 signatures, and on Monday, Hari declared "victory." "The thousands

Thorpe thinks he is the luckiest person alive. After being “let go” from the best job he’d ever had—as the Chief Financial Officer of the multinational food and beverage company MonaVie—he and his wife ended up living in China for a year where he wrote Your Mark On The World and embarked on the career he’d always wanted and hadn’t dared dream. Now, as an author and blogger for Forbes Devin writes about the things

I don’t know,” she said quietly. “A guy in a pair of ripped jeans who takes off his shirt because he’s all sweaty is kind of hot.

Trust Me. I know what I want and it’s right in front of me.

The only thing standing between her and her beautiful new home was her own silly insecurity and Matt Reed.

She was too busy to think about getting involved with anyone. Even one of the sexiest men alive.

I can’t say I particularly like Matty Reed. But you, Matt? I like being with you.”… “That’s good, Viv,” he said. “Because I like being with you. And I want…” He leaned in a little closer, “I need…” His lips were mere inches from hers…

Her eyes fluttered open and she found Matt to be impossibly close – so close she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, could almost count his incredibly long lashes. Vivienne swallowed hard. This was it. There was no going back. And she really didn’t want to.

Jeez, you two,” Savannah muttered. “Shush. It’s like free porn,” Riley teased.

I think if we ignore that night, that kiss, then we’re both denying a part of who we are.

I’ve had pedicures before, and I’ve had milk shakes. Just never at the same time. And it’s glorious.

some Chinese parents display love through irony, screaming at you for spending too much money on them and fighting to the death in a restaurant for the right to pay the cheque. “Chinese families know how to love fiercely,” writes a blogger quoted in the article. “They do it through immense generosity, unwavering loyalty, and a lot of food.

Food bloggers, Travel Influencers, Fashion Bloggers, And similar are nothing but glorified freeloaders.

Whether she was writing to tell her followers about a local cheesemaker, a new farm-to-table restaurant, or what to do with an exotic heirloom fruit that was organically produced and newly marketed, she spent hours each day scouring Philadelphia and the outlying towns for material.

I go to farmers' markets all the time. Field-to-table is so my thing. But none of the herbs at any of them comes close to island herbs. Those herbs make Quinnie food- well, those herbs and freshness. Quinnipeague was growing organic and cooking local before farm-to-table was a movement, but, still, we think of the herbs first. I can't write about island cooking without talking about them, but I can't not talk about the people, either. That's where you come in, Charlotte. You've eaten Dorey Jewett's lobster stew and Mary Landry's clam fritters, and you always loved the fruit compote that Bonnie Stroud brought to the Fourth of July dinner each year. These people are all still around. Each has a story. I want to include some in the book, but I'm better at writing about food than people.

She spent the afternoon typing up notes, answering readers' questions, and blogging about a new online source for organic cinnamon and nutmeg, either of which she could have used for testing the island recipe for Indian Pudding that afternoon. Both spices were produced from a tropical evergreen that, Cecily's miracles notwithstanding, did not grow on Quinnipeague, but since Indian pudding was a prized dessert here, Nicole refused to leave it out. Typically, Quinnie Indian Pudding called for cider molasses made from island apples. The recipe she had been given listed bottled molasses, which she supposed made sense, given its wider availability, though the taste wasn't quite the same. She made a mental note to ask Bev Simone about her supply of the real stuff.

If everyone in your category is writing restaurant reviews as if they’re formal essays, something “unexpected” would be to write comedic restaurant reviews from the perspective of a part-time food blogger named Cindy who works for a failing restaurant magazine, and shows up to every restaurant pretending to be this hot insta-famous food-review writer but actually doesn’t know anything about food and gets too drunk at every tasting (and it shows in her writing). In the professional-restaurant-review category, this would be “unexpected.” And as a result, it would stand out.