Guest Post from Mike Gebert, Sky Full of Bacon
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Today features a guest post from Michael Gebert. Michael does the video podcast and blog Sky Full of Bacon (skyfullofbacon.com) and writes about food for several local publications.
I don't have anything to add specifically to the whole Lollapalooza-Graham Elliott Bowles-vs.-Chicago Mag kerfuffle, even though, or maybe because, I attended the perfectly pleasant event Monday night. That it blew up so badly the next day left me feeling sort of like, "Nice baptism! Hey, did anybody hear that Moe Green got shot?"
But there's one point that I've been kind of kicking around in my head. Various commenters have said words to the effect that Chicago Mag's writer "knew the rules" or "broke the rules" when they reviewed the food. This is clear, they suggested, "because we all know what the rules are."
We do? Do we know where they're posted? Is there anywhere good to eat around there?
One problem is a term I've had my own tangles with before: "review." Obviously if you invite journalists to try food, the presumption is that some may write about it. (That might even be the intention behind inviting them.) But at what point does "write about it" become a "review"? Letter grades, a blunt instrument of reviewing to be sure, are one pretty good indicator, I guess. But is any comment at all a review? Did the sentence or so I wrote about Sunda's pork belly bao oblige me to follow the full regulations of the Tribune's reviewing policies and responsibilities? Because I have a pretty short, Bowles-esque response to anyone who tries to saddle me with all that, unless they're willing to cough up the expense account that goes with it.
But here's a bigger, more practical question which nobody seems to be asking. If the discussion is all about what responsibility journalists owe to restaurants... what's the goal? What is it that restaurants and their PR folks are after here? What business objective is it serving for you, holding journalists to the fire like this?
The goal, presumably, is to generate coverage. But I sometimes see behaviors that seem to be working strongly against that goal, especially when it comes to bloggers, or blogger-freelancer-whatevers like myself.
I went to one of your typical Wednesday afternoon PR events a while back, and then blogged about it-- generally favorably, but I had some issues with this or that. I soon heard about my ingratitude from the PR firm, who've never invited me to anything since. Clearly, I'd have been wiser to keep my mouth shut-- and, indeed, when I talked to other writers who'd gone that day, they admitted that they almost never wrote directly about such events, in part to stay on the gravy train.
Similarly, I attended a special dinner with other bloggers/whatever at a noted restaurant, and afterwards I was the only one to write anything of consequence about it-- quite favorable compared to an earlier experience at that restaurant, as it turned out. Sure enough, it wasn't long before I heard some grumbling about some minor details which seemed to rankle the host. If only I'd managed to keep my mouth shut like everyone else did, it would have been a perfect event.
Now, I'm a grownup and neither of these is any big deal, really. But the point of blogging is freedom; God knows if it's going to be revenue free, it'd better be free in every other way too. And I'm pretty sure the point of publicity is to encourage coverage-- not to feed journalists and then incentivize their not talking about you.
The point is, well, as Ellen said the other day, if you're Graham Elliott Bowles, you can do anything and see where it goes. But for mere mortals the point is, if you want publicity, if you want to cultivate this new media world of bloggers and quasi-professionals and who knows what, you need to do so in a way that doesn't immediately make them wary of you and how you'll react to what they write. Because we don't have the institutional backing and ability to blow off pressure that staff writers do, and so we have to protect ourselves in other ways.
The fact is, incidents like the ones above, minor as they were, have made it harder for you to get me out for something. If I suspect your new place is going to be a dog, I'll just turn down your invite rather than risk having to figure out how to post diplomatically about it without pissing a powerful PR firm off. Your $16 worth of salmon ceviche and signature Appletini don't seem worth the headache to me-- which is undoubtedly a disservice to some genuinely talented chef every now and then. Is that really the access and new media savvy clients are paying for?
Ultimately, you need the sang-froid to attract bloggers, freelancers, journalists en masse and then let them be their real selves, even if a few of them bite the hand that (literally) feeds them. And trust that in the long run you and your clients will be better off being talked about than not being talked about-- because, really, nobody like me would do this for the opportunity to smear good restaurants and chefs. We do it because we love food, we love how great the scene in Chicago is... and part of what keeps it great is that the conversation we have about it has pretty high standards and is willing every now and then to whack a place that doesn't cut it. The alternative, frankly, is cultivating only hypercooperative writers whom nobody will want to read after a while-- because they're so obviously in somebody's pocket.
I don't have anything to add specifically to the whole Lollapalooza-Graham Elliott Bowles-vs.-Chicago Mag kerfuffle, even though, or maybe because, I attended the perfectly pleasant event Monday night. That it blew up so badly the next day left me feeling sort of like, "Nice baptism! Hey, did anybody hear that Moe Green got shot?"
But there's one point that I've been kind of kicking around in my head. Various commenters have said words to the effect that Chicago Mag's writer "knew the rules" or "broke the rules" when they reviewed the food. This is clear, they suggested, "because we all know what the rules are."
We do? Do we know where they're posted? Is there anywhere good to eat around there?
One problem is a term I've had my own tangles with before: "review." Obviously if you invite journalists to try food, the presumption is that some may write about it. (That might even be the intention behind inviting them.) But at what point does "write about it" become a "review"? Letter grades, a blunt instrument of reviewing to be sure, are one pretty good indicator, I guess. But is any comment at all a review? Did the sentence or so I wrote about Sunda's pork belly bao oblige me to follow the full regulations of the Tribune's reviewing policies and responsibilities? Because I have a pretty short, Bowles-esque response to anyone who tries to saddle me with all that, unless they're willing to cough up the expense account that goes with it.
But here's a bigger, more practical question which nobody seems to be asking. If the discussion is all about what responsibility journalists owe to restaurants... what's the goal? What is it that restaurants and their PR folks are after here? What business objective is it serving for you, holding journalists to the fire like this?
The goal, presumably, is to generate coverage. But I sometimes see behaviors that seem to be working strongly against that goal, especially when it comes to bloggers, or blogger-freelancer-whatevers like myself.
I went to one of your typical Wednesday afternoon PR events a while back, and then blogged about it-- generally favorably, but I had some issues with this or that. I soon heard about my ingratitude from the PR firm, who've never invited me to anything since. Clearly, I'd have been wiser to keep my mouth shut-- and, indeed, when I talked to other writers who'd gone that day, they admitted that they almost never wrote directly about such events, in part to stay on the gravy train.
Similarly, I attended a special dinner with other bloggers/whatever at a noted restaurant, and afterwards I was the only one to write anything of consequence about it-- quite favorable compared to an earlier experience at that restaurant, as it turned out. Sure enough, it wasn't long before I heard some grumbling about some minor details which seemed to rankle the host. If only I'd managed to keep my mouth shut like everyone else did, it would have been a perfect event.
Now, I'm a grownup and neither of these is any big deal, really. But the point of blogging is freedom; God knows if it's going to be revenue free, it'd better be free in every other way too. And I'm pretty sure the point of publicity is to encourage coverage-- not to feed journalists and then incentivize their not talking about you.
The point is, well, as Ellen said the other day, if you're Graham Elliott Bowles, you can do anything and see where it goes. But for mere mortals the point is, if you want publicity, if you want to cultivate this new media world of bloggers and quasi-professionals and who knows what, you need to do so in a way that doesn't immediately make them wary of you and how you'll react to what they write. Because we don't have the institutional backing and ability to blow off pressure that staff writers do, and so we have to protect ourselves in other ways.
The fact is, incidents like the ones above, minor as they were, have made it harder for you to get me out for something. If I suspect your new place is going to be a dog, I'll just turn down your invite rather than risk having to figure out how to post diplomatically about it without pissing a powerful PR firm off. Your $16 worth of salmon ceviche and signature Appletini don't seem worth the headache to me-- which is undoubtedly a disservice to some genuinely talented chef every now and then. Is that really the access and new media savvy clients are paying for?
Ultimately, you need the sang-froid to attract bloggers, freelancers, journalists en masse and then let them be their real selves, even if a few of them bite the hand that (literally) feeds them. And trust that in the long run you and your clients will be better off being talked about than not being talked about-- because, really, nobody like me would do this for the opportunity to smear good restaurants and chefs. We do it because we love food, we love how great the scene in Chicago is... and part of what keeps it great is that the conversation we have about it has pretty high standards and is willing every now and then to whack a place that doesn't cut it. The alternative, frankly, is cultivating only hypercooperative writers whom nobody will want to read after a while-- because they're so obviously in somebody's pocket.
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