FOOD, BULLSHIT,
AND... OTHER COMPLICATIONS
I'm a French chef. I’ve been living and working in the U.S. for 20 years. But I carry the absence of my country’s food and its way of life like an open wound that refuses to heal. But I’ve been here long enough to have noticed that things have been getting weird.
I see it in my kitchen, order after order. In restaurants, plate by plate, and at the supermarket, aisle by aisle.
What the hell happened to food?
Before: a dish.
Today: a concept. A tribe. An ideological statement. We count calories, scan ingredients, debate ethics, track macros, and photograph our meals.
This is not a recipe book or a food guide; I won’t preach anything. I don’t have to because our food says more about us than any speech ever could, and cravings tell far more than appetite ever will.
This is about what we order, what we eat, and, above all, what we've lost without even noticing. About what we no longer dare to serve, say.
About restaurants, grocery stores, family tables, food trends, old recipes, and new obsessions. And all the bullshit we pile on top of food. The foam. The morality. The panic.
It’s a journey between two worlds.
Two ways of eating.
Two ways of living.
On one side, traditional cooking gets deboned by apps; we order in three clicks what we no longer want to cook. We eat while we drive, work, and chase time.
On the other, food lovers who do grocery shopping like a pilgrimage and find each other at a table around a dish in sauce, like around a compass.
In between, customers who are torn between quinoa and braised short rib. Stuck between their conscience and their stomach. Between vice and virtue.
This is a love letter to dining rooms and kitchens that vibrate: bistros, brasseries, and local dives where servers and cooks hold the line, entrenched in their craft.
A culinary tale by a heretic junkie hooked on baguette, butter, cheese, and recipes that rattle the soul, who doesn’t recognize his job and the world anymore.
Because the more we have tools to simplify our lives, the more we complicate the simple things.
And usually food ends up being the victim of this muffled but merciless war between the butter nostalgics and the gluten-free converts.
An unapologetic chronicle, seasoned with tenderness, sarcasm, and venom.
Because they're part of the taste.
Newsletter
YOUR SEAT AT THE TABLE STARTS HERE
NO SPAM.
NO SPIN.
THE GOOD STUFF ONLY
Sharp stories, honest conversations, and the occasional badly behaved opinion. Delivered when there’s something worth saying.
BY SIGNING UP, YOU AGREE TO RECEIVE EMAILS FROM FOODNBULLSHIT. UNSUBSCRIBE ANYTIME.
© 2026 FOODNBULLSHIT All rights reserved.
Contact:
FOOD, BULLSHIT,
AND... OTHER COMPLICATIONS
I'm a French chef. I’ve been living and working in the U.S. for 20 years. But I carry the absence of my country’s food and its way of life like an open wound that refuses to heal. But I’ve been here long enough to have noticed that things have been getting weird.
I see it in my kitchen, order after order. In restaurants, plate by plate, and at the supermarket, aisle by aisle.
What the hell happened to food?
Before: a dish.
Today: a concept. A tribe. An ideological statement. We count calories, scan ingredients, debate ethics, track macros, and photograph our meals.
This is not a recipe book or a food guide; I won’t preach anything. I don’t have to because our food says more about us than any speech ever could, and cravings tell far more than appetite ever will.
It’s about what we order, what we eat, and, above all, what we've lost without even noticing. About what we no longer dare to serve, say. About restaurants, grocery stores, family tables, food trends, old recipes, and new obsessions. And all the bullshit we pile on top of food. The foam. The morality. The panic.
It’s a journey between two worlds.
Two ways of eating.
Two ways of living.
On one side, traditional cooking gets deboned by apps; we order in three clicks what we no longer want to cook. We eat while we drive, work, and chase time.
On the other, food lovers who do grocery shopping like a pilgrimage and find each other at a table around a dish in sauce, like around a compass.
And in between, customers who are torn between quinoa and braised short rib. Stuck between their conscience and their stomach. Between vice and virtue.
This is a love letter to dining rooms and kitchens that vibrate: bistros, brasseries, and local dives where servers and cooks hold the line, entrenched in their craft.
A culinary tale by a heretic junkie hooked on baguette, butter, cheese, and recipes that rattle the soul, who doesn’t recognize his job and the world anymore.
Because the more we have tools to simplify our lives, the more we complicate the simple things.
And usually food ends up being the victim of this muffled but merciless war between the butter nostalgics and the gluten-free converts.
An unapologetic chronicle, seasoned with tenderness, sarcasm, and venom.
Because they're part of the taste.
NEWSLETTER
NO SPAM.
NO SPIN.
THE GOOD STUFF ONLY
Sharp stories, honest conversations, and the occasional badly behaved opinion. Delivered when there’s something worth saying.
BY SIGNING UP, YOU AGREE TO RECEIVE EMAILS FROM FOODNBULLSHIT. UNSUBSCRIBE ANYTIME.
© 2026 FOODNBULLSHIT All rights reserved.