Who’s a foodie? Not me

I propose instead that we lose the heinously overused and patently annoying word “foodie.”

Anyone else out there think that Ms. Foodie has overstayed her welcome? Her cheer has grown so insufferable, her diminutive nickname so grating. She wears her heart on her sleeve — the same sleeve on which she wipes her mouth. She has to go.

At first, Ms. Foodie seemed a pleasant enough rejoinder to the dour, effete Mr. Gourmet. She arrived on the scene in 1984 as the heroine of the “Official Foodie Handbook” — a humorous look at the growing class of food obsessives in Britain penned by Paul Levy, an American expat food writer, and Ann Barr, a magazine editor.

The book offered a concise definition of its new entity: “What is a Foodie? You are probably. A Foodie is a person who is very very very interested in food. Foodies are the ones interested in food in any gathering — salivating over restaurants, recipes and radicchio.”

Thus, Ms. Foodie bounded forth, chirping merrily about anything and everything she could sink her teeth into. While Mr. Gourmet appreciated fine food and wine within the context of a certain formality, Ms. Foodie was more open-minded — as excited by pad Thai as by Petrus. She saw poetry in the flavor of a ripe pear, but went weak at the knees the first time she ate one of those chocolate cakes with the squirty centers.

The “Official Foodie Handbook” got plenty of trans-Atlantic attention — enough that, by 1987, the backlash had started. Then-New York Times restaurant critic Bryan Miller derided the term as a “fatuous neologism,” writing, “I’m still not quite sure what a foodie is. A gluttonous yuppie? Or is it someone who never misses his or her three squares a day, supplemented by a half-dozen investigative sessions at ‘gourmet’ carryouts?”

But Miller was too late. By then, Ms. Foodie had already staked out the corner armchair in our living room and, between mouthfuls of canape, prattled on about every trend thrown at her. She adored blackened redfish and raspberry coulis in the 1980s, turned to “comfort food” in the 1990s, and became one of the earliest and most devoted viewers of the Food Network.

Now, she blogs. Pim Techamuanvivit, the elfin ur-blogger behind Chez Pim (chezpim.typepad.com), has a new book coming out called — wait for it — "The Foodie Handbook." According to advance materials, this tome will chronicle her adventures in international dining and home cooking, giving tips and advice to foodie aspirants.

But Pim has that rare voice that can carry off the goofy good cheer, voraciousness and abject consumerism of the true foodie. She may, in fact, be the one living incarnation of Ms. Foodie.

Aside from Pim, though, the word has to go, and I'm not the only one saying so. Just take a look at the Urban Dictionary (urbandictionary.com), where reader-supplied definitions bristle with animus.

One reads: “A foodie is someone who THINKS they know something about food and the science of cooking.” Another says it is a “dumbed-down term used by corporate marketing forces to infantilize and increase consumerism in an increasingly simple-minded American magazine reading audience. The addition of the long ‘e’ sound on the end of a common word is used to create the sensation of being part of a group in isolationist urban society, while also feminizing the term to subconsciously foster submission to ever-present market sources.”

Other definitions are not printable.

This all begs the question: What can replace foodie?

“Gourmet” is a dying word — I even think the magazine should consider changing its name. Some people get around this issue by resorting to the related “gourmand” but neglect the fact that the latter term implies gluttony. Gourmands eat greedily.

The pleasing assonance of the word “chowhound” keeps it relevant, but it properly has a narrow definition. Chowhounds troll Buford Highway for brain tacos; they don’t spend $95 for chefs’ tasting menus. A foodie does both.

One friend suggested the hipper “food freaks,” but to me it sounds more like someone who would, say, eat tabbouleh from his own Croc.

“Food lover” just brings to mind so much pink-faced gluttony. It’s not that far from “Velveeta lover.”

On the other end of the enthusiasm scale is “eater,” a word that another friend proposes. I find this locution joyless. Eater. Chewer. Digester. No.

I’ve never disliked the word “epicure,” which conjures third century B.C. Greek philosopher Epicurus and his belief in fulfillment through happiness and pleasure.

Gastronome also has its purpose, though it risks sounding snooty, and Ms. Foodie always wins against Herr Snoot. Perhaps we can shorten it to “gastro,” a word that can be uttered either in all earnestness or with an undercurrent of snark.

Because, that is the problem with Ms. Foodie. She predates snark. Anyone who participates in today’s overcharged, politicized, locavoracious, media-co-opted and otherwise wonderful food scene, has to take it all with a grain of salt.

Preferably pink Himalayan rock salt.

I know. It sounds barfatronic, but the gastros are all over it.