Sam Sifton’s Reviewing “Style”

I’m trying to like Sam Sifton – I really am. I don’t know the guy, so this is more about liking his writing, or liking his persona as a writer, than liking him as a person. But I’m finding it hard to approve of his overuse of questions, semi-colons, commas and parentheses in his restaurant reviews for The New York Times.

His writing is jaunty, and I can never find its rhythm. Just when I’ve started to fall for a sentence or two, he throws in a curve ball — a jolting, short sentence that kills the flow. It almost reminds me of the notes I scrawl in my notebook — like he’s keeping track of his sensory observations for an article he plans to write later. There’s something that feels unfinished and thrown together about his work, and what’s worse is that I think it’s intentional. Some might call this his “style,” but I find his prose lazy, less unique than unsure and floundering.

His frequent snarky remarks come out awkwardly, trying too hard to be entertaining. As a result, we’re distracted from what should be the focus of the review: the food. Most of what I remember from a Sifton review is, well, Sifton.

Some doosies from his latest review: A Voce Columbus

Example 1. Punctuation and Odd References

“Service is clinical, almost silent, beyond language. Wine is what a chairman would expect, what most would order: a lot of big California cabernets, excellent chardonnays.

That’s on purpose.”

a. What is “beyond language” supposed to mean? Are the servers expressing themselves with eyes only?

b. THE COMMAS. This is The New York Times, not your stream of consciousness journal.

c. His use of “That’s” is ambiguous – I’m honestly not sure what he means by it: the wine or the clinical service? Or both?

d. The “chairman” reference is tired. Not all chairmen drink Chardonnay. There’s something sad about a reviewer at this caliber of newspaper who makes such generalized stereotypical statements.

Example 2: Ambiguity

“…but more streaked and less scented with rosemary, somehow more country, almost brave. It would be nice to have that in Dallas, in St. Louis, in Phoenix.”

I’m lost here. Would the lardo be nice in these cities because these cities are “country”? Or, is he saying A Voce’s lardo isn’t good enough for New York?

Example 3: Weak Descriptions

“Chicken marinated in fennel and chili, then cooked under a brick and served with Tuscan greens, huge white beans and Yukon Gold potatoes was fantastic: crisp, salty and sweet all at once.”

How very, to put it in Sifton parlance, “meh.”

Here’s Adam Platt’s take in NYMag (for comparison’s sake. Read both. Which one makes you feel something?) “That old Tuscan warhorse chicken al mattone is spiced inventively here with chiles and set on a bed of gravy-soaked bitter greens and sliced Yukon Gold potatoes.”

Same deal with the Bomboloni.

Here’s Platt:

“Best of all, though, are the fluffy, fresh-made bomboloni alla Toscana. The little fritters are rolled in sugar, injected with vanilla custard, and served with a dipping bowl of melted Italian chocolate that raises this hackneyed old comfort-food dish perilously close to the level of art.”

And Sifton:

“Or for those who ordered the steak: Tuscan doughnut bombs filled with sweet cream and served with a bittersweet chocolate dipping sauce that is essentially a melted chocolate bar. (Bring your own insulin.)”

a. Bring your own insulin??!!! NO. This is the kind of generic line that could be used in reference to any dessert. It lacks originality.

b. The chocolate is extremely bitter (I’ve tasted it), so why the sugar emphasis?

c. It’s not “sweet cream,” it’s “vanilla custard.”

d. Why is it just for those who ordered the steak? That’s just silly – insinuating that steak and “doughnut bombs” will be preferred by the same type of diner (a chariman from Phoenix, perhaps?)

At least the Sifster is entertaining. Wait, is he growing on me? Meh.

Also, do check out this related post on Miami-based blog Food For Thought, which so eloquently pinpoints Sifton’s missteps. The link was found by the ballsy Gastropoda.