A PEEK INTO RUTH REICHL’S WORLD OF FOOD
FALL 24
By Scott Edward Anderson Photos By Gregory Cherin
On a sun-drenched June morning, Ruth Reichl welcomes me into her Spencertown, New York, home. The renowned writer, food critic, and memoirist will be in conversation with Monique Truong at the Authors Guild Foundation’s WIT Literary Festival, on Sunday, September 29, where the two novelists will talk about the language and literature of food. Today, I’ve come to talk with Reichl about her career, her writing, and her cooking.
Moving with purpose through her kitchen, Reichl explains she designed the space herself. It’s specifically tailored for her body, with green serpentine stone countertops placed at the right height for chopping and under-counter drawers at an easy arm’s reach. “Although my kitchen is small, it makes me happy and there’s still room for friends to join me,” Reichl explains, gesturing towards the row of bar stools lining one side. “But, you’ll notice, I gave myself the view.”
In 2000, Reichl built this 2,475-square foot house on over 40 acres of rocky, shale hilltop with her husband, retired television producer Michael Singer. The U-shaped kitchen serves as both a “command center and comfort station,” allowing Reichl to entertain while cooking. The open floor plan ensures that cooking aromas fill the entire space, which is sparsely furnished to maximize the floor-to-ceiling views of the Catskills to the West.
A self-described “home cook,” Reichl is untrained and has long insisted her knife skills are terrible. She cooks food that brings her pleasure and that her friends and family will enjoy. For lunch during my visit, she brings out a platter of cheeses, including a delicious Gouda from northern Holland called L’Amuse, along with bread from Bartlett House in Ghent, New York, and fresh cantaloupe. In the kitchen, Reichl pours buckwheat batter into a small skillet for a favorite recipe of hers, buckwheat blini, which she serves with a strawberry-rhubarb compote and sugar. “I don’t use much sugar in the batter,” she explains.
Reichl walks over to the wall of bookshelves in her living room and pulls down a copy of her first cookbook, Mmmmm: A Feastiary, published when she was only 22. “Cooking, for me, begins at the market,” is the first sentence I read when I open up the book, and it occurs to me this notion still guides her daily life, which gives me an idea: I suggest we go shopping together.
Our first stop is Guido’s in Great Barrington, which Reichl frequents almost daily. “When you’re writing all day, it’s nice to take a break,” she explains. “I love markets, and I love roaming around and seeing what’s available. Maybe I’ll find something new.”
Reichl’s shopping habits mirror her cooking style: intuitive and inspired by what’s fresh. She starts at the bread counter, picking up some croissants for her husband; then moves on to produce. Today, she selects Persian cucumbers, curry leaves, and juice oranges. “I make fresh-squeezed juice every day,” she says.
At the fish counter, Reichl explains that Guido’s has an excellent fishmonger, which is run by Mazzeo’s Meats & Seafood. She often buys sole or other fish her husband enjoys. For meat, she prefers North Plain Farm on Route 41 in Housatonic and is particularly fond of its liverwurst. “I always keep some in the freezer, in case we have surprise guests,” she says with a wink.
Then we’re off to High Lawn Farm in Lee, where Reichl has never been, and where I’ve told her she must try the ice cream. A group of Jersey calves greets us, and several young families tour the farm. Reichl enjoys her ice cream and picks up a flank steak from the farm store. Although High Lawn’s is the only milk she drinks, she prefers to buy her cheeses at Rubiner’s in Great Barrington, which is our next stop.
Owner Matt Rubiner lights up when he sees her. “It was monumental, at least for me, when she first walked in the door,” he says, noting that Reichl has been a customer almost since the shop opened. Despite her legendary status, Rubiner says, “She’s always eager to take advice or recommendations and to try things.”
Reichl navigates the shop with the ease of a regular, pointing out her favorites. She’s partial to the Ayaho & Family Shiro Plum Jam and the onion relish from Al Fratoia di Aldo Armato, which she is “never without.” Today, she selects some gorgonzola (“My favorite midnight snack,” she confides) and parmesan, along with some prosciutto.
As we leave, Reichl reflects on the importance of places like Rubiner’s, with its carefully curated selections and knowledgeable staff. They are vital to maintaining food culture, she believes. To Reichl, these are not just stores; they’re community hubs and educational spaces, reflecting a philosophy that has guided her life and career: Food is more than sustenance—it’s story, community, a way of living.
Reichl’s journey in the culinary world began long before she became a renowned food critic and author. Born to parents with complex relationships with food—a father who enjoyed it nostalgically and a mother notorious for her poor cooking—Reichl developed a nuanced palate early on.
Her mother was a “kitchen disaster,” known as the “Queen of Mold,” as Reichl describes her in her first memoir, Tender at the Bone, published in 1998. As a young girl, Reichl developed a curiosity about cooking—in part, out of necessity—that gave her a willingness to try anything.
This curiosity and a need to escape her troubled, controlling mother led Reichl to Berkeley with her first husband in the 1970s, where they lived in a commune and she became part of the burgeoning California cuisine movement. “Those were exciting times,” she says. “We were reinventing American food, focusing on fresh, local ingredients. It was revolutionary.”
Her experiences in Berkeley laid the foundation for her future career. “I learned that food is political, social, and deeply personal,” Reichl explains. “Those lessons have informed everything I’ve done since.”
She started writing for local publications and eventually moved to the Los Angeles Times, where she became editor of the food section, transforming it from the “ladies’ pages” to an important part of the newspaper. Then she moved to The New York Times, becoming its restaurant critic for six years, where she was known for her notoriously honest criticism, the kind that could make or break a restaurant—and sometimes did.
In 1999, she was asked to take the helm of Gourmet Magazine, a publication that had originally sparked her interest in food and writing when she was a little girl, as she relates in her memoir of her Gourmet days, Save Me the Plums.
“I opened it to find the pages filled with tales of food in faraway places,” she writes. A story about lobstering ignited something in the eight-year-old Reichl. “As I began to read, the walls faded, the shop around me vanishing until I was sprawled on the sands of a small island off the coast of Maine.” Later, she found a tattered, 50-cent copy of The Gourmet Cookbook, from which she taught herself how to cook.
She transformed and revived the magazine during her time as its editor, updating its look and feel, and hiring top-notch contemporary writers, many of whom weren’t associated with food writing. One such writer was Truong, whose piece “My Cherry Amour,” appeared in the “Paris on a Budget” issue of Gourmet, in September 2008, and was nominated for a James Beard Award.
“I am a great admirer of Ruth,” says Truong. “I read Gourmet ever since I was a kid, and it was a dream come true to write for the magazine.”
Reichl’s decade-long tenure as editor-in-chief of Gourmet ended abruptly in 2009 with Condé Nast closing the publication. She was devastated. “It wasn’t just losing my job; it was watching a beloved institution disappear under my watch,” Reichl admits, her voice softening. The closure was particularly painful for Reichl, who felt a deep responsibility to the magazine’s legacy. “All that history and some amazing photographs just piled in a dumpster,” she recalls, describing the scene as she cleared out her office. “It was heartbreaking.”
Yet, from this professional setback came an unexpected opportunity. Having published four memoirs by then, Reichl long harbored a desire to write fiction. “I’d written a novel as a young woman, but it was terrible,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’d always said that if I didn’t have a day job, I’d write a novel.”
Her agent, Kathy Robbins, saw the closure of Gourmet as the perfect moment for Reichl to pursue this dream. “Now’s the time!” Robbins told her. The result was Delicious!, Reichl’s first published novel, which drew inspiration from her years at the magazine and from New York’s Greenwich Village, where she lived.
Reichl’s latest work, The Paris Novel, emerged from a chance encounter described in Save Me the Plums, which her long-time editor, Susan Kamil, encouraged her to fictionalize. (Kamil passed away before the novel was finished; the book is dedicated to her.) Setting the novel in 1980s Paris allowed Reichl to revisit a city she loves.
“Everyone thinks about Paris in the ‘20s,” Reichl muses, “but Paris in the ‘80s was fabulous.” Her eyes light up as she recalls her experiences in the city of light, which she first visited as a 12-year old. “The dollar was strong then, the city wasn’t overrun with tourists, and you could wander the streets without being tethered to a smartphone.”
The novel serves as both a love letter to Paris and a reflection on how the city has changed. “Writing it was like time travel,” Reichl says. “I could walk those streets again, taste those flavors, feel that excitement of discovering a new cuisine, recalling some of my favorite meals. All the meals in the book are meals I experienced.”
Reichl’s depiction of 1980s Paris resonates with readers like me who experienced the city during that era. The novel references some of my personal favorite, iconic locations, such as L’As du Fallafel and the restaurant Robert et Louise in the Marais, the bread baker Poilâne, and the bookshop Shakespeare and Company. In Reichl’s hands, Paris is more than just a setting; the city becomes a character with its own story to tell.
Throughout her career, Reichl has worn many hats, but she is always, first and foremost, a cook. Underlying all her roles is her fundamental belief in food as a connective tissue of society and that eating is an ethical act.
This belief is evident in her recent documentary project, Food & Country, created with filmmaker Laura Gabbert. The film, which premiered last year at the Berkshire International Film Festival, explores the state of American farming and food production. “We have to understand where our food comes from and the challenges faced by those who produce it,” Reichl asserts.
At 76, Reichl stays energetic, curious, and forward-looking. She speaks excitedly about her fantasy of updating her first cookbook and the possibility of a sequel to The Paris Novel. “I just love spending time with the characters so much,” she confesses.
Reichl recently received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the James Beard Foundation, and her influence extends far beyond her writing. She has inspired countless food writers and chefs, and her opinions still carry significant weight in culinary circles. Rubiner the cheese shop owner sums it up: “Ruth’s opinion matters. When she likes something, it’s a validation. When she doesn’t, we question our very existence!”
That may be so, but Reichl remains humble about her impact. “I’m just someone who loves food and loves sharing that passion,” she insists. “If I’ve helped people think differently about what they eat, that’s wonderful.”
In addition to her writing projects, Reichl hosts a podcast with Los Angeles restaurateur Nancy Silverton and food writer and editor Laurie Ochoa, and eagerly awaits the imminent streaming release of her documentary. “There’s always something new to learn in food,” she says. “That’s what keeps it exciting.”
At day’s end, Reichl retreats to her kitchen—her “happy place.” She’ll begin preparing dinner for just herself and Michael or a group of friends, her movements graceful and purposeful. “Cooking, for me, is a real meditation,” she says, echoing a sentiment from her book My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes That Saved My Life.
Watching her in the kitchen as I did at our first meeting, it’s clear that for Reichl, food is more than sustenance or even a passion—it’s a lens through which she views the world. From her early days as a young cook in Berkeley to her tenure at Gourmet and now as a celebrated author, Reichl has used food to tell stories, build community, and navigate life’s challenges.
“Food is what connects us to everyday life, and to each other,” she says, “and my kitchen is about creating that community.” In Reichl’s world, every meal is a story, every ingredient a character, and every shared table an opportunity for connection.
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