Michael Ruhlman delivers a masterclass in cultural triage, arguing that while the food and film industries are drowning in "gloom and doom" narratives, the actual experience of eating and watching remains vibrant, if misunderstood. He dismantles the prevailing anxiety around health trends and box-office failures with a refreshing, sensory-based pragmatism that prioritizes joy over dogma.
The Cinema of Resilience
Ruhlman opens by rejecting the doom-scrolling narrative that plagues entertainment journalism. He notes that despite headlines screaming about low box-office numbers, the theaters he visits—The Quad, the Angelika, IFC—are bustling with high-caliber work. He writes, "Nothing but gloom and doom and low box-office numbers is all the news, but from where we sit... it's looking pretty damn good." This observation is crucial; it reframes the industry crisis not as a failure of art, but as a disconnect between data and lived experience.
He champions specific films not just for their quality, but for their emotional resonance. Discussing the recent film Nuremberg, which dramatizes the 1946 Nazi trials, he highlights the gravity of the subject matter. The piece features Russell Crowe as Hermann Göring and Michael Shannon as the Supreme Court justice presiding over the case. Ruhlman argues that the mixed reviews from critics stem from cynicism rather than quality, calling the film "fabulous entertainment with exceptional performances." This is a bold take, especially given the historical weight of the Nuremberg trials, which established the precedent for international tribunals. By focusing on the human drama of the courtroom rather than just the historical facts, Ruhlman suggests that these stories remain vital for understanding justice.
"It was another great year for the movies and another horrible, hair-on-fire year for the industry, as each month brought more bummer box-office news."
He extends this analysis to Jay Kelly and Sentimental Value, noting how both films tackle the theme of estranged fathers and daughters. He describes Jay Kelly as a story where George Clooney "attempt[s] to reconcile his life choices with the too-late understanding that he's lost his daughter from neglect." The argument here is that the industry's best work is often the most emotionally complex, even when it defies the "feel-good" marketing trailers. While some might argue that focusing on individual films ignores the systemic labor issues plaguing Hollywood, Ruhlman's point stands: the art itself is surviving the business's turbulence.
The Kitchen as a Sanctuary of Sense
Shifting from the screen to the skillet, Ruhlman turns his critical eye toward the "National Eating Disorder That Won't Go Away." He identifies a pervasive cultural anxiety around food, driven by conflicting health advice and a loss of trust in experts. He writes, "Food is joy, not medicine, and if you're not eating joyfully you're probably not eating well." This is the core of his philosophy: the act of eating should be a sensory experience, not a medical calculation.
He dismantles several long-held myths with surgical precision. He traces the "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day" maxim back to Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, who promoted corn flakes as a cure for masturbation, a historical fact that underscores the often bizarre origins of dietary dogma. He also tackles the fear of eggs, citing nutrition expert Marion Nestle to explain that egg cholesterol and blood-serum cholesterol are distinct, noting that eggs have not been shown to raise cholesterol except in those with already low levels.
"Cook your own food. Eat anything you want, just cook it yourself."
The most timely part of his argument addresses the current trend of avoiding seed-based oils. He points out that despite a lack of evidence, restaurants and consumers are flocking to expensive alternatives like sugarcane oil, driven by a deep-seated distrust. He notes, "We believe it even without evidence. Sound like someone we know?" This is a sharp, albeit indirect, critique of the current political climate where misinformation often trumps scientific consensus. Critics might argue that ignoring emerging nutritional science is risky, but Ruhlman's stance is that common sense and the act of cooking oneself are more reliable guides than chasing the latest health fad. He advocates for a return to the fundamentals: a balance of protein, carbohydrates, and fats, and the simple pleasure of a roasted chicken.
A Verdict on Culture and Consumption
Ruhlman's commentary is a call to reclaim agency in both our leisure and our sustenance. Whether it is watching a compelling drama about the assassination of James Garfield or simmering potatoes in milk, the common thread is the rejection of passive consumption in favor of active, sensory engagement. He suggests that the antidote to a chaotic world is not more data, but better attention.
"Food is joy, not medicine, and if you're not eating joyfully you're probably not eating well."
The strongest element of his argument is the refusal to let fear dictate choices, whether in the movie theater or the kitchen. His biggest vulnerability is a potential dismissal of legitimate public health concerns, particularly regarding the long-term effects of industrial food systems. However, his emphasis on cooking as an act of trust and joy offers a necessary counterbalance to the paralysis of modern anxiety.
Bottom Line
Michael Ruhlman's piece is a powerful reminder that culture and cuisine thrive when we stop listening to the noise and start trusting our senses. The argument holds that the best way to navigate a confusing world is not through rigid rules, but through the deliberate, joyful act of creation and observation.