Omnivore Atlanta

Wow. Someone at the AJC had an attack of intelligence and reversed the decision to kick John Kessler completely off his food beat. John reports on his Facebook page:

Pardon me while I readjust my whiplash collar. Okay, that’s better. So, on Tuesday I was informed that my new assignment at the AJC was to be a profiles writer for the Sunday paper. I was also told that because of the needs of the new newsroom I would have to “cut the cord” with my former life as a food writer. I was conflicted — happy with a new position that would give me the time to research good stories and space in which to write them, but a little freaked to so suddenly become divorced from a subject I had devoted much of my life to, much longer than my journalism career. But I knew that staying at the paper meant doing what was asked of me, and I am up for the fight.

Yesterday, I was told that — contrary to previous notice — my Sunday “Restaurant Stories” column would not be dying. So, henceforth, I’ll be writing a weekly food column and (more or less) biweekly personality profiles, all of which will be in the Sunday paper. I am pretty excited to be part of a core team of really fine writers and editors, slightly scared that my first profiles of non-food types will totally suck, and ready to do what it takes to keep this paper a part of people’s lives in Atlanta. I landed well here.

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A tsunami of outrage and confusion is traveling through the foodie community. Its cause is the announcement that the AJC’s management has taken John Kessler off the food beat and assigned him the gig of writing personality profiles for Sunday editions.

Our former dining editor Bill Addison has a post about the news on his Atlanta magazine blog. He pays tribute to John for his influence on his own career. You can read the reactions of foodies on John’s Facebook page.

What is not clear is whether John had any role in the decision. I wonder about this because it seems remarkably stupid to kick arguably your most popular writer off his beat. John was first hired at the AJC as dining critic and then, after about eight years, moved to the broader role of food writer. Perhaps moving to an even broader role appeals to him.

Still, he likely had no choice if he wants to stay at the AJC. The change, along with other surviving employees’ reassignments, was announced the day after the paper rid itself of 70-plus editorial staff members through “buy-outs,” including some major names. This follows several earlier rounds of layoffs, buyouts and early retirements. As far as I can tell, the paper’s arts coverage has been completely eviscerated.

The paper is also closing several suburban bureaus and shipping Cynthia Tucker off to DC to ruminate strictly about national-level politics. There’s been no word whether Cynthia, a Pulitzer winner, had a role in her new assignment, either.

I have to confess that when I was reading one of John’s recent pieces a few days ago, I wondered, “Why the hell is this man writing about donuts?” He is a gifted writer and maybe he can take inspiration from Frank Rich who ended his stint as theater critic at the New York Times by becoming its most controversial and engaging Sunday columnist.

Of course, the depth of John’s work will depend in great part on the license he is granted. Whatever happens, the culinary scene is worse for the change.

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A few weeks ago, I had lunch with my friend John Kessler, a food writer for the AJC. As we pulled up to the restaurant, I could see him getting more and more excited, although I knew it wasn’t about the meal we were about to eat. Once we were settled at the table, he brandished the subject of his elation – a whipped cream canister. “Bring us a plate!” he instructed the waitress. He proceeded to squirt a pile of garish, orange whipped stuff onto the plate in the middle of the table, giggling manically all the while. “Try it,” he demanded.

I took a bite – it was sweet, creamy and … wait … full of booze! It was both the most disgusting and most perversely awesome thing ever — flavored, alcoholic whipped cream. Not just alcoholic, but like, 36 proof, grain alcohol-based orange flavored nastiness. My mind reeled. My eyes watered.

The possibilities were endless.

John gave me a couple of cans, but swore me to secrecy until his story about the whipahol came out, which it did today. Read it and weep tears of joy and disgust. I carried the whipahol around in my purse for a few days, forcing it on any innocent bystander who was close enough. I was the life of the party. I think I also scared some people. I haven’t really been using it at home for whipped cocktails or the like, but it sure is a funny thing to randomly pull out of your purse.

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