‘Wait,’ people would say. ‘You get paid to eat?’ Yes, and dining out five times a day was joyful – for a while, at least
Could I eat another bite? I turned this over in my head as I scanned the passenger seat of my car, piled high with takeaway containers of chicken wings. Being overfull was a familiar feeling in my work as a food critic. That crisp October day, the question was also existential – I had simply reached the end of the road.
I’d been thrilled to land my job nearly six years earlier at a newspaper covering the 3 million people and 10,000+ restaurants of New York City’s eastern suburbs. I’d grown up on Long Island reading Newsday, an award-winning powerhouse in the 80s and 90s, and years later had returned home for a job I initially loved. Driving hundreds of miles a week, I sometimes ate out four or five times a day as I pursued stories. Ribeye, oysters, cumin lamb, birria tacos – much of it went on my corporate credit card. The hustle was constant but the reward was unearthing under-the-radar places, dishes and people. I also wrote about wine, beer, coffee, and cocktails, which meant rubbing elbows with talented brewers and bartenders.
Corin Hirsch is a writer who covers food, drink, and travel
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