Can traditional food journalism survive in a TikTok-driven world?
In an age where a thirty-second TikTok can make or break a restaurant, conventional food reporting could become a thing of the past. However, many still see the value and relevance of traditional food journalism.
Restaurateur Jenn Agg has been a part of Torontoâs restaurant scene since 2008, with beloved establishments like General Public, Grey Gardens, Le Swan French Diner, Bar Vendetta, Rhum Corner, and Cocktail Bar. She is known for her strong opinions on dining, including the importance of genuine culinary critique.
In August, on the podcast How Dare You with Allana Harkin, Agg put it bluntly: âWhen you are pouring yourself into something and nobody gives you 1,600 words on the art you made, did you make the art?â Agg says she is âdevastatedâ at food journalismâs status in Canada and feels âdismissedâ without the long-form reviews and criticism of the past.
The New York Timesâs first food editor, Jane Nickerson, believed in exploring foodâs social context. Her work transitioned from recipe-driven columns to stories examining relationships between people, ingredients, and culinary traditions. For Nickerson and the generations of food journalists who followed, food writing was as much about conversation as critique. It was a way to inform and inspire readers about whatâs on their plates and why it matters.
Driven by Influencers
In Toronto, food coverage is primarily driven by influencers on Instagram and TikTok who focus on capturing glossy snapshots of dishes and listing prices, only to move on to the next trendy spot. âThe downside of social media posts is that when a video is posted, itâs gone,â says Karon Liu, a Toronto Star food reporter and one of the few dedicated voices left in Torontoâs food journalism scene. Liu continues, saying that, occasionally, posts can seem âisolated and disconnected from the cityâ and donât âadd information beyond a Yelp review.â
Liuâs reporting isnât centred on whether a dish deserves five stars but on situating each restaurant within Torontoâs broader culinary landscape. âMaking people feel smarter about their city is my goal whenever I write,â he says. âItâs not just about whether food is good or not. Itâs about where this restaurant stands in the culinary scene.â
âRestaurant critics have, in the past, come off as a little bit pretentious, focusing only on what might be deemed five-star establishments, as if theyâre the only restaurants worth their time,â says Rebecca Fleming, food and drinks editor at Toronto Life. She works with a team to bring in experienced writers who dive deep into the personalities, histories, and issues behind Torontoâs restaurant sceneâwork that goes beyond viral âyumâ reactions on TikTok.
âSocial media has democratized food journalism,â Liu says, noting that influencers can make restaurants in the GTA visible in ways traditional outlets canât. Influencers can bring a sense of accessibility to food coverage, broadening the cityâs culinary conversation to include a variety of voices and experiences, often spotlighting family-owned spots reflecting Torontoâs cultural diversity.
Look no further than Keith Leeâs stint in Toronto. He drove hordes of new customers to locally beloved mom-and-pop shops all across the city after giving his âlive,â unedited, play-by-play reviews from his car to his millions of TikTok followers.
Fleming says influencers sometimes balance out a history of elitism in food journalism. The question is whether there is room for both. For Fleming, the answer lies in collaboration. âIf influencers take care of a lot of the fluffy stuff, then that gives food writers more time to focus on harder-hitting food journalism.â
For todayâs journalists, the hope is that the future of food journalism can celebrate the best of both worldsârespecting the art of food and amplifying the stories behind it, even in a world obsessed with scrolling to the next big thing.