46 pages • 1-hour read
Save Me the Plums
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Themes
Changes in American Publishing in the 20th Century
Throughout Save Me the Plums, Reichl suggests that Gourmet is representative of major changes in the American publishing industry in the late 20th century. The changing relationship between the magazine and the American public reflects larger cultural changes, especially in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Although Reichl falls in love with Gourmet after reading adventurous food stories as a child, when she begins her career, the magazine is full of “prissy pieces about pricey restaurants and fancy resorts” (10). During her interview, she was critical of an article on Thai food written by an “expat surrounded by servants and living in regal splendor” (9) in Bangkok. For Reichl, the article epitomized the ways Gourmet had lost touch with most of its readers. She reflects that the Gourmet of the late 1970s and early 1980s “reflected that particularly American sense of entitlement” (86) that developed in the post-war decades.
By the late 1990s, Gourmet had been purchased by Condé Nast, reflecting the growing tendency towards conglomeration in American media. Because the Condé Nast brand stands “for luxury, class, and fashion and owned a lot of high-end magazines” (12), the Gourmet brand was forced to adapt to its new parent company’s vision. In her interview for the position of editor-in-chief, Reichl tells owner Si Newhouse that the magazine has gone too far and is too focused on luxury, dismissing it as “an elegant dinner party” (18) and “a place for rich people to plan their vacations” (13). As a part of Condé Nast, Gourmet reflected the American media industry’s shift towards luxury in the affluent 1990s.
In the years after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the American public became increasingly political—a cultural shift that was reflected in the magazine industry. In the case of Gourmet, this change is most obvious in the magazine’s publication of articles challenging the ethics of modern food industries. Early in her tenure, Reichl pushed for an article on “the horrors of salmon farms” (158). Later, she published an article doubling as “an exercise in bioethics” by author David Foster Wallace, “demanding that each reader examine his conscience and consider the ethics of eating” live lobsters (184). Reichl argues that pieces like these were helping Gourmet to “redefine what it means to be an authority on food” by focusing on content over form (185). The political nature of these pieces offers a stark contrast to the elitist and luxury-focused early days of the magazine, reflecting the “evolution” (158) of the magazine industry in the late 20th century.
The Bittersweet Nature of Achieving Dreams
Although the primary focus of Save Me the Plums is Reichl’s professional achievements at Gourmet, the memoir repeatedly emphasizes the bittersweet nuances of success. In examining her career, Reichl frequently notes moments when she realized that achieving a dream had not made her as happy as she expected. Although many would consider the position of restaurant critic at the New York Times to be the ultimate professional goal for a food writer, Reichl reveals that there was “no joy in thinking about the harm [her] words could cause” (78) and that she “never wrote a negative review without worrying about closed restaurants, lost jobs, and fired chefs” (78). Despite feeling that the position at the Times was a dream job, Reichl ultimately “felt nothing but relief that [her] reviewing days were behind [her]” (78) when she took the position of editor-in-chief at Gourmet.
Reichl’s experience at the Times made her mindful of the implications and consequences of her actions on others—a perspective that shaped her leadership at Gourmet. Stepping into her role as editor-in-chief, Reichl found herself longing for the camaraderie of the New York Times, where she was able to gossip and joke with her fellow writers. She worried that “Gourmet would be different: nobody wants to gossip with the boss” (41) and that she would find it “unpleasant […] to be surrounded by people who were afraid of [her]” (41). As Reichl chronicles her tenure at Gourmet, she provides a nuanced picture of both herself and her success, highlighting the full spectrum of emotions she experienced—moments when she felt fearful or unsure, proud and accomplished, or overwhelmed and unhappy—often simultaneously.
Reichl juxtaposes her external moments of achievement at Gourmet alongside her layered internal landscape, imbuing them with a bittersweet tone. For example, when she attends the birthday party of Condé Nast chairman, Si Newhouse, she realizes she’s been fully accepted into this elite world. Surrounded by interesting and important people, she thinks of her mother, who was deeply unsatisfied with her life and always longed for something more. Later that night, she found herself “riding in a limousine, [her] limousine, watching buildings glide past in the cool autumn night, wishing [her] mother was alive” (123). Reichl feels both immense pride and deep sadness as she realizes she’s living the life her mother always dreamed of. The realization that Reichl’s mother is not alive to share these experiences makes achieving her goal a bittersweet experience.
The mounting pressure on Reichl for Gourmet to succeed and the shock and pain of seeing the magazine shut down emphasize the contrast between the dream of something and its reality. In her last years at Gourmet, Reichl describes her increasing discomfort in her role, despite the prestige and professional influence inherent in her position. The job became “an endless parade of advertiser events requiring [Reichl’s] attendance” (88), prompting her to re-evaluate the work she loved and the life she wanted to be living. When Reichl learns the magazine will close, she notes: “In the moment what I felt mostly was relief. Almost everything I’d cherished about my job had vanished, leaving me feeling like little more than a salesman” (249). Here, in a low point of her professional career, Reichl finds herself feeling relief as her primary emotion, signaling the sense of closure that comes with the end of a professional chapter.
The Connection Between Food, Memory, and Emotion
The ability of food to evoke emotion and create sense memory acts as a thematic link through all Reichl’s books, including Save Me The Plums. Throughout the memoir, Reichl emphasizes food and the emotions and memories it engenders as a touchstone of her identity. She forges connections with her Gourmet colleagues through food, and the work she publishes as editor-in-chief of Gourmet reflects her personal culinary history and belief in the emotional power of food. Reichl consistently uses food as a litmus test for her professional colleagues and friends. For example, Gourmet publisher Capua breaks through Reichl’s early skepticism and establishes a sense of camaraderie with her by demonstrating his skills and knowledge as a chef. She admits that she is “delighted by the notion of a publisher who cooked” (146). Their early conversations about food cement their relationship, which becomes fundamental to Reichl’s success at Gourmet. When John “Doc” Willoughby rejects the lackluster Condé Nast cafeteria in favor of a “small, modest restaurant” downtown, Reichl believes that “he’[s] aced the first part of the interview” (152). Throughout the meal, Willoughby matches Reichl’s appetite “bite for bite,” and his obvious “appreciation of flavor” convinces her that “[they’d] work well together” (153). Reichl’s relationship with Willoughby, which is as successful as her relationship with Capua, is based on their shared appreciation for good food.
Reichl demonstrates her belief in the connection between food and emotion by championing articles that emphasize the link between cuisine, culture, and identity. As editor, she commissions or supports the publication of several articles exploring this theme, such as an essay by David Rakoff on “the tortured relationship between Jews and bacon” (189), and a piece by Junot Díaz on how his “love for Asian food is inextricably linked with his yearning for his absent father” (189). These articles make the connection between food and the self explicit, reflecting the formative nature of sense memories, especially those involving taste.
Reichl’s belief in the formative power of food undergirds her argument that children should be encouraged to develop a varied palate from a young age. In an Editor’s Letter written in response to the opening of a children’s food store, she argues that the very idea of children’s food is “sending kids the wrong message, telling them they’re a separate species who couldn’t possibly like whatever the grownups are eating” (200). She suggests that, rather than isolating children at a separate table, “it would make so much more sense to say, ‘Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us’” (206). This plea reflects Reichl’s own joy in food and her deep connection to the food memories of her childhood.
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