You know how it is in blogland: if you can’t say anything nasty you don’t say anything at all. That’s why I’ve been slipping on hard-hitting analysis of Alex Witchel’s column in the NY Times Dining section.

See, her last essay, striking out at all the bartenders who give her weak pours just because she’s a wee lassie, was perfectly palatable and actually had me saying, “Too true, sister” by the end.

And then this week’s, about the tyranny of leftovers–whaddya know, also readable and almost entirely free of the worst markers of upper-class tedium. I don’t have sturgeon going to waste in my fridge, but I can appreciate how Nova lox could be like George Hamilton.

And get this: she admits to reheating and enjoying–and not dying from–food that’s more than a week old! I have to admit I’ve made myself sick from leftovers (only once), but I got right back on the horse. And I have proudly told people that really, you can just scrape the mold off the top of that salsa. So it makes me glad to see someone go public with this. Alex Witchel, I hear ya.