Since the mid-2010s, cookbook author Ali Slagle has published some 360 recipes for “The New York Times’” Cooking section, many of which have topped annual reader favorite lists for their simplicity and indubitable craveability. One of her most beloved recipes, for Thai-inspired chicken meatball soup, drew over 13,500 ratings (averaging five stars) and almost 700 comments. Amid all the praise, criticism, helpful notations and humorous color, Slagle’s voice is notably absent. Indeed, she almost never responds to comments on her recipes — and not just to avoid trolls.
“I think it’s fun to see everyone help each other,” said Slagle, who wrote the James Beard Award-nominated 2022 cookbook “I Dream of Dinner.” “That’s what cooking is about. It’s not about me telling you what to do. My job to write a recipe is to make it as replicable as possible in the sense that I’m considering all potential variables. I’m suggesting a method, and everyone can figure out their own path to it.”
Recipes attract a uniquely intense level of reader engagement within the food writing sphere. It’s understandable; like food, recipes sit at the incendiary crossroads of science and creativity, of physical nourishment, culture, memory and personal taste. Home cooks not only vary widely in their equipment, but also their experience levels and cooking habits — not to mention why they’re seeking a recipe in the first place. I learned this the hard way when I published a recipe homaging my mom’s spaghetti with meat sauce on global online food community Food52 in 2020, and was promptly, if repetitively, eviscerated by Nicholas A. for my unoriginality: “the same sauce many of us have been making for years....nothing new here and seriously where is the difference in a sauce we all know....nothing new.”
Heart pounding, face on fire, I deleted the comment notification email, which didn’t stop my imposter syndrome from cackling at my abject failure as a recipe writer. Slagle, who was previously on staff at Food52, can relate.
“I’m better about it now,” she said. “When I started out, the comments section used to turn my stomach.”
During Slagle’s tenure at Food52 — a site whose audience notoriously comprises pretty serious home cooks — editors and writers also acted as comment moderators, and were expected to participate in the discussions. Commenters would usually provide helpful tips and thought-provoking discussions. Some, however, got personal, particularly when it came to their criticisms. “They’re critical, not of your work, but you as a person — like they’re airing their dirty laundry in the comments section, basically,” she said.
A ‘hierarchy of opinion’
Slagle is now a freelance writer for the “New York Times,” where comments are read and moderated by staff whose full-time job includes recipe comment moderation — not just for trolls, but impractical observations from readers who haven’t made the recipe, for example.
When one of her recipes is published, she’ll monitor the comments for the first week, responding if someone expresses confusion over a step or the way it’s communicated. After that, she simply can’t keep up. Occasionally, her editors will reach out if enough readers raise a similar issue — say, they deem a dish too bland or acidic — and Slagle will retest it.
“I’m always trying to decide, is there something wrong with the recipe or is this just personal taste?” she said. It’s usually the latter.
Slagle mostly refrains from commenting because it can create a hierarchy of opinion on the forum. If someone asks whether a recipe can be made gluten free, for example, “I didn’t test for that; I don’t know,” she said. “But someone else might have made something similar and substituted with this ingredient. I don’t want my response to seem like the only right one. It should be a more democratic sharing of information.”
As comments amass over time, eliciting upvotes and increasingly meta discourse, the recipe starts branching off into infinite variations — some small, some large — perhaps indoctrinating itself into some readers’ regular cooking repertoire. Take, for example, the rich discourse that resulted from Slagle’s Thai chicken meatballs.
“I added an egg and panko to the meatballs,” wrote Clh, one of several readers who deemed the meatballs sticky and falling apart. “And put them in the freezer for 2-3 hours before cooking them.”
Chris B. cooked the meatballs in a 425-degree-F oven on a parchment-lined sheet pan for “less fuss and easier clean-up,” while Wendy pressure-cooked them on high in her Instapot with additional stock. However, Lisa followed the recipe to the letter, disagreeing that the meatballs required additional binder to “form beautifully” and stay together.
Together, they form a chorus of potential pathways to this final dish, based on users’ honest feedback — which can help someone who’s attempting it for the first time or feels stuck or frustrated.
Or maybe is just in need of a laugh.
For the latter, they might turn to Lizzie D’s comment. “Do you have a cold and are stoned? Pay your roommate $100 and ask them to make this for you. Tell them to use a good stock and follow the recipe.”
We all need the occasional reminder to lighten up; after all, it’s just a recipe. Slagle can’t think of a single recipe she’s published that doesn’t contain at least one hilarious or ridiculous comment. In fact, there’s a whole Instagram account dedicated to the humorous side of recipe comment sections — some intentional, some not — called @nytimescookingcomments (which hasn’t been updated in over a year).
Occasional nausea notwithstanding, Slagle says she’ll take them all; the hivemind is far more useful and entertaining than a single voice.
“I think comments are good, especially if you’ve made it,” Slagle said. “I would urge people, if you’ve made the thing, to write a review. You can pick your username, so no one will know it's you. No one is going to track you down. So just be honest.”
