i <3 food content

TikTok private chefs, Bourdain, and a Bushwick line cook: my search for authentic food content

The topic of this entry is a bit different than my usual personal essay content. Thanks for bearing with me as I share a twist on a random passion of mine: food content.

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There’s never a shortage of food content. From TikTok private chefs (à la Wishbone Kitchen) to The Bear, Tucci in Italy, and even Allison Roman’s Substack (yes, it deserves it’s own call out), we have our bases covered. Before that and still accessible for re-runs and “remember when…,” we were blessed with Bon Appetite (and associated scandal), Parts Unknown, @foodgod, and cooking competition shows. Like nuanced changes in tone and delivery across an artist's discography, we’ve been offered varying iterations throughout time to digitally consume food.

The most accessible of the content today — TikTok private chefs — has culminated to be the most comforting (albeit monotonous) form of modern food content in my rotation. As predictable as any network sitcom (punchline, joke, laugh track), the clips are always stylistically a copy/paste: visually captivating, soothingly voice-overed, anxiety-free, and more than ideal for my post-pandemic attention span.

My pavlovian response to “here’s everything I made today for my client as a private chef…” (which for those unfamiliar, is the opening line of 99% of their videos), can be equated to the opening credits of any popular TV show (“so no one told you life was gonna be this way…”). Instantly, internal comfort washes over and I’m ready to consume the 60-second version of a full-day prep of lamb ragu, 14-ingredient breakfast quiche, and basil ice cream made with ingredients from the garden and/or Erewhon.

All this, by the way, whilst I prep a two-step quesadilla with chopped orange bell pepper for my own dinner.

I scream these accolades about the private chef community whilst also knowing that once you strip back the warm, Martha-Stewart-esque overlay, they’re really just the modern version of someone competing on MasterChef in 2016 (in short, today’s version of a wanna-be celebrity chef). After following some of these creators for years at this point, the ultimate trajectory and ambition is usually some iteration of: 1. Get more followers, 2. Cook for a bigger client (i.e. A-list celebrity, tech billionaire), 3. Stop being a private chef because you’re making enough money from social media, 4. Buy a house in LA or the Hamptons.

Having this mental image, does their content still feel as authentic? Not really. But do I still watch their videos incessantly? Yup.

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It was a blessed day when Gio the Line Cook (@giovanniskitchen) passed through my TikTok algorithm.

A gentle swerve from my usual private chef corner on TikTok, Gio maintains the visceral watchability I’m used to, while bringing an air of unseriousness. He’s some combination of the mischievous, punk-esque personality I’m typically attracted to, mixed with a darlingness reminiscent of Anthony Bourdain. A sexy je ne sais quoi like Carmy [from The Bear], without the stick-up-his-ass and weighty family chaos.

Similar to TikTok private chefs, Gio (and his content) are naturally aesthetic and watchable. But unlike the typical private chef community, there’s a realism to Gio that feels more aligned to the way The Bear is grounded in actual kitchen culture, versus something more manicured like a Giada. Whether by design or just a reflection of how he actually films, his videos feel one-take-esque, unedited, and very come-as-you-are.

If you’re unfamiliar: stop reading and go watch (@giovanniskitchen). If you don’t have TikTok, I’ll do my best to describe him (and disclaimer: this is through my lens, and not meant to be reductive): Gio’s a line cook in Bushwick, who gained a following from posting videos detailing his diet and food hauls as someone working in NYC kitchens. Carrie Bradshaw’s New York in a different font, he sits on a stoop while sipping espresso from a deli container, showcasing his random assortment of sustenance of the day (i.e. ricotta toast with caper puree, a cigarette, and a single chicken skewer).

It’s effortless. Sometimes unexpected, but always fun.

[TikTok and Reddit] critics say he’s performative. Gio’s admittedly cinematic, yet to me, anything but a caricature based on my consumption of realism-rooted food content. After a beat of reflection and a glance at my copy of Kitchen Confidential, I’m reminded that he’s not an anomaly in kitchen culture — he shows up as himself and a representation of the space he works in. Not an improviser, not a skit, not an exaggeration. Albeit not as broody and depthy as Bourdain, where I draw comparison is with his authenticity and candor. While Bourdain took food (and travel, journalism, etc.) with the utmost seriousness, he never pretended to be as polished as an Alton Brown or a Jamie Oliver. And while Gio isn’t novel, in the same vein, he feels anything but produced.

And how does this relate to me and this journal entry of sorts? Well, to quote a note I re-stacked a couple weeks ago: never specialize. There’s space for everything, even within our own personal worlds: it’s the way MasterChef is in my rotation of comfort television when my brain needs a break. In the same breath, I’ll always lean on No Reservations when I’m ready to learn and am quick to recommend Roy Choi and David Chang’s interviews on Armchair Expert as required listening if you want to hear about someone cool. So here’s to consuming whatever we want, whenever we want… and again, a reminder to never specialize xx