Michael Ruhlman, writer of books and watcher of chefs, joined the ranks of food bloggers last week, becoming the latest pro journalist to launch his own blog. Ruhlman had some practice in blogland during his guest-columnist stint at seminal food blog megnut, where he wrote intelligently on gastropolitical issues (like the foie-gras ban) and provided great commentary on the world of celeb chefs. On his own blog, though, he veered into oddly negative territory on just his second day out of the gate, when he bashed fellow journo-cum-blogger Regina Schrambling of gastropoda:

About nastiness—I’m not a big fan of it, though some bloggers can be funny in their nastiness, such as Regina Schrambling at gastropoda—I imagine from reading her blog that it might be kind of scary to actually be Regina Schrambling (unlike say being John Malkovich), but I can’t help checking in on Wednesdays for the dirt and bile (I figure I can always wash afterward).

Yikes. Reading down a little farther, we learn that he dislikes her insideriness and her use of pseudonyms and anonymous references when talking about certain food-world folks, which he says “carries with it an element of the personal grudge vented in a public space.” But then he goes and vents a personal grudge himself:

Schrambling was once snide about something I’d written for the Times (her former employer which she attacks venomously and regularly) and she was also kind enough to get a correction into the LATimes, for whom she writes, when she got a fact about one of my books wrong (even though the error was so minor this wasn’t necessary), which was uncommonly nice of her.

Ruhlman is right to an extent, of course: Schrambling rips on Frank Bruni (whom she refers to as “Panchito,” the nickname Bush gave him) and The New York Times as often as possible, and she is nasty. Not hilarious-nasty and peppered with goofy photos, Bruni Digest style, either—clenched-jawed, dry-ice-spittin’ nasty. But of course that venom is why people read her: She has all the irreverence and anger of a food-world outsider but the access and experience of an insider, which makes for some good material.

Ruhlman must have known she would bite back the way she did a few days ago:

No wonder we’re bogged down in a lose-lose situation in Iraq. There are actually people out there, in the media no less, who do not know how Panchito got nicknamed Panchito. (Big honkin’ hint: Not by me.) Thanks to e-pals who alerted me with reviews ranging from ‘semi-coherent’ to ‘mean and pompous,’ I looked in on holierthanthou.com (or is it circlejerk.com?). What is it with guys who read me and have to take to the fainting couch? It’s only guys, interestingly enough. Women must be more honest about how the food world works—not for nothing is it known as a coven. At least I don’t let my comment-monkeys fling the feces for me. And while I could never describe what it’s like being me, I can tell you what it’s not: boring.

Zi-ing. I just hope Ruhlman will make his blog a place to publish the kind of thinky writing he does best—and leave the trash-talking to Schrambling, the true master.

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