Don't Call Me a Foodie

I eschew the word “Foodie.”  For some time now, I have heard the term used to loosely describe people who are interested in food.  I’m interested in food, but I still don’t like the word.  I don’t know if it is the diminutive nature of the word, or that it sometimes seems pretentious. 

For example, last Christmas my husband and I were at a dinner party where most of the guests were bragging about their culinary adventures.  A gentleman in his seventies was discussing his best method for making cheesecake in a self-deprecating sort of way.  While the cake looked beautiful, he claimed that it wasn’t quite right.  Personally, I was impressed that he had made the cake at all.

Then the hostess introduced us to her Foodie friend, a woman wearing a red and white Christmas vest with matching candy cane earrings.  The Foodie enlightened the group about how she macerated the cherries in her pie, and felt like it was her best effort to date.  I had the impression that she spent a lot of time making cherry pies.  This would have been great if her cooking matched her claims.  The pie was cloyingly sweet, and I didn’t know what to do with the rest of my serving.  They didn’t have a dog.

While I don’t consider myself a Foodie, I do love to cook, and to read cookbooks, and memoirs, and novels that involve food.  I like cooking because it involves creativity and gives me a sense of accomplishment.  Cooking brings joy to my senses:  it is beautiful to look at, to smell, to touch, and especially to taste.  Cooking makes me feel like a good human being, especially when I share it with others.

What should you call me, then? If you must, I guess a “Cooky” might do.  Just don’t spell it with a K.