The Endless Torment of the ‘Recipe?’ Guy
A rampant internet comment that just won’t die shows how recipes, and the people who develop them, are undervalued.
By Tejal Rao Sept. 13, 2022
Picture him, scrolling Instagram. He slows down for a flash-lit image of pasta on someone’s crowded, linen-draped dining table. For a sunlit reel of chickpeas and olive oil breaking down into a golden pulp. For a bubbling pot of oxtail.
He might not plan to cook these dishes — in fact, he probably doesn’t — but each post makes his thumbs tingle. Instinctively, impulsively, he begins to type:
recipe? recipe?! recipe??!
You could say that recipe guys represent a major area of growth for reply guys. And anyone can become a recipe guy: You just have to believe that every time you see an image of food, you’re also owed a recipe, then insist on it. Cooks and recipe developers who share their food on social media can ignore it, or at least try to, but the nagging chorus of “recipe?!” is present, and it’s reshaping social content in real time.
“Social media was this way to be spontaneous and low-key and casual, but at some point, when I shared parts of my personal life, people started to expect a professionally tested recipe, too,” said Nik Sharma, a Los Angeles cookbook writer and photographer (who also contributes to The New York Times).
Developing recipes is work, and it takes time. Mr. Sharma never intended to create them for home-cooked dishes he posted informally — say, a quick dinner of fried rice with ketchup he made after a busy day shooting cooking videos and writing his newsletter. He also didn’t want to come across as rude to commenters, or to let them down.
“The easiest thing was to go, OK, I’m just not going to post what I eat, unless I’m working on the recipe,” Mr. Sharma said.
He keeps his off-duty cooking private now, drawing a line between what’s personal and professional — a challenging exercise for food writers, since the two areas continuously overlap.
Is it work, for example, when you cook dinner for your parents? The recipe developer Pierce Abernathy started sharing the meals he made for himself and his family during the pandemic, when he moved back in with his parents. He produced practical cooking videos on Instagram, filled with visual reference points and raw cooking sounds, and included the whole recipe just below in the caption.
“The goal is to build an audience — the core of my business and how I make money is around engagement and numbers,” Mr. Abernathy said. “But I don’t want it to be a restrictive environment where I can’t be myself.” Like many social-first recipe developers, he plans to start publishing recipes on his own website soon, to monetize and own his content, and worries about how his audience will respond to that change. Will they have the resolve to leave the post, to go out and find the recipe?
Though he occasionally shares ideas and techniques without detailed recipes, like a clean-out-the-fridge salad he made recently before heading to the airport, and images entirely unrelated to food, Mr. Abernathy finds that most posts that don’t include recipes can be a source of tension.
“And when you do get those comments,” he said, “it feels a little demoralizing and dehumanizing.” On his show, “The One Recipe,” the food editor Jesse Sparks interviews guests about the recipes they make time and time again — the keepers. “Recipes can be seemingly so simple when they’re audience-facing,” he said, “and in some ways, it’s a success that people forget how much work is going on behind the scenes.” “But so many people get caught up in the immediate satisfaction of seeing a tangible product or good without grappling with how much time and resources and effort go into it.”
Mr. Sparks interviews cooks who work at publications, as part of big teams, as well as those who are solely responsible for all of the shopping, testing, styling, shooting, editing and web production. In each case, the development process may be a little different, but the labor involved is usually immense and out of view — or ignored.
“It all boils down to people needing to remember there’s a person on the other side of the screen who deserves space and support, time and rest,” Mr. Sparks said. Lucia Lee, a middle-school teacher in Brookline, Mass., posts photos of kimchi jjigae and seared mackerel to Instagram: neatly framed, overhead shots of simple, well-lit plates. She started her account as an archive of her home cooking, and celebrates the romantic possibilities of her favorite ingredients and techniques, often with loose, narrative recipes and notes on who grew the food, or whose original recipe served as inspiration.
Ms. Lee is often under pressure, in comments and direct messages, to offer more detail and more structured recipes, and her instinct is to jump in and be helpful. But posting is a creative outlet for her. “I respond sometimes, if people are polite — a ‘please’ and a ‘thank you’ really go a long way,” Ms. Lee said. “But this isn’t my job, I can’t just pump out recipes for you.” In many ways, “recipe?!” is a familiar online demand that has flourished on social media. Every few months, for years now, a small but vocal group on the internet agrees that the people who share recipes and the stories behind them should just get to the recipe.
They usually blame food bloggers for taking search engine optimization too far, or for plain old long-windedness and vanity. They demand that free recipes appear online without ads, introductions, process shots, context or stories. Without any trace of the people behind them. This unreasonable request has become a damaging cliché, a way of demonetizing the work and dismissing the writers — particularly women who write about cooking for their families.
An animated Maritsa Patrinos comic, published on BuzzFeed in 2018, illustrated the early mood: A cheerful young man scrolls through a post about a “delicious lasagna recipe,” and wastes away to a skeleton before he can reach it. In the years since, that comic has become darkly self-referential — it may as well be about the get-to-the-recipe conversation itself. It never ends. In the last few months, though, I’ve come to think of “recipe?!” on social media, and of all its brash, insulting little iterations, as the last possible stage of this conversation, a kind of de-evolution with nowhere left to go.
It’s a way of treating the people who share their cooking online entirely as products. But I think it’s also a way of becoming a bit less human. Of becoming more like compulsive web extensions, our only mission to scan, to want, to send the same command out into the void, over and over again, on our sad and infinite loops:
recipe? recipe?! recipe?!!
… yo it ain’t wild to ask for a recipe. It also ain’t wild to simply reply “lul idk I just smoked a bowl and made some food dude, it’s got this in it…”
It ain’t wild but its also against the rules and annoying for how we want this community to run, this is why we have that rule. The rule does have nuance to it, if you’re nice in the comments and do your own legwork then I’m happy to help. If you spam me with a “Please provide recipe” you get push back
Yanno, thinking about it, I think I see your point. It’s better for a community to engage in conversation about cooking and recipes instead of copy and pasting instructions as wrote.
I still don’t necessarily think it’s exactly inappropriate to ask for a recipe. If there’s a new kind of dish that someone is unfamiliar with, it’s also more engaging for them to ask for a recipe and continue discussion on the techniques required. That said, I absolutely think any poster is well within their rights to say “I don’t have a recipe, I was just cooking” or simply not reply.
I may be partially reiterating what I said in my first comment, but I wanted to take the time to write it in a less brief way, as I was working and thought about being in the shoes of someone often posting pictures of food and being bombarded with comments that simply said “recipe?” rather than taking the modicum of time required to write a more engaging comment like “Oh wow, I’ve never seen someone use tvp like that. I often just use it in stews to replace chicken chunks. How did you do that? Do you have a recipe I could try?”
I feel like “how did you make this” is a much better and more community driven question than asking for a recipe. I honestly cannot be assed to write actual instructions and measure out quantities of what I cook, so if someone asks for a recipe I just am not going to be able to answer. But if someone asks “how did you make this,” that is so much more open ended for me to answer however I want, whether I have enough energy to write something in detail with the techniques and rough quantities and timing, or if I have no energy and only reply with what ingredients I used.
To me, asking for a recipe like going into an art community and seeing someone posts some nice drawing, and then demanding them to give detailed step-by-step instructions on how to recreate their artwork. Just because I drew a picture doesn’t mean I can give you those kinds of instructions! It’s actually really hard to write up useful recipe instructions - I still try do it for my own sake in baking, since thats much more of an exact science, but with most cooking that I do it’d take more time and effort to write a recipe than it actually took to cook and eat it in the first place.
Agreed. I don’t mind sharing how I made something, tips and tricks, things I found useful or handy, etc. But I don’t have an exact recipe for every dish I make and a lot of the times I even forget. What spices did I use? Yeah I know the general idea, but not exactly how much or even each and every spice.
The question “how did you make this” or better yet, asking about a specific aspect of the dish is much better and more fair than “please provide the recipe”.
Sure, you can choose not to reply, but we’re supposed to bea tight knit community of like minded people. It would feel like a slight to ignore a request.
If I was posting on a blog or something, sure. That’s developed to promote your content to a wide audience. That has no value to me, I wouldn’t put in the effort and wouldn’t subject myself to that relationship with the audience.
You don’t walk into a stranger’s home and ask them for step by step instructions how they made dinner because you likes how it looked in the window vs it being normal and polite to inquire about how someone made something they are serving you in their home.
TL;DR?
I think the tl;dr is along the lines that low-effort demands for a recipe are annoying and shows a disrespectful attitude of entitlement.
I think this is talking about people who just drop a single word “recipe?” and expect OP to provide a recipe on the spot.
This is especially a problem when OP is sharing pics from informal home-cooking where they may not have a recipe, and in that context the “recipe guy” is acting as though they are entitled to a recipe, and that means entitled to OP’s labor to produce a recipe where there isn’t one already.
It’s a bit like how you expected someone else to provide a tl;dr for you instead of reading the relatively short article yourself or using a tl;dr tool to summarize it for you. You are not putting in much of the work here, putting the work on someone else (usually OP feels the greatest responsibility to these kinds of requests, and over time the interactions can create a pressure to just not share because they don’t want to disappoint people).
Lol had to check what community I was in, but I can relate quite a bit sadly, in other online communities.
Post any sort of digital art, anywhere:
"Tutorial? Tutorial. How maek? Tooturihal?!?"
“Hey all, I 3D printed something!”
“.STL? STL? Wer STL!?! POST STL?!?”
(.STLs are the file format used by 3D printers and shared on places like thingiverse.)
The low-effort entitlement from people just zombie-scrolling and driven to thoughtlessly consume is soulcrushing.
Yes, the thoughtless consumption of those zombies who… Want to learn how something is done instead of jusy going “oooh” and scrolling past?
Besides, the pics of food correspond more to a post of a description of an artwork rather than a post of an artwork itself. With food as the medium, you kinda gotta recreate it to appreciate it, much more than with digital art or even 3d objects.
For some kinds of physically painted art (think Rothko) you don’t exactly have to recreate it but even there the digital representations are not enough to convey what matters, for example because the physicality of the artifact matters too or because the context/arrangement adds its down dimension.
A picture of food is not food.
