Dear Readers:

Just wanted to let you know that I've noticed your comments, and I'm really glad that you're thinking about food and drinks. I'm so happy that you want to discuss complicated recipes and veganism and molecular gastronomy and hole-in-the-wall restaurants and family farms. But, seriously, what's with all the negativity, dudes?

Everybody's entitled to an opinion, but the geyser of hate spouting from the bottom of most online recipes, food and drink features, chef Q&As, and food-related blog posts is getting out of control. Honestly, I've tried to avoid reading your comments, but sometimes I just don't have a choice.

For instance, last fall, I wrote a fairly straightforward round-up of the speakeasy-style bars that were "making a comeback in New York City" for the San Francisco-based food site Chow.

Then, my story was posted online. And for a moment, I was so proud. The photography was beautiful and captured the unlikely facades and romantic lighting of each spot. But then the comments, which were set to appear on every page of the story, arrived. The first one read:

"Yeah, last year. This is such old news."

Another simply said: "yawn".

The thing is, only a crazy hipster would think that the New York speakeasy scene was "old news" when this article was published in November '07. Two of the featured bars, PDT and B Flat, had opened only six months prior. Death & Co. had been open for less than a year. Since then, many more speakeasy-style bars have emerged, and it wasn't until August 2008 that New York Magazine's Grub Street blog coined the rather brilliant term "speakcheesy," in reference to a not-yet-opened lounge that the editors didn't expect to live up to the standards of its predecessors.

So, really, what's up with all your harsh comments? Does it make you feel superior to say something nasty from behind the guise of a carefully chosen moniker? (I'm talking to you, addROC, and something tells me that you'd have better things to do than hate on people's cocktail stories if you were actually the Beastie Boy married to Bikini Kill's Kathleen Hanna.) And do you even care that you're potentially crushing a young writer, who — at least in my case — spent a lot of time on her piece and now can't even use it as a clip? On the bright side, I did get one extremely positive comment on this feature, but it was sent to me via e-mail:

wow that is very cool
i am very mad at those people who wrote those rude comments
jerks
i think it is a great article!!
well done!
love mom"

Jerks, indeed! But as much as this warmed my heart, I'm relieved that my mother isn't techy enough to know how to publish comments on the Web. After all, earnest comments are pretty uncool, even if you're not the writer's mom. And unfortunately, the negativity often drowns out any neutral or constructive comments. Another comment says:

The entrance to [B Flat] looks so much like the entrance to 'b-flat' in Tokyo, one of the most comfortable jazz clubs in the city.

I wonder if anyone in NYC is interested in a comment like this.

Well I think it's interesting, but I don't know if anyone else does. Nobody responded to this one. Maybe the commenters had moved on to bigger and better things, like discussing the hotness/ugliness of the new Top Chef cast.

Or maybe they were off writing ridiculous reviews for Epicurious recipes. I appreciate recipe ratings and tips from testers — I really do. But if you're reviewing a recipe for, say, Roast Chicken Breasts with Garbanzo Beans, Tomatoes, and Paprika, why would you suggest "substituting eggplant for chicken. :)"? You are not reviewing the recipe when you substitute a vegetable for a chicken breast :). Your eggplant recipe might be delicious, but why not post it on your personal vegetarian blog and see how you feel when one of your commenters suggests substituting a chicken breast for the eggplant :)? I'm just sayin'.

I mean, putting your thoughts on your own blog is totally fair game. There's a good reason why restaurant reviews are published in newspapers, magazines, or Web sites — it would be barbaric to spray-paint criticism on a restaurant's front window. When a painter opens a gallery show, the critic is obviously not invited to scribble "borrrrrrring" on paintings he or she doesn't like. When a band puts out an album, the bad reviews are not inscribed on every CD booklet. Bad press isn't printed on the back of a novel.

But when it comes to food, everybody has a bone to pick. And when a food writer publishes a story on the Web, it is immediately marked by knee-jerk reactions. Even if the comments aren't thought-out, and even if they're personal attacks on the writer, they stay there, a bit like vandalism on the piece. All those bad vibes can't be good for you, dear Reader. And I worry about you kids growing up in a world where you approach a piece of writing by looking for something snarky to say about it as soon as you finish reading it.

Now, you wouldn't be the first one to tell me that I need to develop a thicker skin. But don't we want writers who are sensitive? Don't we want shy, thoughtful people interviewing our farmers and cookbook authors? Don't we want lyrical restaurant reviews written by folks who wrote poetry in high school? Brazen bullies can make good writers, too, but I often wonder if my own favorite food writers, like M.F.K. Fischer and Calvin Trillin, would have taken the same path if their first stories were marred by nasty comments. 

At this point, you might be gearing up to tell me what a loser and bad writer I am, and how my speakeasy story (which, after all, turned out to be just a collection of blurbs) stunk. Well, I hate to disappoint you, sister, but Table Matters is comment-free. Our staff is just too small to police comment threads — it's nothing against you.

On my end, I'll be writing about food, media, and culture. I hope you like it. But if you want to tell me how you really feel, you can email me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

Kara Zuaro is a Brooklyn-based freelance writer and the author of I Like Food, Food Tastes Good: In the kitchen with your favorite bands.

Home page photograph from iStockPhoto, "The Scoop" photograph © Chris Gillard, "Plate" photograph from FoodCollection/Getty Images.