When I said it, it was a wonderful thing to be.” “ it’s on everybody’s list of toxic words in food writing. “It’s so obvious: What are you? I’m a foodie,” she said. Decades later, in 2012, when asked about how the now-ubiquitous term first entered her lexicon, Greene had no idea. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that “foodie” emerged not with a bang, but as an inevitability. “She offers crayfish with white feet or red … three ways, tends stove in high heels, slips into the small Art Deco dining room of Restaurant d’Olympe-a funeral parlor of shiny black walls and red velvet-to graze cheeks with her devotees, serious foodies.” Nahmias ran a fast and furious kitchen with two female sous chefs, and none of her dishes took longer than 15 minutes to serve. In the June 2 issue of the magazine, Greene describes dining at the celebrated Restaurant d’Olympe, remarking on the young Dominique Nahmias, a stylish, self-taught cook who gave up studying law to serve zippy, piquant dishes (think citrus, fresh herbs, curry spices) inspired by her upbringing in the Var region of southeastern France. That movement would soon be known as “moderne,” straying from the likes of Paul Bocuse and “nouvelle cuisine,” an ornate and delicate style of cooking that itself was a radical response to the rich “haute cuisine” long seen as the French standard. In 1980, the longtime New York Magazine food critic Gael Greene visited Paris to experience for herself a new restaurant movement spearheaded by a band of 20-something chefs who sought to sidestep the pretentiousness of France’s culinary past.
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