The Uncomfortable Truth About Food Awards: What Best-Of Lists Really Mean for Your Writing Career

I'll never forget the day I learned that "best" doesn't always mean excellent.

I was an intern at an East Bay lifestyle magazine, carefully curating restaurants for our coveted "Best Of" guide. I'd found this incredible family-owned spot—authentic, soulful, the kind of place where you could taste generations of tradition in every bite.

My editor killed it. "It doesn't fit our demographic."

That moment shaped everything I now understand about food industry awards, from the Michelin Guide's recent expansion to the South to the ongoing conversations about James Beard recognition. As someone who now coaches food writers and chefs through cookbook deals, I've seen firsthand how awards and best-of placements can transform careers—and how their absence can feel like rejection.

But here's what years in editorial and publishing have taught me: these lists are far more complicated than they appear. The politics, the relationships, the unspoken rules about who gets recognized—they all matter more than most people realize.

If you're building a food career, pursuing a cookbook deal, or simply wondering why certain restaurants get all the accolades while others are overlooked, this conversation matters.

The Politics Behind Every "Best Of" List

The Michelin Guide's arrival in the American South sparked immediate controversy—not just celebration. Cities like Nashville, Atlanta, and Greenville, South Carolina suddenly had their food scenes judged by international standards. But almost immediately, industry insiders started asking uncomfortable questions.

In Nashville, one hospitality group dominated the awards. The whispers started: "How much did they pay?" "They must have incredible PR connections." While I'm not making accusations about any specific situation, the questions themselves reveal something important: We all know these lists aren't purely about food quality.

The food industry is remarkably small. Editors, publicists, and chefs form tight circles. When I worked in editorial, the same PR firms consistently got their clients featured. It wasn't necessarily nefarious—that's literally their job. But it meant that incredible restaurants without those connections often stayed invisible.

Even Anthony Bourdain criticized the James Beard Awards for their elitism and "old guard" mentality. He saw how recognition flowed to specific types of people running specific types of establishments. The awards didn't reflect the full breadth of American food culture—just the parts already in the conversation.

The Overcorrection Problem (and Why It Still Matters)

In 2020, the James Beard Awards made headlines by not recognizing Black chefs and food professionals, and then overcorrecting. After years of criticism about lack of diversity, it seemed like progress.

But here's the uncomfortable truth: Many recipients felt the shift was too obvious, too sudden. I've had conversations with Black friends in the industry who told me, "You overcorrected, and we can tell. If I win an award, I want to win because of my work, not because you're trying to make amends."

The overcorrection didn't just feel disingenuous—it diluted the actual recognition. Were these chefs winning because of their excellence, or because the awards were addressing criticism? That ambiguity undermined the very validation the awards were supposed to provide.

A few years later, several chefs gave back their Beard Awards in protest—a stunning rejection of what's supposed to be the industry's highest honor. I've personally worked with two of those chefs. The message was clear: when awards become more about politics than merit, they lose their meaning.

What Gail Simmons Gets Right About Food Culture

Top Chef's Gail Simmons recently gave an interview about the Michelin Guide's Southern expansion. Her take? "I hate that a city judges itself by those awards."

She continued: "I think those awards are very specific. The best places that I find in every city I go to are small, regional cuisine or immigrant cuisine that is lesser known, undiscovered—that is the real soul of the place."

This is the heart of the problem. The Michelin Guide focuses almost exclusively on fine dining. Their Southern expansion highlighted "iconic southern dishes and international flavors"—but everything recognized was upscale, expensive, and formal.

Meanwhile, the grandmother cooking her family's recipes in a strip mall? The immigrant-owned spot serving authentic cuisine to their community? They're invisible to these lists.

Southern Living asked the crucial question: "Did the Michelin Guide even get it right?" Because as Bourdain famously said in his Charleston episode, the South is not a monolith. Its food culture can't be captured through fine dining alone.

What This Means for Your Food Career

If you're building a food career—whether as a chef, food writer, cookbook author, or culinary entrepreneur—here's what you need to know about awards and best-of lists:

They absolutely can make a difference. When I help clients with cookbook proposals, awards and recognition strengthen their platform section. A Beard Award or Michelin star signals authority. Publishers notice. It can be the difference between a modest deal and a significant one.

But they're not everything. I've watched Beard Award winners destroy their careers through poor behavior. I've seen chefs with every accolade fail to build sustainable businesses. The award opens doors—but your work, character, and consistency determine whether you stay in the room.

Awards have a short shelf life. You might be on a best-of list one year and forgotten the next. Restaurants lose Michelin stars. Trends shift. If your entire identity is built on external validation, you're constantly vulnerable to forces beyond your control.

The real opportunity is defining "best" for yourself. Instead of waiting for institutions to validate you, build your own platform. Create content that showcases your expertise. Develop relationships with your community. Tell your story in ways that don't require someone else's approval.

For cookbook deals specifically, publishers want to see platform and market fit. Awards help, but so do newsletter subscribers, social media engagement, media features, teaching experience, and a clear audience who wants what you're offering.

Moving Forward Without (or With) the Awards

Whether you're pursuing awards or building your career independently, here's what actually matters:

Excellence speaks for itself—eventually. Quality work compounds over time. Keep cooking, writing, creating. Document your process. Share your knowledge. Build trust with your audience.

Your perspective is valuable. If you're creating regional cuisine, immigrant food, or anything outside the fine dining world that typically gets recognized, your work still matters. Find the people who appreciate it and serve them exceptionally well.

Platform beats awards in the long run. A strong newsletter, engaged social media following, or local community recognition can create more opportunities than a single award. These are assets you control.

Learn the game, but don't let it change who you are. Understanding how awards and lists work helps you navigate the industry. But don't compromise your values or vision just to chase recognition.

Conclusion

Best-of lists and food industry awards matter—but not in the ways we typically assume. They're political, subjective, and often overlook the most interesting work being done in food culture.

If you've won awards, celebrate them. They're real accomplishments worthy of pride. But don't let them define your entire identity or worth.

If you've been overlooked, keep building. Your work can be excellent without institutional validation. Create your own definition of success. Serve your people exceptionally well.

And whether you're awarded or overlooked, remember: you get to decide what "best" means.

Want to build your food platform and work toward that cookbook deal? Join my free masterclass "Writing Gold" where I break down exactly how to create a winning book proposal—with or without awards on your resume. Get instant access here.