In recent weeks, questions have been raised about the ethics of food media in Australia, in particular in The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age Good Food Guides, for which I write, and this masthead publishes. Most of this is due to the publication of Melbourne chef Ben Shewry’s memoir Uses for Obsession, his publicity interviews and public appearances and an Instagram post.

Shewry asserts that restaurant criticism is unethical and contributes to intense pressure on the restaurant industry, and that it’s a broken system conducted by inexperienced reviewers.

It is, without doubt, self-serving for me to stand up in defence of restaurant criticism. But in the face of the current conversation and backlash against my profession, it feels cowardly to stay silent.

Criticism is my life’s work, the thing I’ve spent decades pondering, the medium through which I examine the places I live and the culture by which those places are defined. It’s not a perfect art – it may not be an art at all – but it’s also not something I take lightly.

First, let me acknowledge that there is plenty to criticise when it comes to media – more widely, as well as in the realm of restaurant coverage. No industry or publication is perfect. No scoring system is unimpeachable. Shewry has tapped into a well of sentiment from an industry that feels maligned by forces over which it has no control.

I have no desire to go to war with Ben. I have long admired his Ripponlea restaurant, both privately and also extremely publicly. Others have made the point that he only became disenchanted with the system of reviews and hats when, in 2022, his restaurant dropped from the pinnacle of three chefs’ hats in the Good Food Guide to two, but I’m not sure how relevant that is.

Many of us are happy with systems that work for us until they cease that utility, and any healthy system should be able to withstand criticism, including criticism itself. I welcome the conversation about how media should cover the restaurant industry responsibly – if I didn’t, I’d be a hypocrite of the highest order.

But it became clear that some kind of response was necessary when, last weekend, Shewry posted an Instagram screed that did what it set out to do: turn much of the attention on this year’s Good Food Guide awards the following day (Monday, November 18) away from its winners and onto himself, and yes, the book he’s trying to sell.

In the post, he admitted his bizarre assumption that Attica would be excluded from the Guide because of opinions he expressed in his book. Instead, he had “awkwardly” been invited to the awards, meaning Attica had been included in this year’s Guide. The timing of his post was interesting – the invitations to the awards night went out on October 10, meaning Shewry had known about the restaurant’s inclusion for at least five weeks.

By timing his post to coincide with the awards, Shewry put a very real cloud over this year’s winners, stealing their moment of achievement to promote his own agenda. He spent many years attending these awards, posing for photos, being interviewed by this masthead and giving heartfelt speeches. Where was his indignation then? And why does he feel so confident in stealing that moment of joy from an industry that direly needs positivity right now?

As someone who sits on the senior panel for The Age Good Food Guide, I can tell you that Attica’s inclusion was never in question. Why would he assume it was? Its inclusion proves venues are not admitted or shunned for political or personal reasons. We know he doesn’t like us; we don’t care. His restaurant is very good and diners deserve to read about it. After all, we do what we do for readers, not for chefs.

We don’t ask restaurateurs or chefs for permission to include their venue in the Guide in much the way film critics do not ask permission to review a movie. It’s produced independently for the dining public outside of pressures, positive or negative.

Shewry claims we have no ethics. But the Guide editors hand every reviewer a literal ethical guidebook before they begin reviewing. (You can read about it here.) Has he asked whether we have a moral framework before loudly proclaiming that we don’t? He has not.

When a restaurant gains or loses a hat, a group of the Guide’s most experienced reviewers talks it over with passion and thought, and yes, empathy. We have internal disagreements, sometimes vehement ones. We debate, do revisits, tie ourselves in knots to make sure we can stand by our decisions.

Does food media have too much power? Perhaps, though it’s debatable. I believe we’re far more likely to make a venue than break it. We rarely write wholly negative reviews, and the accolades mean far more to readers – and diners – than the absence of those accolades.

But I also wonder what the alternative is to the carefully researched, edited and fact-checked review. If guides, reviews and awards were to suddenly disappear, would something better take their place? Or do chefs and owners wish influencers and marketers paid to say wonderful things might satisfactorily replace journalism? Does Shewry want the whole conversation to resemble the fawning echo chamber of his Instagram comments section?

Critics, first and foremost, represent the concerns of the dining public. The good ones know how to take the realities of a difficult industry into account.

The thing I love most about my job is that it allows me to fully immerse myself in the vision and ambitions of people I admire, and ask if there’s anything they might do to realise those ambitions more fully. Shewry asks what other industry is so mercilessly subject to public criticism (to which I’d respond: almost all of the arts), but I’d flip this question on its head: In what other profession would you have someone – paid for by an outside entity – take weeks to consider your goals, your passions, and aim to earnestly point out where those ambitions are succeeding and where you might do better?

I’m not claiming that every critic works from this perspective, nor that these opinions must be cherished by the subject, but I can say that my sincere goal is to help restaurants be the best version of themselves. Yes, I’m also trying to help consumers decide where to dine. A good review does both.

If a chef thinks a critic is decent and writes in good faith, that chef ought to take the reviews as intended – a chance to read a clear opinion from someone who has no reason to needlessly flatter – take on what’s helpful, and disregard the rest.

It’s wholly fair for the hospitality industry to demand better of media. We should listen, try to improve, and be grateful when someone points out something we may not see from within. I strive, always, to be open to that conversation. And believe it or not, the publications I work for do the same. We spend hours talking about how to improve, how to serve our audience and the industry better, what’s fair, what’s unfair, and how we can ethically do the work. I would not align myself with any organisation that refused to do so.

And you, and Shewry, and your mum’s best friend can disagree with our choices. But to claim that restaurant critics or Guide editors and reviewers do this work without thought or ethical consideration is, quite simply, patently untrue.