In an incredible report from Eater, four women have accused celebrity chef Mario Batali of sexual harassment. The women, three of whom worked at Batali’s restaurants at some point, allege Batali touched them inappropriately, and in response to these and an official complaint lodged by a B&B restaurant employee, Batali has announced that he is stepping away from business operations. ABC, which employs Batali on The Chew, has also asked him to step down while they investigate.
But in Batali’s apology, he unwittingly names the problem at the heart of so many stories of sexual harassment. “We built these restaurants so that our guests could have fun and indulge,” he said, “but I took that too far in my own behavior.” Batali’s statement assumes sexual harassment is an indulgence, a rational urge taken “too far” rather than an abuse of power and a dismissal of consent. It assumes that eating too much pasta is on the same plane as nonconsensually fondling a woman’s breasts.
It is still a recent phenomenon that the life of a chef changed from working-class dirtbag to rock star. Mario Batali rode that wave, banking his brand on the idea of excess. Not only was his food filling and luxurious, he himself represented everything celebratory and hedonistic about food. In a 2002 profile for the New Yorker, Bill Buford wrote about just how (literally) intoxicating Batali was to be around. He was the kind of guy who “has been known to share an entire case of wine during dinner.” A man “whose whole manner said, ‘Dude, where’s the party?’” The following passage is maybe the most unsettling to read in tandem with the Eater story:
Buford’s writing, and Eater’s report, show how easy it is for men to harass and abuse under the guise of excess. (It’s also an important reminder of how food media has enabled this behavior for decades.) Multiple people reported Batali’s inappropriate behavior to Eater, whether it was using sexual innuendo in workplace conversation, commenting on women’s bodies, or lots of “hugging from behind.” It’s all treated like a party that got out of control, like one man’s generosity—with wine, with food, with affection—was taken the wrong way. Which all too often puts the blame on victims for not graciously accepting the largesse.
Many men confuse their abuse for misplaced lust because our culture tends to teach men the only way to interact sexually with women is through aggressive pursuit. Men are told to go after what they want, to not take no for an answer, that it is even romantic to do so. In restaurants, where tensions are high and personal space is low and nights are long, you even get to pair your groping with a nice Barolo and call it European. Harassment is labeled as hedonism when it really has no relation to sex whatsoever.
Other prominent male chefs—most notably Anthony Bourdain and Tom Colicchio—took to Twitter to denounce Batali for his behavior, suggesting that they’ve known about it for a long time. And though the stories they knew may not have been theirs to tell, responses like that fall far short of holding Batali, and whoever stories come out about next, accountable. A man in power can easily protect a victim without remaining silent about his peers’ history of abuse.
These acknowledgements from prominent male chefs mostly feel like too little recognition coming far too late. In his “Open Letter To (Male) Chefs,” Colicchio says he too has “brushed off the leering without acknowledging its underlying hostility.” Batali built his career on the assumption that his behavior would be mistaken for just another party foul, or accepted as part of his “hedonist chef” image. In order for the restaurant industry to address its harassment problem, people in power need to stop acting like harassment and indulgence were ever the same thing.