Tom Sietsema Writing Style Analysis

No matter who they are, where they came from, or what they are like, all people need the same one thing—food. Just because it is a necessity, however, does not mean that people cannot enjoy it. Tom Sietsema is the well-fed food critic of The Washington Post, and it is his job to find the tastiest places to go to scratch that necessary-for-survival itch. In his columns, Sietsema employs a vibrant style of writing that includes a unique style and various rhetorical techniques that mirror his feelings about the restaurant or food he is reviewing.

Sietsema begins each of his reviews the same way; he introduces the restaurant at which he supped. To keep this theme from getting stale, however, the author ironically begins each column in the

same way: a short anecdote from each venue. He employs the first-person point of view to create the feeling of reading a narrative work—an ingenious way to earn the reader’s attention and ensure they stay for the entire ride. “I figure I’ve ordered right at Drift on 7th when the manager ferrying my meal from open kitchen to oyster-gray bar counter shares a cloud of thought from several feet away” (“For Fresh Seafood”). He commonly leaves the first sentence of each column vague so as to entice the reader into continuing to the rest of the column. “The biggest question,” Sietsema says for one of the restaurants he visited, “has nothing to do with design or food, but how to present the $250 bill to diners” (“Pineapple and Pearls”). In each of Sietsema’s columns, he deliberately withholds any true criticisms from the first few sentences; this technique sucks the reader in and makes sure that they read past the first sentence.
In addition to beginning his columns similarly, Sietsema ends his columns in very much the same fashion as well. The majority of his works are reviews and recommendations of different restaurants, so it makes sense for each column to have many aspects in common; in the end, Sietsema commonly summarizes all of his thoughts up into a brief sentence that includes the name of the restaurant and his verdict (albeit written much more informally than earlier in his articles). His succinctness ends each review in a friendly and accessible way that contrasts the myriad of complex “food words” that riddle his columns (“remoulade,” “arugula,” and “hake,” for example) (“For Fresh Seafood”). Sietsema’s conclusions remind the reader that he is not unlike them; although he dines for $200 a night and consumes combinations that could confuse anyone uninitiated with the “foodie” world, he reminds the reader that he is simply looking for the same thing they are—tasty food. Sietsema says “the many fine points at Drift float my boat,” which is a very simple way of expressing his thoughts, especially when compared to his words earlier in his column (“For Fresh Seafood”). “Tail Up Goat is a blast,” he says in another column. Every one of Sietsema’s concluding sentences is succinct and leaves no doubts about his overall thoughts.
Point of view is another unique aspect of Sietsema’s writing.

Virtually all of his columns are written in the first-person point of view and read much like a novel. Considering how Sietsema writes almost exclusively about his personal experiences, this makes sense. By using the first-person point of view, he draws the reader into his world; he does not merely tell the reader about his experiences, he invites them to join him there. “We place orders for salt cod croquettes and four-cheese pasta, only to have a waiter return and tell us the kitchen is out of both” (“Hawthorne”). The reader shares in Sietsema’s disappointment—they feel empathetic and get an authentic feeling about the review. Sietsema also employs the second-person point of view in several of his columns. “The sleek Portuguese utensils are so light you wonder how they stay on the table” (“Pineapple and Pearls”). The second-person point of view is even more effective at absorbing the reader into the written world than first-person; the reader is directly referenced and, in this case, will likely start to wonder just how light those utensils actually are. Sietsema really wants his readers to feel his same awe, disappointment, infatuation, or indifference for each location he writes about, so he manipulates his point of view to make sure the readers feel like a part of the story

themselves.
Sietsema’s tones are altogether very similar despite his different opinions of each restaurant he reviews. In each of his columns, Sietsema is equal parts critical and impressed in the dishes he tastes and the places he goes. The diction he uses reflects these tones and adds another dimension to his writing. Good food to him is “[inspiring]” and “rejuvenating”—he even “calculates” the “charm quotient” of dishes he thoroughly enjoys (“Tail Up Goat”). To Sietsema, food is much more than just something to eat; he dines to experience food. His diction when writing about an enjoyable meal parallels the feelings in his taste buds to create an electric and enthusiastic column. Even when the food is less than desirable, Sietsema’s diction reflects his feelings. “Comically” poor food and “thimble”-sized portions describe what Sietsema deems “an imperfect place to sup” (“Magdalena”). Just as when he likes his food, Sietsema’s diction mirrors how he felt about his supper. The words he uses are quite harsh and mercy is clearly not given. Sietsema is impressed by every place he goes to, whether that be by how tasty it is, how nasty it is, or simply how unmemorable it is and his word choice reflects that.
The detail Sietsema uses is completely related to his feelings about the source of his writing. In his piece examining presidential candidate Donald Trump’s diet, Sietsema calls the stomach “a window to the soul” and wonders if gets the pleasure many people get from “touching, smelling and rolling food and drink around on our tongues” (“The World”). The details Sietsema uses show his passion for food and his eagerness to see what he can learn from it. In Trump’s case, Sietsema is astonished by the mogul’s seemingly pedestrian tastes—the rich man loves fast food. “Rolling food and drink on [one’s tongue]” is not exactly common practice at the average fast food restaurant, and Sietsema is rightfully surprised that a man who can afford to eat so much better chooses instead to spend one-tenth of the cost of Sietsema’s nightly bill—if they can afford to eat in a posher world, why would they not? The detail used illustrates Sietsema’s confusion as he analyzes The Donald’s favorite places to sup (McDonald's, Wendy’s, and Kentucky Fried Chicken, to name a few) when he could be dining with much more prestige (“The World”). The detail Sietsema uses is no different when reviewing a restaurant—it mimics his feelings. For a restaurant he does not like, he accuses a flat souffle of having an “encounter with a Mack truck,” but feels that it was “marginally redeemed by [the sorbet] and a few savory courses” (“Magdalena”). Sietsema finds pros and cons for every restaurant he visits (unless it is somewhere truly special), and his detail shows what he thinks about each place. In the case of a so-so restaurant, Sietsema’s detail clearly changes from when he is reminiscing about the good parts and trying to forget about the bad.
As a food critic, Tom Sietsema has one technique that he absolutely excels at: imagery. He describes food with such detail that the reader can clearly picture not only what it looks like, but also imagine how it tastes. “[The chef] serves the most alluring potato salad in town, braised potato slices sprinkled with espelette pepper and shimmering with trout roe” (“Tail Up Goat”). Words like “braised,” “sprinkled,” and “shimmering” all recreate Sietsema’s first impression of the potato salad within the minds of the readers. His words are immensely descriptive and serve to entice the reader to come and try the dish out (or to avoid it). His imagery works for drinks, as well. “My bourbon-based choice, a classic Gold Rush completed with lemon and honey, came garnished with a cherry glinting with a gold leaf” (“Pineapple and Pearls”). Sietsema uses this imagery very effectively to create a review that does more than say whether the food was good or not—it lets the reader create their own images and form their own opinions (although guided by the strong image words).
Sietsema’s syntax is very diverse and changes with the content of his writing. He is a heavy user of questions that build on to the narrative he wants the reader to experience. “Would I prefer to sit at the bar or go directly to my seat in the dining room? Why not get [the payment] out of the way [before eating]? How soon can I come back” (“Pineapple and Pearls”)? Sietsema consistently asks questions before introducing a new idea in his reviews, be it about the food, a service the restaurant provides, or even if there is a limit to how often he can return. At the end of each column, another syntactic trend is visible; the final sentence is almost always short, simple, and decisive. “Evidence suggests Hawthorne is barely going through the motions” (“Hawthorne”). A short and purposeful sentence is a powerful way to end a column, and Sietsema clearly recognizes that. The succinct sentences at the end serve to “unwind” the reader from the overall complexity of the writing up until the end. The abrupt ending leaves no confusion—the article is over.
Sietsema is also a user of effective rhetoric. He uses the rhetorical triangle—ethos, pathos, and logos—to compose his columns and send the most authentic message to his readers. Sietsema uses ethos so that his audience knows that he is a credible critic; he drops the names of several restaurants/famous chefs/things he has done before to show that he is a man who knows what he is talking about. “Espita Mezcaleria lavishes attention on a misunderstood spirit, Mulebone fuses food with fashion and Convivial has banished small plates in favor of portions that hover between appetizers and entrees” (“Tail Up Goat”). Sietsema shows his credibility by talking about these three restaurants where he had previously eaten—his experience with reviews gives him credibility. Because he has been to so many places and tried so many different types of food, it is safe to say that Tom Sietsema knows what he is talking about.
The next rhetorical skill he uses is pathos, or his ability to draw on the emotions or interests of his audience. “Rush-hour traffic delays my arrival, but multiple hosts assure me my tardiness is no problem for them” (“Pineapple and Pearls”). Rush-hour traffic is something that everyone can relate to and groan about—they share in his annoyance. But the frustration of Sietsema’s fashionably late arrival is quickly quelled by the kind and courteous staff, making not only Sietsema feel welcome, but his readers, as well. They know what it is like to be late for something because of traffic, so the restaurant’s tolerance for Sietsema’s lateness is refreshing and comforting.
Finally, Sietsema uses the rhetorical skill of logos to offer his information appropriately and clearly. He uses facts to appeal to the audience’s sense of logic and create a work that is believable and logical. “Trump told CNN that the fast-food chains’ cleanliness is part of their appeal. ‘One bad hamburger, and you can destroy McDonald’s,’ said Trump, ever the businessman with an eye on the bottom line” (“The World”). Sietsema cites a well-known and trustworthy news network for his information about Trump. An audience can see that this quote is coming from a source that is reliable and come to the logical conclusion that it can be trusted.
As the sole food critic of The Washington Post, Tom Sietsema definitely knows food. It is his job to travel around the Washington D.C. area hunting down and reviewing any promising restaurant. But to be a successful food critic, one must do more than simply eat the food—they must write about it. Tom Sietsema is a talented writer who uses his knowledge of the rhetorical triangle and other literary skills to review and recommend any restaurant that finds itself on his plate.