Forks, Fizz, and F—kery: How Food Became Society’s Spirit Animal

So I have been in the hotel, restaurant, cruising, country club, and business owner for a long time. Always been a creator, never been afraid to go for it. But I have seen a lot of changes in an industry that I will never leave. It brought happiness and some pain, but I love it. Just recently, I started a side hustle business, for fun, and I started thinking of all those things that have changed, for better or worse, and I thought—why not? Here's my view on the changes I endure.

⚠️ WARNING: This Could Seriously Damage Your... (Health, Ego, Marriage, and Possibly Wi-Fi)

"The following post may cause severe side effects, including—but not limited to—spontaneous eye-rolls, culinary PTSD, and deep, irreparable psychological damage to your sense of taste, patience, and possibly fashion."

They say food is the universal language. I say it's more like a therapy session you pay too much for, with a side of fries and emotional damage. The restaurant world used to be about flavor, not followers. We cooked to impress mouths, not Instagram feeds. Back then, you knew a good chef by the burn marks on their arms and the cigarette glued to their lip—not their TikTok handle or how many avocado toast reels they uploaded that week.

Now? Now we plate deconstructed salads with tweezers like we’re doing brain surgery on a leaf. A sprig of dill, microfoam from a goat who only listens to Bach, and a wine pairing with notes of "pine regret" and "self-loathing." We've replaced soul with spectacle.

Let’s rewind, say, 30 years. A steak was a steak. Cooked rare? You were a savage. Cooked well-done? You were Satan. But it still came with mashed potatoes, not some emulsified cauliflower foam that looks like it came from a bathroom product line. And yet here we are—in 2025, where we serve “emotionally conscious” chicken in biodegradable anxiety bowls.

The industry didn’t just evolve. It mutated. The cruise ship buffet went from "pile it high and hate yourself later" to "locally sourced, responsibly caught guilt reduction stations." The hotel minibar, once a den of overpriced rebellion, is now curated with artisanal kombucha and organic mushroom jerky. (Because nothing says luxury like fermented fungus.)

But here’s the real kicker: food is no longer just food. It’s identity. It’s politics. It’s a goddamn personality test. You don’t just eat keto. You are keto. Veganism isn’t a choice; it’s a religion. Gluten intolerance? Might as well get a bumper sticker. We used to break bread. Now we break each other over bread.

And cocktails—don’t get me started on cocktails. The bartender of yesteryear was a part-time philosopher, part-time dealer of poor decisions, sliding your whiskey across the bar like a magician of misery. Now? They’re “mixologists” in suspenders and ironic mustaches, shaking elderflower bitters while quoting Bukowski. I’ve seen cocktails that come with smoke machines, edible flowers, and a backstory more complicated than most therapy patients. What ever happened to a damn gin and tonic?

The food truck scene exploded too. What used to be roach coaches serving greasy salvation to construction workers is now a battleground of culinary influencers trying to out-kimchi each other. You can't just sell tacos anymore—you need a fusion concept, a political statement, and a podcast.

And let’s talk fast food. Once the guilty pleasure of the working class, now they’re in a strange identity crisis. They're trying to be healthy, woke, inclusive, low-waste, AI-powered sanctuaries of contradiction. I saw a burger ad the other day that promised sustainability, ethical beef, and spiritual fulfillment. It's a sandwich, not a séance.

Meanwhile, restaurants are still struggling with the same damn things: burnout, staff shortages, and the unrelenting fury of Yelp reviews written by people who confuse food with therapy. “The soup wasn’t hot enough, and I’m also upset about my divorce.” Thanks, Karen.

But here’s the thing I really want to say—and I’ll keep hammering it until I burn through the last brain cell of WiFi-enabled optimism we all have left: this industry matters. Despite the chaos, the clownery, the kale smoothies and cauliflower conspiracies—hospitality still makes people feel human. In a world where everything’s becoming disposable, automated, and optimized for dopamine hits, we still gather around tables. We still celebrate with food. We still mourn with drinks. We still fall in love over burnt toast and bad wine.

Yes, it’s changed. Yes, the tech overlords tried to turn our passion into code and metrics. But the soul? The soul’s still there. Hidden between espresso shots and smashed avocados, buried under layers of irony and QR code menus, but it’s there. And that’s why I started Teka Originals. Because if we’re going to ride this absurd rollercoaster of evolution, we might as well laugh, cry, and maybe throw a pie or two while we’re at it.

👨⚕️ [FAKE DOCTOR WHO TESTIMONIAL]
“I prescribed one mug a day, and my patient grew a personality. Unfortunately, they also filed for divorce and started an ironic Etsy store.”

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