I’m also laughing over everyone who is shocked, shocked that the world’s most famous athlete turns out to be not a tiger but a hound. (Sorry, Mr. Feed Me, as much as I admire you.) Forget how many op-eds are not written by the names that sit atop them. Just consider how much ass-covering goes on in the food world — how many pieces even in the more-ethical-than-you paper are not even typed by their bylines, how many cookbooks are published with recipes the neon name never even tasted, how many famous faces let underlings do the blogging and Tweeting, how many interviews are cobbled together with all the authenticity of chop suey, how many “signature” recipes were bought if not stolen. Today you can actually get a job on a legit newspaper when your heftiest credential is making up shit for tin chefs. As Leonard Cohen sang it, everybody knows. Good thing chefs/food writers never sleep around. Only sex is a capital offense in this country. Ask poor Craig.