What Is Queer Food?: How We Served a Revolution

by John Birdsall

A celebrated food writer’s expansive, audacious excavation of the development of modern queer identity and food culture.

Food in America and Europe has long been shaped, twisted, and upended by queer creatives. Beloved food writer John Birdsall fills the gap between the past and present, channeling the twin forces of criticism and cultural history to propel readers into the kitchens, restaurants, swirling party-houses, and humming interior lives of James Baldwin, Alice B. Toklas, Truman Capote, Esther Eng, and others who left an indelible mark on the culinary world from the margins. Queer food is brunch quiche à la Craig Claiborne, Richard Olney’s ecstatic salade composée, and Rainbow Ice-Box Cake from Ernest Matthew Mickler’s White Trash Cooking. It’s the intention surrounding a meal, the circumstances behind it, the people gathered around the table.

With cinematic verve and prose that dazzles, What Is Queer Food? is a monumental a testament to food’s essential link to a modern queerness that reveals how, like fashion or tastes in music, food has become a language of LGBTQ+ identity.

Genres: Nonfiction, Queer, Food, LGBT, History, Audiobook, Historical

304 pages, Hardcover

Published June 3, 2025

About the author

John Birdsall grew up near San Francisco and learned to cook at Greens Restaurant in that city. He spent the next seventeen years in professional kitchens there and in Chicago, and did some writing as a side gig, including food stories and restaurant reviews for the San Francisco Sentinel, a pioneering LGBTQ weekly. After leaving the kitchen, he was a restaurant critic and features writer at the Contra Costa Times and East Bay Express, and the editor of SF Weekly’s food blog. In 2014, he won a James Beard Award for food and culture writing for “America, Your Food Is So Gay” in Lucky Peach, and another in 2016 for “Straight-Up Passing” in the queer food journal Jarry. He’s written for Food & Wine, Bon Appétit, the San Francisco Chronicle, and Los Angeles Times, and taught culinary writing at the San Francisco Cooking School. He’s married to Perry Lucina, an artist and designer.

Reviews

[anika · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was very difficult to get into and not properly about food until the second half. Most of the failures of the first half was that it was rarely about food. The second half was a lot stronger, but this did not meet my expectations. Very interesting to read about quiche :)

Thanks NetGalley and W. W. Norton & Company for the eArc.

[Selina⚔️ · Rating 1 out of 5]

Since the writing of this book is superfluous, it's only right that I review it in the same manner.

Imagine being invited to a buffet where all the main courses are highly similar in taste and presentation, so much so that you can't tell them apart.

Only the appetizers placed in the corner have variety, but these snacks won't fill you up because they're limited in stock.

You eat your fill but end up feeling disappointed overall.

Even if it is a buffet and you have 'unlimited' chances, you don't even leave your seat because majority of choices are the same.

If someone asks you which dish was your favorite, you genuinely can't answer.

That pretty much sums up my reaction to this book.

What Is Queer Food? How We Served a Revolution misses the mark when it comes to clarifying which revolution it's referring to and who exactly are the “we” and "queer."

Queer is an umbrella term for all identities that challenge the 'norm' dictated by the powers that be.

Yet this collection mostly comprises of memoirs about white gay men, with only a few sections about queer women, trans men, and trans women.

To add more salt to the wound, I genuinely cannot recall any chapters where bisexuals, asexuals, or nonbinary people are centered.

This says a lot about how the author defines “queer.”

Is this lack of diversity a result of missing resources because as the author excuses in one of his paragraphs, lesbian experiences are lost because of misogyny.

Yet it is ironic that this book is kind of similar in that vein where it champions the white man's lived experiences.

Considering that this work was published in 2025, and given the author's credentials, I expected more nuance and effort, especially since food history and queer studies are both important to me.

Imagine my added frustration when the best chapters, that is, those that actually answer the author's question in the title, are compiled at the last part !!!

Whoever agreed to let this book be this long really did it a disservice.

If you are a a capable restauranteur, you select only the best meals to serve your customers!!!!!

I wasn’t even convinced with majority of the claims on how food can be queer, because the overall points are flimsily connected.

I rolled my eyes on the section where the preparation of asparagus is eroticized... stop it.

Besides those cringey sections, I don't know where in the universe did most of the author's assumptions came from?

Ironically, he criticizes another figure in this book for being an unreliable narrator, when Birdsall himself became an unreliable one for me.

The writing style tries so hard to be creative that most readers are left confused about who the chapter is even about in the first place.

There are just too many names and too many backstories and everything ends up being muddled.

(This book needed to be edited so much!!)

Interestingly, the prose also shifts depending on who the chapter is about.

If it chronicles a gay man's history, the tone is energetic and explicit, filled with gratuitous mentions of cock and sexual acts.

In contrast, the sections about other queer identities are hilariously reserved and neutral.

(Where did your enthusiasm go?)

Possibly the author was afraid of offending people.

But I think that concern wouldn't have been so obvious if there had been any effort to consult other members of the LGBTQIA+ community, so that they can also be featured in a lighthearted way.

Yes, I’m not done complaining.

This difference is also very telling that intersectionality wasn't that much prioritized.

Even though this is supposedly from a ‘queer’ perspective, it still operates in binary stereotypes —the lesbians featured are masculine, doing away with femininity and don't want to have children , while gay men love to bake or cook and want to be in the kitchen but are disbarred from.

Another example that shows this surface-level 'excavation' are these passages from A Fractured Timeline of Quiche:

“Until straight people can accept that f*cking is the heart of queerness, allyship is a lie.”

"Quiche and sex are who we are though. Those are the identities we flex."

It’s appalling that this book subscribes to compulsory sexuality.

The point of queer studies is to examine the ways in which people challenge systemic thinking and behavior.

Not all queer people only base their identities in who they have sex with. People in the queer community have varied interpretations of sex.

Beyond sexual identity, this book also lacks on race. I think there are only two to five people of color featured.

The few paragraphs I did enjoy came from other food historians, so if there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s that this book serves as a reference for works I might actually enjoy.

Overall, this is just another example of why I should probably avoid reading published works by white gay men to be honest.

This isn’t the first time I’ve read something from them where the points are lacking in substance, likely because it’s written from the perspective of someone with privilege within the queer community.

This book literally started and ended with the author's personal experiences as a white gay man in a monogamous relationship.

I could go on further but frankly I dedicated enough time and resources for this book.

If you’ve made it this far into my review yet still want to read it, do yourselves a favor and just start with these chapters:
* Paper Chicken for Divas
* Brother Ha of Pell Street
* Saturday Night Function
* Fress, Darling
* Ernie and the Rainbow Cake
* Monday Nights at Zuni
* Open House
* Epilogue: The Queerest Food

:)

[Sara Habein · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is both a history of the queer people behind notable moments in food culture, and also an examination of what exactly it means to make food "queer." Yes, Gay Brunch and quiche are touched upon. For Birdsall, it is primarily about gathering the important people in one's life, people who exist in the margins, and experiencing an act of togetherness. That act can be nourishing, decadent, indulgent, or just making do with what you've got, but it all counts.

If you're looking for a book that talks more about the food itself over the people cooking it, it may not be for you. But as something that contributes to the archive of queer history, I liked it. I also spend a fair amount of time thinking about food and cooking, which began as a way to be able to eat what I wanted, but in a form I could either digest or afford. I am not a precise cook — my kitchen scale gets the most use for measuring the pasta I buy in bulk— but I've been told I'm an excellent one. I have brought dishes to many a queer potluck, organized many a queer artsy party involving food, and have helped teach my kids how to cook, so they know how to feed themselves and others as they move out into the world. Queer food is often about intent. If I were attempting to decide if a particular meal were queer in some way, I might ask myself, "What community is this meal for?"

There are moments where I may not entirely agree with Birdsall's analysis, and but I appreciate how well-sourced the book is. He is clear on where he gets his information, and also why he occasionally veers into moments of speculation. We do not necessarily want to force modern terminology upon historical figures, but we can also allow them to have fully dignified and more complete remembrances. There is a full, diverse cast of people here. And you'll learn the origin of Chiffon Cake.

(3.5)

[Grace D Smith · Rating 3 out of 5]

Honestly DNFed about 1/3 into the book. Just reads like a long NYT article that never ends. I think I'm too stupid to understand, or not culturally or historically well-read enough (or old enough) to get the references. 3 stars because it's a great topic and there was obviously thought and care put into telling these various stories. I especially liked Henry Baker's story about developing a new type of cake, which became popular among the hollywood elites and people in the know!

[Sydney Schoeller · Rating 4 out of 5]

4⭐️ read for Solid State’s Gay Agenda book club and my first finished pride month book. This was the first time I’ve read a piece about food that wasn’t a cookbook or online article and I LOVED it. That’s definitely driving my higher rating because I have some issues with the book, but overall I really enjoyed reading this.

I never thought about food as a through line across queer history but this book describes how food and food writing was a form of queer expression for much of our recent (going back to late 1800s) history, when our modern language either didn’t exist or wasn’t allowed. I love love love how this book talks about names I was familiar with (Gertrude Stein, James Baldwin, Sandor Katz) but describes their lives through their experience with food and queer community forming around food gatherings.

On the other hand, I felt like the book dragged on a bit toward the end, and didn’t mention things that feel like an obvious part of queer culture (potlucks, fermentation, vegan/vegetarianism, etc) and some sections were rooough to get through (looking at you asparagus chapter). I also didn’t understand why the book seemed to end around the 1980s, when there’s so much to say about modern queer food culture that would be way less speculative than many parts of the book!

Anywho, I still enjoyed reading this book and learned SO much, even though I feel like there are some important pieces missing and others are too editorialized.

[Hjorprimul · Rating 1 out of 5]

I was really excited for this, and it was a struggle to finish. The most prominent issues in this book:
- Mostly focused on white gay men, to the point where the writing shifts and gets a lot more excited/animated when describing them, compared to other people
- A lot of assumptions and "I like to imagine" from the author
- Despite being a queer perspective, the book really leaned into old stereotypes- gay men love baking and cooking, and lesbians reject femininity and often feel like they're described as being masculine
- The primary focus of this book was people, and not food- this was my mistake, I thought it was going to be more about food

[Shana Z · Rating 2 out of 5]

Very dense. More of a creative nonfiction history book that mentions food in the latter half. I personally don’t like the style of history books that state “I like to imagine” and then creates this whole character imposed onto a real person without any evidence for it, which is an affectation of this author’s writing.

[Julia K · Rating 4 out of 5]

hugh ryan + aimee nezhukamatathil + queer culinary history. who knew food had such cultural symbolism for queer people! fun, interesting, deliciously descriptive history. another great Norton pub, unsurprisingly. I will say this book had a lot of conjecture throughout, but the author addresses this and how that’s an unavoidable aspect of writing queer history bc of the past need to hide one’s true identity for safety’s sake. at times I would also describe this book as a touch disparate, jumping from one idea to another, name dropping an actress from time’s past before launching into a deep sensory description of a food that hasn’t been popularized in decades. the author also seemed to love an alice b. toklas callback, which isn’t significant for anybody but me and is totally reasonable, but I swear everything I read seems to inadvertently circle back to audre lorde or gertrude stein. birdsall was right tho- you definitely can’t talk about queer culinary history without talking about alice b. toklas. also loved the b-52’s reference. this book isn’t for everybody, and I can see some ppl being bored by it, but I largely enjoyed it, and I definitely learned from it. chapters were short and topics were vast. brunch has always been gay- go eat a quiche.

[Juliana · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book is just vibes lol I think the thesis was pretty weak and vague.

I’m not big on non-fiction and history tbh so this writing style made it easy to digest but that’s all I’ve got for this book.

[Elaine · Rating 3 out of 5]

I went into this with high hopes. The title alone had me intrigued. I expected a bold and vibrant exploration of identity, culture and history through food, served up with flair and feeling. But What Is Queer Food? wasn’t quite what I thought it would be.

Reading about the queer legacies of Truman Capote and James Baldwin was mildly insightful and gave the book some welcome cultural context. But as a UK-based reader, I struggled with some of the other references. There were quite a few names and figures I’d never come across before, which made parts of the book feel inaccessible. I found myself drifting in and out, unsure of who the book was speaking to or for.

That said, there are still moments that stand out. When Birdsall writes about food as protest, comfort or connection, there’s an intimacy that really lands. I just wish there had been more of that throughout.

I didn’t dislike this, but I didn’t love it either. It left me more curious than content. For those already deep into queer food writing, it might resonate more. But if you’re coming to this hoping for something that’s accessible, celebratory and clearly structured, it may not deliver what you’re after.

Still, I’m glad I read it, especially during Pride Month. Even if it didn’t fully land, it raised questions worth chewing over.

***Thank you Netgalley and the publishers for this ARC in exchange for an honest review.***

[Vakaris the Nosferatu · Rating 4 out of 5]

all reviews in one place: night mode reading ; skaitom nakties rezimu

My Opinion: If you’re looking for recipes – this isn’t it. But it will tell you all about the emergence of certain foods, why it got where it got, and when it was prominent. Author doesn’t shy away from broad strokes, and maybe it’s just a matter of taste (hah), but I really enjoyed learning all of that, the cakes, the breads, the food for heart and soul. The book is written pretty well too, even if it takes a little bit to get into it, as the first chapter or three are not as well structured as the latter ones. Still, if you can bear with it, I’d highly recommend it, for the sake of it. So, next time you’re having a certain kind of cake, you know when, how, and by whom it was made to be that way.

[Michelle Simoni · Rating 3 out of 5]

The book was a sweet book , I liked some of the antidotes in the book and shared it with friends . Truthfully tho I am not really a fan of the writing that much. I felt lost and uninterested in some chapters . But overall the book was ok! Was hoping it would be more about the history of a lot of queer owned restaurants but it wasn’t really that

[Dana]

dnf at 43%. i just don't care for how the author describes every man as if the author's eyes function as a sensual mirror of these delectable men into our own mortal world meanwhile the women are... Certainly Occasionally There! no offense but a lesbian would've wrote this book way better. bye

[Juj · Rating 4 out of 5]

thank you to the publisher for an advanced reader's copy. this was a fun and interesting read about a topic that i've never thought much about but combines pretty much all of my interests. it offers a different perspective that i found very engaging and new!

[Lily · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a delight! Birdsall’s written voice is witty and visceral, ringing with empathy, curiosity, and kinship for his subjects. His research may be absolutely meticulous—rarely am I so excited to dive into a bibliography— but nothing could be further from the dry pall shrouding the majority of academic writing. Every sentence signals that these stories, this food, these people, this struggle, are deeply personal. And Birdsall isn’t afraid to make it personal for the reader as well, dragging us down the road of history and leaving the taste of long-eaten meals lingering in our mouths.

Highly, highly recommended.

Thank you to NetGalley and W. W. Norton & Company for the free ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions within are my own.

[Marjorie Elwood · Rating 2 out of 5]

Short essays about LGBTQ2SAI+ people and their relationship with food, grouped by time period. The stories weave in and out between each other. The first section, when everybody is closeted, was difficult to read because of the arrests, public humiliation, and violence.

I expected this to be more about the food - maybe including some recipes – and less about the culture of queerness. It was somewhat academic, which was partly redeemed by the beauty of his writing, but also felt like art or literary criticism in its pretentiousness. It was also decidedly erotic at times.

There are so many mentions of specific historical photographs that it would have been helpful to have them included the book.

[Stuart Miller · Rating 1 out of 5]

There is a lot of interesting information here, but I only got half-way through before giving it up, mainly because I couldn't make sense of passages such as: "Queerness is a reach for authenticity; the work of cutting through coercive norms--even those cemented by gay power--to descend to truer and truer places. Queerness is a life of inner ferment, the endlessly repeated birth of the self..."--and so it goes. And if you want to look at the source material, there ARE footnotes but they are presented in the most unconventional method I've ever encountered. I leave it to you to see what I mean.

[Bee · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5 stars, rounded down. I wanted to love this book so much more than I did. This is a clever concept that highlights many prominent queer folks throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, bringing them together in a sort of anthology over their passions for food. There is so much palpable interest here. However, the book ultimately fails to clearly answer the question its title poses, running on fumes and speculation in the gaps where information has been lost to history.

The organization and pacing of the book was not initially clear. Stories are broken into pieces and arranged in a loose linear timeline, further broken into sections. As a result, the idea of queering food and food preparation wasn't featured until about halfway through the book.

While the poetic nature of Birdsall's writing may resonate with many readers, the shift from present to past tense in the histories of the individuals' lives was jarring and threw me off. Birdsall's narration also changes abruptly throughout the book from conversational second-person (a nice touch in that many cookbooks are written like this) to purple prose and speculative accounts of events that may or may not have happened in the lives of those featured in the book. Birdsall uses "surely" a bit too much for my liking - it feels as though the material needed to be stretched because there was not enough information in the records of these individuals' lives.

Furthermore, the idea of queering food, which Birdsall takes in the vein of bell hooks's theory ("queer as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live"), is not articulated until halfway through the book. Even then, the idea of queer food remains murky - Birdsall asserts that many instances, including sexualized descriptions of food, are queer, with little to no explanation. So is sexualization inherently queer? In some of his limited explanations, it seems so.

Birdsall asserts connections between the work of restauranteurs, food critics, bakers, and their queerness (often barely documented) with almost alarming confidence - again with barely an explanation. This contributes to the overall lack of cohesion throughout the book, and I wonder if this is simply because there is not much information in existence to build a reliable narrative upon.

I feel as though this book would have been better as a series of articles on the individual people or groups, rather than an attempt to weave them all together. I am grateful for the idea of understanding (many new to me) queer ancestors across time and space in the context of food preparation, something we all can relate to in our own unique way, but found the execution to be lacking. Less prosaic speculation would have made this book more about the real and tangible experiences of these individuals. Perhaps a section of recipes or map of restaurants might have better delivered what this book tried to promise, as well as a tangible action for those of us today who would like to share the memory of these folks.

What really ruined the book for me was Birdsall's inconsistency. In a chapter on Alice B. Toklas and Gertrude Stein, he speaks about the practice of killing animals for food as masculine, then invokes a binary of gentle killing as feminine, using it directly as a metaphor for lesbian sex. I found it only reinforced the point he was trying to argue against, not to mention borderline offensive as a queer woman.

This book was overall a beautiful attempt, but sadly lacking in its final presentation. The chapter on quiche, and the final chapters, should have been the blueprint for this book, with the ideas presented at the beginning rather than at the end. I'd be interested to read more individual accounts of these people and learn directly from their own words.

[J. · Rating 1 out of 5]

With this one, I have read 148 books so far in 2025, and I expect to hit (or cross) the 150 mark by the time December is over. Out of all the books I have read this year, this is, far and away, the absolute worst piece of shit and excuse for wasting paper I have experienced. It is a crime against the trees that died to produce it, to its readers, to the written word itself. When I say I have loathed every second of the reading experience, I am not exaggerating. I audibly yelled at it, starting my dog, every third or fourth paragraph.

I am part of a queer book club through my local book store, a mere three doors down from my home, and this was the December selection. We will be discussing it next week, and I am dreading it in the off chance anyone actually liked this repulsive trash. I will also have to contain my hatred and disdain, which will be so hard to do, because I don't want to lead with my vitriol or monopolize the conversation.

But because I am so so angry, here is why I hated the book so much. I couldn't even write full sentences, so bullet points are just going to have to do:

- The book, presented as "non-fiction", is actually just a collection of guessing, conjecture, speculation, fantasy, and imagination on the author's part. Research, scholarship, or evidence? Who needs it?
- The book is barely about food at all. Also the author centers himself a whole lot, even though he has absolutely zero reason to
- Queerness = magic pixie dust. Apparently if a queer person did it, it's automatically superior
- So full of generalizations and stereotype - to the point of being offensive and grotesque
- Adverb and adjective word salad
- Reading this book was like being stuck in a conversation with a pretentious and narcissistic drunk gay man telling you what he read on Wikipedia peppered with made up material when he can’t recall details or couldn’t be bothered to read the whole post
- Rife with exoticisms that bordered on racist and offensive
- Talks down to his audience and filled with queersplaining
- I struggle to even accept this as nonfiction, as it's really just an imaginarium conjured by the author taken over by fits of gay fever dreams
- Everything is seen through a white, cis, gay, male lens, which the author seems completely oblivious to
- Reading this was the equivalent of literary ADD, as the author skips and jumps around with no rhyme or reason, as though he is impatient with himself. Not a single chapter is coherent or logical
- Written basically by that Steve Buscemi character from 30 Rock who says "How do you do, fellow kids?" The author is easily over 60, yet writes in internet/tiktok gen-z speak, peppered with RuPaul Drag Race lingo, which, to quote the kids, is very cringe
- What is this book’s thesis? What is it doing? No one knows for certain, least of all its author. Despite its title, the closest Birdsall comes to answering "What is queer food?" is... idk, like, if you know you know... ok?
- Uncomfortably full of innuendos and weirdly sex obsessed. Also the F slurs are wholly unnecessary and upsetting, especially when Birdsall starts referring that way to all gay men. He also curses a lot, just 'cause
- Conclusions have zero evidence, he just makes his claims emphatically, expecting his readers to buy what he's selling

My conclusion? Fuck this book.

[Sheryl · Rating 4 out of 5]

Four stars might be too generous, but I really enjoyed this read---even if I was somewhat skeptical of many of the author's claims.
This is clearly a very well researched project---the principal characters (and yes, even though this book is nominally non-fiction, the people focused on are brought to life in the same way a fiction author creates a character) are fleshed out with a pleasing mix of historical fact and sassy conjecture. it's a queer history of food writing, primarily, but the people are every bit as important to the story as the recipes or dinner parties. What makes Chiffon Cake queer (spoiler!) is not just the use of Maizola and egg whites, but the fascinating life story of its real creator (not Betty Crocker)
I completely enjoyed going on flights of speculative fancy and down twisty turny rabbit holes with the author (and the gently camp audiobook reader) I don't necessarily feel that he makes any grand pronouncements about What Queer Food Is---and that's fine.
My main criticism of the book is the way that several names are "dropped" and then dropped---threads of stories that are mentioned but never followed. I know that filling out those stories might have made the book three times as long, and it's entirely possible that they were edited out to tidy it up. I kinda wish they had not been included at all, though, rather than mentioned and dropped. (specifically looking at Sandor Katz and the queer commune movement and lesbian potluck culture. Also, no mention of Bloodroot? Maybe there's a book two coming?)
All in all, it was a really fun and interesting read. I will seek out more from this author.

[Richard Thompson · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was a fun read. I loved the anecdotes and the characters who populated this book, but I wasn't convinced after reading it that there is such a thing as queer food. Maybe quiche and chiffon cake are inherently queer, but there is not necessarily a queer cuisine in the same way that we have regional and ethnic cuisines. However, the book is very successful in describing how people have expressed (and suppressed) their queerness through food. So if there isn't queer food, is there maybe queer cooking? I think that a case could be made that in important ways all cooking (with the possible exception of outdoor grilling) is queer. Cooking until very recently has been the work of the subaltern. It's necessary to all of us and the oppressors may pay for it and may have the best opportunities to enjoy its fruits, but the act of cooking, at least in European and American society, has been mostly the business of women, black people, Latinos and gay men. In some ways that makes cooking sacred, a place of retreat and secret knowledge for the insiders that the oppressors can't fully understand or join. And beyond cooking, perhaps there is a special world of queer dining - private dinner parties and restaurants that have a flavor of queerness that is lacking in straight dining. I did think that Mr. Birdsall made a strong case for that.

In any event, even if I didn't buy the basic premise, it was a great collection of stories that got me thinking about how queerness and food can be connected.

[Carlos Dragonné · Rating 4 out of 5]

La comida es y siempre será inspiración e instigadora. De relaciones o de revoluciones, de anécdotas o de obras magnas en el día a día. Entender el movimiento LGBTQ sin la cocina es imposible porque en esa marginalidad en la que la sociedad ha insistido en mantener a la comunidad se les olvida que los secretos de las mesas siempre salen de la cocina y que en la intimidad del comedor pueden esconderse o ventilarse todos los secretos.

Aquí se habla de Gertrude Stein, Capote, Fitzgerald, Thornton Wilder, James Beard, Harry Baker, Esther Eng, Herman Schmidt. Se habla de Paris, San Francisco, NY… pero también de las casas y rincones en los que muchos se van a identificar por los silencios que se guardaron o los escándalos que se provocaron.

De las lecciones del sur a la crisis de la incertidumbre con la llegada de la epidemia del VIH, Birdsall hace un retrato espectacular de un componente que, en plena era de la uber-aceptación y apertura, parece desaparecer en medio del ruido: los espacios donde la comida era refugio y zona segura para una comunidad que, aunque generaciones actuales crean que han cambiado el mundo por ampliar los pronombres, la realidad es que siguen sufriendo una persecución de la que a veces ni ellos mismos se enteran. Porque es silenciosa: la desaparición disfrazada de cámaras de eco.

Lean, consigan los libros referenciados y cocinen. Al final, la cocina es puerta y mesa, sillón y centro. De todo.

[Maria · Rating 4 out of 5]

A Tender, Thoughtful Celebration of Queer Identity Through Food

What Is Queer Food? is less of a cookbook and more of a cultural and historical reflection—one that thoughtfully explores the deep connections between queerness and food. Birdsall weaves together personal narrative, cultural criticism, and storytelling to reveal how queer identity has always been present in culinary spaces, even when erased or overlooked by mainstream history.

This book beautifully examines how food serves as both survival and expression within queer communities. From underground dinner parties to chosen-family meals, Birdsall illustrates how food became a site of resistance, connection, and celebration. It’s not just about what’s being cooked—it’s about who’s at the table, who’s missing, and the quiet power of reclaiming space through nourishment and creativity.

Birdsall’s love of food and his reverence for its emotional resonance come through on every page. His writing is lyrical and insightful, honoring queer chefs, eaters, and traditions with a depth and sensitivity that lingers long after the last chapter.

If you’re looking for a book that blends identity, memory, and food with heart and intellect, this is a rich and rewarding read.

[Glen Helfand · Rating 4 out of 5]

Food is love, some people say. It is definitely something that we own. We abide our appetites of so many sorts. We know what we like. "What Is Queer Food?" It's a good question, but it's also a hard one to answer-- it's an elusive thing, you know it when you see it, feel it, eat it. John Birdsall's book is much more about people. Queers. It is a smorgasbord timeline of people who navigated their identities through what they ate and what they served, the cookbooks they wrote, the dinner parties they threw. Smart, culture changing people. Birdsall has a way with history. As he did in his James Beard biography, he brings us in to richly researched and imagined narratives of lives of his subjects-- a weekly meal attended by James Baldwin and his cohort in Paris; a legendary restaurant run by a butch Chinese American actress/director; the Hollywood bungalow where the man who 'invented' chiffon cake, worked his magic for an elite clientele. These are great stories, told in human scale portions-- multi-courses. There isn't a clear answer to the titular question, but you feel it here.

[steph · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really liked most of this, though it started to lose me towards the end. I wasn't sure what to expect from this book, but it was mostly: a collection of food history-adjacent queer people, which was my favorite part; rumination on what food some famous queer people may have eaten; and then lots about quiche. The structure was kind of unusual, with each part focused on one time period, and then a lot of switching back and forth between the various "characters," which sometimes made the stories hard for me to follow. Overall, I learned a lot about queer history and a little bit about food.

[Maria · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was really excited to read "What is Queer Food?" hoping for a thoughtful exploration of how food expresses LGBTQ+ identity. While there are a few stories that touch on that theme—like the chiffon cake and quiche examples I loved—the overall tone of the book wasn’t what I expected. Much of it felt more sexually explicit and crude than necessary, overshadowing the cultural and emotional connections I was looking for. If you’re hoping for a deep dive into food as identity, this might not fully deliver.

[MaryAnne · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book was not what I expected, and I still don’t really understand its argument. I enjoyed learning about queer people connected to food throughout history, but the only through-line I saw was that food creates safe spaces and is a way to communicate, which in retrospect (read: while trying to sound smart writing this review two days late) seems more salient but while reading didn’t reasonable as much.

[Susie Dumond · Rating 4 out of 5]

A unique approach to reclaiming queer history through food, chefs, and restaurants that shaped it. The topics and individuals explored are super interesting. I appreciate how John Birdsall frames and contextualizes queerness erased from the historical record. The pompous prose betrays the actual content of the book sometimes, but still an enlightening read.

[Kaitlin Hansen · Rating 3 out of 5]

I read this as part of a Goodreads challenge. There were some really interesting stories and I certainly learned some things about a culture that I, admittedly, know very little able. I did feel like certain parts were unnecessarily crass.

[Céline Badaroux · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was very interested in this question. However, it's answered (and therefore defined) pretty quickly and we’re given a series of partial biographies and must admit that, as interesting as it was, it wasn't what I expected/was waiting for.