This prissy little New York Times food writer has somehow become my mother’s fantasy of the perfect Jewish daughter, and for this, she must be eliminated. In her columns about souffles and salads, Hesser cloyingly refers to her beau—a New Yorker writer, if you must know—as “Mr. Latte,” which has my mother cooing. Hesser is known to always wear two dainty barrettes, and she prepares her own in-flight meals, which my mother finds charming. And in May, when the Times announced that she and Mr. Latte would be getting married, my mother called me crying with joy. It is clear, therefore, that Amanda Hesser must be fired. Or force-fed some White Castle. Something. Please.