Courtney E. Smith reminds me of the friends I made in the ‘00s in Chicago, hanging out at places like the now-defunct Club Foot, a dive bar dedicated to pop culture where patrons found shelves packed with vintage action figures, and were blessed by DJs who had actual good taste in music. Club Foot was also a regular stop on the legendary Tamale Guy’s route.
Musical taste is important to Smith, a Houston-area native who moved to New York to leverage her experience as an AOL chat room host for a gig with MTV. She’s worked with a variety of bands and artists, soon becoming an invaluable staff member for the network’s growing online enterprise. Smith’s no stranger to celebrity, and she’s certainly not the type who would be starstruck. Smith recalls one of her favorite stories, which appeared on Lena Dunham’s shuttered website, Lenny Letter; the story is no longer available to read as the site ceased operations in 2018. Dunham edited Smith’s work, with Smith calling the Girls creator, “a good editor.”
Smith’s a media veteran, and her poise was one of her qualities that stuck out the most when we began working together at Eater as we sorted out the mess that was the original iteration of Foxtrot, the corner store chain that abruptly closed all locations in 2024, blindsiding workers and customers in cities including Chicago and Dallas. Though she’s not allergic to work, she’s also not foolishly hasty. She has the audacity to slow down and care.
After we exited Eater together in August 2025, Smith co-founded Ravenous and was the first person to put down money — she’s the one who secured the site’s domain name. Enjoy getting to know Smith’s story. As an aside, coincidentally enough, Smith does know one of my friends I met at Club Foot in the ‘00s.
Ashok Selvam: All five of us have our media war stories and have suffered through multiple layoffs. So, to paraphrase: Who hurt you — in terms of media — and why are you the way you are?
Courtney E. Smith: Oh, boy, to be honest, every media company I've worked for has hurt me. I mean, they're all a bunch of toxic places to be. I've had great bosses at a lot of media companies who either let me do my own thing, or tried to shield me from the terrible decisions of upper management. I've definitely been treated like a pretty, pretty princess by some people who saw my value. But ultimately, you still end up laid off. I've been laid off five times in my career, twice from one company and three times from other media companies. At this point, it feels like it's baked into the plan. It doesn't even feel personal anymore. The last layoff, I didn't think it had anything to do with me, like I thought, "I'm doing a perfectly fine job, and this company just can't sustain itself." And that is a different kind of upsetting, because it's completely out of my control. I can never do a good enough job to keep a media job for five years, because the media keeps falling apart.
This might be a morbid question, but what do you eat when recovering from a layoff? Do you remember what you ate right after the most recent one?
At the end of the week when we got laid off, I went to Quarter Acre, which is one of my favorite restaurants in Dallas, and the chef there, Toby Archibald, and the GM, Jacob Fergus, could see that I was really upset. I was just going to have a snacky meal and sit at the bar. I really like the wines that Jacob picks. I think he's always so interesting, and Toby has some really great snacky food that's New Zealand-inspired. I ordered a couple of things, and then I started crying, and they sent me more things. When I was ready to leave, it was just about the time that dinner rush was coming in on a Friday night, and I was going to sneak out, and Toby had Jacob stop me, and was like, don't leave. He came over to give me a hug before he would let me leave. And it was just like, I don't know, it was really sweet.
Do readers, folks outside the world of journalism, understand how personal the job is for us?
I don't think they do. I don't know that the people who read what we write understand the depth of the connections we have with some of these chefs and the people who work in this industry. They are our sources, and the way that they behave informs what we think the standards are, and sometimes they become our friends. This is the kind of trust that you build with people. Writing about them and reporting about them is our career, and that's a unique relationship. It's a unique dynamic, and I don't think a lot of people who don't work as journalists and don't live in this world, I can't imagine they could understand it.
Given your experience in music journalism, do you make playlists for dinners? Is that something that you love, or are you anti? How much do you pay attention to music at restaurants?
I make playlists for everything. I'm always paying attention to the music at the restaurants, and I frequently give feedback to restaurant owners about theirs… the volume is too high. At most places, it needs to be turned down, but usually my feedback is on the content of the playlist, and like, if it's working, or if it's not, or if there was a song I especially liked. I love it most now, when I go somewhere, and I don't even hear the playlist, not because the volume's low, but because it's perfect, like it's not stunty, there are no pop singles that are jumping out. You've arranged something that just flows beautifully, so I don't have to pay attention to it, and it's quietly contributing to the beauty of the experience.
Can you give me an example of a jarring experience?
My God, I mean, there was a restaurant in Dallas that has now closed, and they had a DJ playing during dinner, like a full deck setup, and it was like the worst of pop from the 2000s basically, they were doing a theme night. I was just like, I'd like to get all of this to go. I just want to leave this room so bad because of this guy. Everything else was fine, but the music was too loud and too thematic, and a DJ was trying to make it about himself while an entire room of people were eating dinner. I'm like, just don't do that. That's gross.
What’s your ideal last meal?
I think my last meal ever will be a classic. It's going to be a beautiful cut of steak. I really like a New York strip. And I like it somewhere between rare and medium rare, bone-in. And I really just want it covered in salt and pepper, super heavy on the salt. You really can't give me too much of a salt crust with a side of creamed spinach and heavy on the butter, mashed potatoes, hopefully some garlic in there too. Again, you can't go too heavy on the butter. I'm dying. It's my last meal. Whatever is happening, let's just go for it.
Are you doing wine or a martini?
Oh, wine. I'm such a wine drinker. I love it, but I would not pair that with a cabernet, because I think all cabernets are too heavy. The tannins absolutely kill me. So something a little lighter than that, but not light. And also, there needs to be a bread basket with multiple types of bread, some wheat, some white, some sourdough, nice Parker House rolls, everything. And it’s played out. Okay, I want banana pudding for dessert. My grandmother used to make this banana pudding, and hers was the best in the world that I've ever had. So if I can have her banana pudding again, that's what I'll choose. But I'll take the closest duplicates.
What made grandmother’s banana pudding special?
As cliché as it is, it had to have been her love, because she was making it with Nilla wafers and Jell-O pudding. It wasn't homemade from scratch all the way or anything, but there were certain things she just did perfectly. Everything about the ingredients lined up to create this perfect dish. Her banana pudding was that way, her scrambled eggs — she just nailed it, the platonic ideal of scrambled eggs. And it's all simple stuff that's not that challenging. It's really that feeling of being taken care of and loved and having someone who loves you and makes you the food that they know you love.
Journalists have to go from love to hate quickly. So, pivoting, what’s a food you hate?
Mushrooms should never be the center of any dish. They can never be the heart. The only time I've ever had a mushroom dish where it worked, and the mushroom was the main ingredient, was this salad, weirdly, out of all places, at Moxies, which is a fine dining chain. The chef had been experimenting with hens of the wood, just using the stems. He marinated them in such a way that it was like a proper chicken or pork protein, which worked. But every other time I've had anything where mushroom is the feature, it's been a flop. Mushroom is an accent. It's not the center.
Ravenous is a worker-owned food culture publication founded by five journalists who are tired of toothless food journalism. With more than 30 years of combined experience in the industry, we're all keenly aware of why a place like Ravenous is so needed in this moment: corporate food media is broken, and worker-owned publications are the future.
We believe that readers want incisive, well-reported stories — not just AI generated lists and influencer bullshit. To make that work happen, we need our support. Subscribe today to help put the bite back in food media, and we'll give you a little discount for joining us during our subscriber drive.
