I reviewed the Catherine Zeta-Jones vehicle No Reservations for the paper a while ago. At least one reader called to complain that I had no business reviewing a film. I'm a restaurant critic, not a film critic, for crying out loud. I thought I did OK. I restrained my bad foodie self, really.
Here's why: The whole first scene is narrated by Zeta-Jones, 
this meandering why-quail-with-truffles-is-practically-better-than-sex monologue. These are quails:
Quails are little, spindly things. I could eat a pile of them, especially if truffles happened to be involved.
In the next scene we see Zeta-Jones in her NYC kitchen preparing said dish and sending it out into the dining room.
Only, it wasn't a quail. It was a squab, which looks like this.
What we have here is a much bigger bird. It could eat a quail for breakfast, were it inclined.
And I didn't even get bogged down in this foodie minutiae, just held my tongue and reviewed the film like a pro.
Which leads me, naturally, to the question of what are the greatest food movies of all time. Here's my first attempt, and I defy old fancy-pants movie critic here to do better.
Top Ten Food Movies of All Time:
Babette’s Feast--19th-century Denmark, based on a story by Isak Dinesen, makes dried fish look like something you'd voluntarily put in your mouth; 1988.
Big Night--1996; Tony Shalhoub and Stanley Tucci compete with something called a Timpano (like a pasta pie) for scene-stealing.
Dinner Rush--More feisty Italians, a father and a son in conflict, and lobster and pasta in a champagne sauce. That's all you need to know.
Woman on Top--2000; Brazilian hottie chef (Penelope Cruz) moves to San Francisco and has a steamy food TV show. (Come to think of it, Cruz's food scenes in Volver were pretty good, too. Wonder if she really cooks?)
Eat Drink Man Woman--1994; Ang Lee, baby. OK, there are some major chick stereotypes to ignore, but the food is drop-dead sexy. Now, Ang, how about doing a film adaptation of the book The Last Chinese Chef? Very cinematic, very tasty.
Chocolat--Juliette Binoche, Johnny Depp, his hair and her truffles. Now how could Alfred Molina have a problem with any of that?
Like Water for Chocolate--1992; the book was better, but it still got my blood boiling (speaking of boiling blood, the title is a metaphor in Latin American countries, meaning boiling mad or sexually aroused, because hot chocolate is made with boiling water, not milk). My biggest issue with this book and movie is that the recipes are untenable. I double-dog-dare you to make them.
Nine 1/2 Weeks--1986; fine, I'll include it, but really that refrigerator scene makes Mickey Rourke look like he watched the Tom Jones turkey leg goofiness too many times in his youth.
Tampopo--1985; saw it when it came out and thought it was wiggy in its sequencing, but love the idea of an epic about ramen noodles.
Pink Flamingos--1972; that got your attention, didn't it? OK, not a food movie, but the poop scene may be the most memorable EATING sequence of all time.
All right, sports fans--what say you to my list?
We all have them. They're kind of like unruly pets we all sheepishly keep indulging. But does that mean we put them on the table next to the salt and pepper, answering the extra-loud Super Mario Brothers theme ringtone every 2 minutes? By the way, that ringtone is #4 on this week's Billboard top ringtone chart. The rest:
"He who distinguishes the true savor of his food can never be a glutton; he who does not cannot be otherwise." 
I got this yesterday from A. Smedley. To Smedley, I say, "Get your own stinkin' blog, but I've got to agree with you on this one":
Hey, Mouth –
What’s your feeling about decorative squiggles of assorted squeeze-bottle “goo” liquids as a garnishment on food … soup to nuts? This seems like a very dated culinary embellishment … whose day may have come and gone by 2007, at least by the standards of most dining establishments in the more cosmopolitan, “hip” cities across the nation. However, word hasn’t been telegraphed yet to the
kitchens of Tampa Bay!
Editorial note: Smedley means these:
One can imagine giant tanker trucks making daily deliveries to sunken storage “sauce-vats” in restaurant parking lots across the Tampa Bay, filled with something identified, as example, as “balsamico,” but in reality is some mock mahogany colored syrupy GOO concoction over which some shameless manufacturer paused to whisper "balsamic vinegar." Assuredly, when extruded artfully out of a plastic squeeze bottle and squiggled into lovely herringbone patterns with the end of a toothpick as the budding chef learned in Garde Manger 101, one can camouflage a multitude of sins or jazz up an otherwise ho-hum presentation … but does the decorative element add ANYTHING of value to the flavor of the dish it’s been oozed onto so heavy-handedly? And I challenge the food purveyor to verify that the contents of said squeeze bottle is solely unadulterated balsamic vinegar, or whatever colored flavor it’s purported to be!
I cite an experience this evening of dining in a well-reputed Tampa Italian trattoria. The tiramisu I ordered for dessert could have stood with its head held high as a perfectly acceptable paragon of coffee-infused, sponge-cake/lady finger based mascarpone delicacy. But when delivered to my table, it almost needed transport on a flat-bed truck, arriving with an excessive, yeah almost overwhelming OVERKILL encirclement of whipped cream (probably real and not Redi-Whip from an aerosol can … but definitely uncalled for by any classic standards of tiramisu!), squeeze-bottle squiggles of BROWN AND RED - chocolate sauce and that ubiquitous red sweet stuff that one is hard-pressed to confirm as raspberry, cherry or strawberry. Whichever, it imparts virtually zero flavor, but has sufficient body to it to be extruded into those predictable, lasting decorative waves that someone in the kitchen has decreed makes the whole dish eye-catching. Frankly, it was a visual abomination that I wanted to ask be removed to the kitchen and a good scrape job performed to remove all the excessive goop! Better would have been a dainty helping of perfectly delectable tiramisu … hold the whip, hold
the brown and red squiggles, and simply dust ever so lightly with a delicate grating of fine chocolate.
Ed. note: example of excessive whipped cream.
Tampa, just say “oh, so passé” to the squeeze bottle squiggles. Little to be gained flavor-wise and as for visual presentation, only makes the diner wonder what the kitchen is trying to distract us from on the plate!!!!