Two nights ago, I woke up at 4 a.m. Racing through my mind was one thought:
“Can you accurately say that Noma is “columbising and extracting nopales” to serve on their menu if their head chef for the last two years is a chilango from Mexico City and they are sourcing their masa directly from two of L.A.’s best tortillerías? Kernel of Truth Organics and Komal?”
This Noma controversy has shaken up the international food media world, and dozens of people have personally hit me up about it.
A local podcaster accused L.A.TACO and me, by full name, of not doing enough on both our social media channels and our website to cover Noma, despite covering the protest on opening day.
He was accusing L.A.TACO of being a site “sitting under the guise of local journalism” and said that we deserve a “shitty Yelp review” for it, inaccurately stating we are “sitting this one out” despite the host acknowledging that we did indeed report on it. We published a video that covered the protest in full, along with an article on our website.
A couple of days before that podcast was released, someone created a burner account on Reddit to post a question about my ethics as editor of L.A. TACO, specifically about reporting on Noma (the comment was removed for violating the terms of service because the account was created solely to make that post).
The way people are reflecting on René Redzepi’s exit video, like the local influencer who posted a parody video making fun of his European accent, makes me realize that when the movement against something awful gets big enough, the participants can take up as much space as the perpetrator they are trying to crucify.
Is it really any better than actually creating change?
Nobody should have to bleed for someone else’s Michelin star without getting paid what they’re worth. That part of the conversation is real.
I was sitting in Copenhagen last year, five fat rips deep into some dank Nordic hash, smoked out of an apple, and trying to play it cool when René Redzepi himself walked over to our table and casually dropped the word that Noma was coming to Los Ángeles for 16 weeks. I had never met him before and had no idea whether he would be there. The meal was not hosted.
Dinner that night rewired me. It changed how I looked at food, at discipline, and what it means to chase something bigger than yourself. His restaurant redefined the entire global conversation around foraging, hyper-local ingredients, and turning nature into art. But when I dined there, I had absolutely no idea about his past abuse allegations.
When he came to Los Angeles, we met up for coffee for a standard interview for a story I was working on about his future collaboration with a local small business.
It doesn’t mean we’re friends. It just means I got to see the guy up close, ask real questions, and watch how his mind works. That coffee happened in Long Beach, where I tried to school him on the city, only to be surprised that he had been there before to forage for some of the ingredients for his dinner series.
I was taken aback by the bits of wisdom he casually dropped like they were nothing: Be curious about others. Think deeply about things, don’t take everything as the absolute truth.
Look to your future self—what questions can you ask now to plan for the best version of yourself?
Learn about your surroundings, look at the tree sap oozing around you, and look at the grasses under your feet. I saw him get starstruck by a local type of pine sap oozing from a tree that provided us shade. In the same way a lot of people might get if Bad Bunny walked past them.
That’s when it hit me: René isn’t some unreachable god. This is a man who has spent his life trying to advance the entire industry.
So when The New York Times piece dropped about his past kitchen culture—the allegations of Rene’s physical assault on his staff, an offshoot of the abuse we are amused by when watching shows about chef culture, or even another particular British chef who has become famous for his antagonistic style of criticizing other people's restaurants and dishes. I felt the same gut punch everyone else did.
The Times report is serious and important, centering accounts from more than 35 former employees whose experiences date primarily to 2009–2017, the period when Noma was building its global reputation.
A common criticism about the NYT report is how the story doesn't include interviews with current staff or those who joined more recently, whose views on today's environment might reflect changes Redzepi and the team have made in response to past issues. If at least 50 people have reached out to me asking for my opinion, I can’t imagine how many people are likely reaching out to Rene personally in support. A quick browse through their comment section shows multiple high-profile chefs with heart emoticons and reflections of empathy. My algorithm keeps getting hit with posts of support from cooks who had positive experiences in many different languages.
I’m not taking away from the victims’ struggle. The demand for equitable pay, for actual hours, for not treating stagiaires like disposable fuel? It’s righteous, long overdue, and will indeed make your food taste better.
And here’s where it gets even more complicated, because the way we talk about this shit changes completely depending on what country you’re standing in.
Danes straight-up condemn any kind of over-exploitation; their whole system is built to protect the worker and call out abuse the second it shows up. Hell, they consistently rank as one of the world’s “happiest” countries.
In the U.S., we basically hand all the power to the companies and their owners—to do what they want and grind the kids (ask any immigrant kid who grew up working at their parents' restaurants). Just don’t get caught on camera.
Then you have Mexico, where the labor laws on paper are actually on the worker’s side, but in reality, the bosses still rule with pure despot energy, intimidation, and dirt-cheap wages. On top of that, my culture loves to brag about how hard we work, like suffering is some badge of honor.
So when a story like this blows up, every country is screaming from a completely different playbook.
No wonder the conversation feels like it’s talking past itself.
What the broader discussion seems to be missing—what the dialogue seems to be ignoring—is the dozens of chefs (in the U.S. and Mexico) who have been texting me nonstop since the story broke. At least 50 people hit me up—line cooks, sous chefs, even an immigrant-owned purveyor who is supplying Noma.
Redzepi has opened up about the abuse in the past and how he was trying to break the cycle instead of just repeating it.
Here are three takes from high-profile people in our industry who reached out anonymously, both men and women, who are too scared to post in public. It’s just a small taste of the reflections and conversations happening outside of social media, which we must remember also exists.
Those voices are being silenced by the same hysteria that makes it into a movement that only sees things in black and white, with no space for nuance. They’re scared to speak because the internet has already decided the ending. I’ve seen people comment, post, and accuse Noma’s workers of “being in a cult.”
But what are the real-world repercussions, if any? There are no reservations left open at Noma as of today. American Express is still involved in hosting Noma’s reservations through Tock. And based on the videos I’ve seen of their customers being transported there, so is Cadillac.
It all begs the question: Are social media outrage and performative posts louder than real-life voices?
One prominent chef wrote to me, asking me directly, “Please help guide people a bit around what to do. Chefs can’t say much right now.”
Real talk: I’m disappointed too. The punk rock vato, who cried at that Copenhagen table, wanted the hero to stay perfect. But punk never believed in heroes anyway.
Another said, “This will be the end of fine dining as we know it. And we will need to enter the era of ethical dining. The truth is, reparations must be made. Victims will need to be made whole again, if that’s even possible. However, multiple truths must be held accountable, though.
The past must be dealt with absolutely, but that’s Redzepi’s responsibility. For the rest of the industry and the public, we have to decide whether to allow someone to change if it means others will follow suit.”
Another celebrated business owner who has impacted L.A. dining shared a different angle:
“Forgiveness is humanity's greatest growth. At the same time, ego death, unattachment, has its purpose.”
That same small business owner brings up the direct impact that fine dining has on the local economy as well: “No one is talking about the impact Noma has had on the local economy by focusing on ingredients within a 200-mile radius. For so many vendors, including us, Noma has been a lifeline in an otherwise flat L.A. economy stemming from inflation, Hollywood strikes, the fires, etc. Hyper-focusing on the local economy, in Noma, speaks to their commitment in being part of the community. Their hyper-focused L.A. residency could not have come sooner, if you ask me.”
Real talk: I’m disappointed too. The punk rock vato, who cried at that Copenhagen table, wanted the hero to stay perfect. But punk never believed in heroes anyway.
The most prestigious food award in restaurants and food media in the U.S., and the organization named for it, idolize a sexual predator, as John Birdsall, the author of “The Man Who Ate Too Much: The Life of James Beard,” rightly highlights in his book.
After all, every winner still proudly wears that face engraved on their award medals, dismissing this problematic history.
I believe—and continue working to believe—in people who can take feedback, evolve, and still put on the best show in town. The food world is better because Noma exists, for better and for worse. The kitchens that come after this can and should be better—if we actually have the conversation we’re still refusing to have: the one where you can be in the shits and still make real demands for fairness in the same sentence without canceling each other out.
I still want to try both of our city’s best nixtamal tortillas meant to sop up their seaweed mole made by Noma’s Mexican head chef, Pablo Soto. Or sommelier Max Manning’s “California desert amaro,” he is developing with yerba santa, rabbitbush, ladies' tobacco, and Manzanita berries, alongside other botanicals foraged from the Cuyama Valley. As a beer snob, I want to try Noma’s collaboration beer with Highland Park Brewery, which is undoubtedly one of L.A.’s best as well.
But let’s be brutally clear: the punches to the ribs, the forks jabbed into bodies, the public humiliations, the threats of blacklisting, and the years of psychological terror belong in satirical horror films, not real-life kitchens. In fine dining, fast-casual, ghost kitchens, pop-ups, whatever.
Those were alleged assaults carried out by the man at the very top of a pyramid where stagiaires had everything to lose and almost nothing to gain. Redzepi also built something revolutionary on the silenced voices of dozens of young cooks who trusted him to lead them.
The fact that he has now stepped down from Noma after 23 years—announcing it in a tearful video just days after the story broke and amid protests outside the L.A. pop-up—isn’t a footnote; it’s the consequence his own actions finally forced.
A working-class taquero, the kind of person who feeds the city every day on tacos and hustle, getting lifted into that rarefied world for a night. He heard about Redzepi’s alleged punch to the ribs of one of his staff members, to which he responded to me, “That’s it?! I’ve had three full fistfights inside my taquería kitchen in a year! And I just make tacos!”
An apology was never going to be enough, just as yet another think piece from a food nerd will never be enough, and neither is saying “we’ve changed the culture.” True accountability means owning the harm without qualifiers, making victims whole where possible, and ensuring that the next generation of kitchens is never again treated unfairly.
That $1,500-per-person exclusivity stings, especially now in a time when so many restaurants in Los Angeles are struggling to stay open. But I don't think a lot of people understand how diners get the same thrill from eating at these fine dining establishments as others do from attending a postseason Dodger game, which fetches the same or higher price if you're not in the nosebleeds. The trickle-down effect shows up in unexpected ways, like with the vendor mentioned earlier and even to L.A.'s Taco Life. The cash weighs the same.
I got a text from a locally celebrated taquero—who's spent years grinding in the trenches of L.A.'s street food scene—just after Noma’s opening night. He scored one of those free industry meals and called it, without hesitation, "the best meal of his life."
A working-class taquero, the kind of person who feeds the city every day on tacos and hustle, getting lifted into that rarefied world for a night. He heard about Redzepi’s alleged punch to the ribs of one of his staff members, to which he responded to me, “That’s it?! I’ve had three full fistfights inside my taquería kitchen in a year! And I just make tacos!”
Like another journalist whom I am inspired by, messaged me privately about it all:
“If people wanna spend $1,500, that’s their jam. And Redzepi collaborated with CIELO and gave away 100% of the proceeds from their pop-up collaboration meal at Holbox, so he’s at least trying to do the right thing. Hating on a toxic man and a wildly expensive restaurant is too easy. And sadly, workplace exploitation is probably even worse at the immigrant level. Family working for free, not exploitation? And somehow that’s OK? Give me a break.”
I still want to believe the restaurant that nearly made me cry over eating flowers and slugs can keep pushing the whole scene forward.
Without punches to the ribs this time.
Full disclosure: Javier Cabral moderated a MAD panel earlier on borders and food culture. The organization was founded by Noma’s Rene Redzepi, where he has also resigned.
