Boston food media loves a grief ritual.

The James Beard Foundation announced its 2026 finalists, and Massachusetts is not on the list. Ten Massachusetts candidates made the semifinalist round in January, none advanced to the finals.

We’ve seen this film before. Late last year it was Michelin’s first Boston results. One star, a handful of Bibs, and an outcry from food media about inspectors who don’t get us, are too European (a compliment, in my opinion), too rigid, too whatever.

The villain may change, but the question remains: What if the problem isn’t the judges?

The Boston Globe published an article early this morning, written by its restaurant critic: How can the James Beard Awards not include a single Massachusetts restaurant?

The piece is dressed up as criticism but is ultimately advocacy. It frames the whole thing as a question - how could this happen? - and then essentially answers it: the voting body lacks Boston representation. Fine. But instead of following that thread anywhere interesting, it deploys a chicken-and-egg deflection and poses the central question as unanswerable, which is a way of appearing thoughtful while avoiding accountability. DEI gets several sentences and a quick exit. What we’re left with is a piece that wants the Beard Foundation to do better by Boston without asking what Boston might do better itself. It’s a comfortable position. It’s also one that lets the city off the hook, and that is the real disservice.

Below is where we should be focusing the conversation. As they say, if you’re pointing your finger, three are pointing back at you.

The most obvious problem is the cost of opening a restaurant in Boston. Commercial rents are punishing and they’ve pushed the restaurant landscape toward concepts built for volume and safety. These are not the places that win Beard awards, but they are the places that can actually survive. They require investors, and investors require a return, and a return requires covers, and covers require a concept that is repeatable and safe. This dynamic is what produces Boston's restaurant group problem, and these groups crank out concepts that are long on atmosphere and short on culinary ambition. Meanwhile, the opening pipeline for prime real estate is filling with out-of-town money (Union Square Hospitality Group, Avra Estiatorio, etc).

The restaurants that win Beard awards are mostly the opposite: small, idiosyncratic, and built around a chef/owner’s interests, not a market analysis. Boston makes that restaurant almost impossible to keep alive long enough to build a reputation, and the groups that could theoretically use their scale to nurture that kind of ambition have mostly chosen not to. What Boston offers is punishing entry costs and a licensing and permitting process so arcane and drawn-out that it functionally benefits operators who already have lawyers and capital on retainer. The ambitious young chef who wants to open something small and serious is not being failed by the Beard Foundation; they’re being failed long before.

Then there’s the customer. Boston’s population skews heavily toward students and young professionals who are passing through, and while they’re here they want something fun, photogenic, and legible. TikTok accelerates this tendency. These diners are not building the kind of sustained relationship with a restaurant that turns a good chef into a great one: the regulars who come back every week, who follow a chef from one project to the next, who show up on a Tuesday in January when the dining room is empty and the restaurant needs them most. These people exist in Boston, certainly, but in lower numbers than other cities. The exodus of young people from Massachusetts goes beyond this, to a much larger affordability problem. This transience contributes to a market that rewards volume, familiarity, and spectacle over the kind of excellence the Beard Foundation rewards.

There is also something harder to quantify but impossible to ignore, which is the question of (I’m really sorry to say it)… taste. Boston is a city of tremendous intellectual capital, and yet it has never quite developed the creative class that tends to accompany that kind of density elsewhere. The creative class that drives food scenes in cities like New York, San Francisco, or even Portland is thinner here, more diffuse. This is not a character flaw so much as a structural condition: a city that has historically exported its most creative people to other places, that has rewarded institutional prestige over aesthetic risk, that has never quite shaken its Puritan suspicion of anything too new or too strange. The result is a dining public that is sophisticated in the aggregate but conservative in its habits, one that will wait an hour for a table at a restaurant that is popular on TikTok but won’t take a chance on a chef it hasn’t heard of in a neighborhood it doesn’t usually visit. Food scenes are built by people who eat adventurously and bring others along with them. Boston has these people, but not enough of them.

Boston food media is (mostly) boring and has been too easy on everyone. Example A: still bringing up La Padrona as the pinnacle of the Boston restaurant scene. It was fun at first (I even joined in), but ultimately it is a big hotel restaurant with a beautiful room, a recognizable name attached, and a price point that signals seriousness without really delivering. A media landscape that celebrates the same handful of places year after year, and is reluctant to say when something has stopped being interesting or when something is just a flop, produces a scene with no reason to evolve.

What's missing is sharp, honest, independent criticism. Not meanness, but standards. Other cities have this. The Boston restaurant scene is largely deprived of genuine critical friction and therefore has stopped surprising anyone. Including the James Beard Foundation.

Finally, and importantly: the Globe piece implies the Beard Foundation may be backsliding on DEI, and perhaps this is worth a conversation given the current national climate. But raising this claim with no further analysis is at best incomplete, and at worst redirects attention from the very real problems in this city. For context: redlining, the Depression-era practice of drawing literal boundaries around neighborhoods deemed hazardous for lending, corresponded almost exactly with where Black residents lived.1 When it was outlawed in 1968, Boston's banks responded by creating a mortgage program that still required loans to be used only within Dorchester, Roxbury, and Mattapan, triggering blockbusting, an exodus of white residents, and the rapid transformation of previously mixed neighborhoods into concentrated poverty.2 Before 2014, businesses in Roxbury, Dorchester, and Mattapan held only seven percent of all liquor licenses citywide (despite being home to a third of the city's population) and the only way to obtain a license was to buy one on the open market, where it could cost as much as $450,000.3 Small businesses in these neighborhoods had long been denied access to loans and investment capital, and racial discrimination in city contracting locked many of them out of reliable municipal income entirely.4 The restaurants that survived did so on community loyalty and not much else, without the financing, the licenses, or the foot traffic from wealthier neighboring areas.

This is changing. In 2024, Governor Healey signed legislation bringing 225 new liquor licenses to Boston, which was the single largest addition to the city's license quota since the end of Prohibition.5 Most are zip code-restricted, meaning they are tied specifically to neighborhoods like Mattapan, Roxbury, Dorchester, and Hyde Park, and unlike the old system, they are given out for free and must be returned to the city if a business closes, preventing the speculative market that put licenses out of reach for independent operators in the first place. It is progress. But it is also worth noting that it took until 2024 to get here, and the broader structural problems - rents, permitting, access to capital - remain largely unsolved. This is the equity conversation. Not the few sentences published by the Globe this morning.

Everything I raised here is worth exploring further. But I suppose that’s the Globe’s job. Or would they rather the Beard Foundation do it?