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I know what your favourite restaurant is

Wahaca.

A Mexican chain, where ‘the food is fast, fresh and feisty’.

You may deny it – if asked, you’d probably name some fancy place where all the celebs go – but the trail’s there, isn’t it? Six check-ins in two months. Instagrammed: crispy prawn tacos. Instagrammed: Mexican feast. Instagrammed: huitlacoche empanadas. Instagrammed: ancho chicken tacos #fresh #streetfood #marketfood #lovemexico #clean #authentic. Nom fucking nom.

Oh, you think you’re such a foodie. The phrase ‘street food’ falls out of your mouth like diarrhoea. To listen to you, anyone would think you’re the first person to have discovered authentic Mexican food; that you’ve single-handedly pioneered Wahaca’s success; that it’s entirely down to you that Time Out’s called it London’s ‘trendiest chain for chatting and chowing down’. You spout off about ‘fresh’ and ‘honest’ ingredients to anyone who’ll listen. It’s like you think you’re Deliciously fucking Ella.

But what do you actually do to earn the label of foodie? Did you know the best chefs before they became famous? Do you travel the world seeking them out; do you go to places just to immerse yourself in the food culture? Have you ever travelled rough from Hanoi to Saigon, living hand to mouth and eating the best op la, pho, and bun rieu? That’s street food for you, princess. That’s being a foodie.

Oh no. You think all you need to do is check-in every time you eat out, and Instagram your food from above, and you think that makes you part of the in-crowd, don’t you? One check-in at the Wimbledon branch. Two in Covent Garden – could it be more ‘cringe’? Three check-ins on the South Bank.

That’s your favourite, isn’t it? Those containers in their bright colours overlooking the laconic sludge of the Thames. ‘It’s so authentic,’ you bleat, but you’re not lying: your favourite thing in the world is to eat there then walk along the South Bank, watching the street artists, listening to the buskers, watching the boats and pretending you’re some kind of trendy London type. It makes me want to puke. Can I tell you something, sweetie-pie? You’re no foodie: you’re boring. You’re pathetic. The only food you are is fucking vanilla.