Let's get one thing straight: I love food. I cook and eat a lot. And I write about food. But please don't ever call me a "foodie." That's a ridiculous, meaningless term. And in case you didn't notice when Taste editor Rob DeWalt announced it in January, the word is currently banned in the food section at The New Mexican.

Even so, I'm pretty sure I'm one of the people B. R. Meyers and James McWilliams were targeting in their recent articles in The Atlantic — The Moral Crusade Against Foodies and B. R. Meyers and the Myth of 'Sustainable' Food.'

"It has always been crucial to the gourmet's pleasure that he eat in ways the mainstream cannot afford," says Meyers. OK, I'll buy that. I see where he's coming from, wanting to skewer the sector of "food culture" that promotes, even revels in, exclusivity. Especially during an "economic downturn," most people can't afford a $200 lunch, and we don't really want to hear about yours.

The problem is that Meyers and McWilliams start to lump those who want to eat ethical, sustainable diets in with the pretentious, gluttonous jerks. Meyers asserts that anyone who claims to prefer meat from small, local, or humane farms is "largely motivated by their traditional elitism" rather than, say, ethics.

McWilliams continues: "The fact that foodies so often construct their pursuit of rarefied taste to be an environmentally and socially responsible act only intensifies the ugly paradox at the core of the movement. ... Essentially the message sustainable foodies end up of delivering goes something like this: Only a few can eat the way we eat, but the way we eat is the best way to achieve social and environmental justice. Join us if you can. If you can't, that's too bad for you, because we're eating high on the hog and, in so doing, saving the earth." This "affectation of piety," he goes on to say, "has left them ... feeling more moral, spiritual even, than the man on the street."

Wait, what? Maybe some so-called foodies have been capitalizing on the ethical eating craze. But the sustainable/ethical food movement isn't limited to those folks, and it's seriously off base to equate the two.

Because "it's impossible to be both slave to the palate and mother to the earth," McWilliams insists that "to really eat ethically more often than not means to avoid the primacy and exclusivity of taste ... to forgo foods usually associated with 'fine dining' — rich cheeses, meat, luscious desserts, and seafood dished out in fancy restaurants — in exchange for ... a humble bowl of beans, greens, and whole grains cooked up at home. ... It means, in essence, embracing sacrifice, even asceticism."

Alright, I'll admit that in my years as a vegan, I ate more than my fair share of dry baked potatoes, tossed-iceberg-lettuce salads, uninspired pasta primaveras and veggie burgers that, as The New York Times recently described them, "served as a kind of penitential wafer: You ate this bland, freeze-dried nutrient disc because you had to eat it (your duty as someone who had forsaken the flesh) and because at many a restaurant or backyard barbecue, it was the only option available." But that was circa 1988.

It's the 21st century. Can't you eat ethically and still have good taste — and eat food that tastes good? Why, if you fall into the ethical camp, are you necessarily excluded from the epicurean one? Why are grains, greens and beans diametrically opposed to "foods usually associated with fine dining?

Furthermore, why does so much vegetarian food still seem so utilitarian, like its sole reason for being on your plate is to provide calories and nutrition? Why do the token "vegetarian options" at many fine-dining establishments taste like they were prepared out of obligation rather than a love of food? Continuing to equate ethical eating with self-sacrifice, asceticism, or denial certainly isn't going to add numbers to the camp that's trying to make changes to our food system.

Obviously, not all epicures eat ethically, but some — even many — do. And given the amount of time and attention my vegetarian and vegan friends devote to thinking about, cooking, presenting, eating and writing about food, they should be considered epicures.

There are market forces to be reckoned with, too. A recent New York Times article announced a pretty surprising statistic: "there was a 26 percent increase in menu items labeled vegetarian or vegan between the last quarter of 2008 and the same quarter in 2010." If increasing numbers of diners are factoring in ethics and sustainability when they order, restaurants can't ignore them or assume they'll settle for a meal that's "humble" or "penitential."

Who serves the best vegetarian, vegan, local and sustainable dishes in Santa Fe? Do you have an opinion? Meanwhile, this is my new assignment — one I've been meaning to tackle for a long time. During the month of April, I'll find out which chefs, if any, refuse to treat ethical eaters like they belong at the kids' table.

Laurel Gladden is a freelance writer in Santa Fe. Contact her at the.ethical.epicure@gmail.com