Food critics don’t get much sympathy from the general public, mostly because the general public has no idea how food critics operate, how much they have to eat, and how their doctors fret over their health. (I mostly nod sheepishly when my doc tells me to lose weight; I know it ain’t gonna happen.)

So when a fellow food writer told me one of Tom Sietsema’s tricks to prevent overindulgence, I was impressed by its simple brilliance. After taking enough bites to render judgment, Sietsema apparently salts his desserts to prevent needless nibbling.

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Chow.com has just released its entertaining, if annoyingly click-heavy, feature The Year in Food 2008. It breaks down the year into nine neat categories, including environmental issues (good and bad), trendy eats, recessionary dining options, and media, among others.

Among the subjects are Michael Phelps and his 12,000-calorie diet, Batter Blaster, and the ousting of Gael Greene from New York magazine. But the funniest item may be James Norton’s take on “That Darn Penis Restaurant”:

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Citing a worsening economy that won’t allow it to employ four food critics, New York magazine confirmed yesterday that it has fired the iconic Gael Greene. Today marks Greene’s last official day at the magazine, ending a 40-year run as a food writer and critic for the publication.

For all the good work Greene did during her four decades, I’m afraid I’ll always remember her most for having sex with Elvis Presley. Greene led off her 2007 memoir, Insatiable, with the anecdote. Here’s the memorable moment in all its sticky, elliptical details:

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