Andrew Sample wakes up at 5:30 in the morning. He spends the next five hours in bed, moderating comments, accepting new member requests and responding to messages on his Facebook group, Northern Virginia Foodies.
This particular morning was contentious. A member posted about President Donald Trump’s use of ketchup with well-done steak. It spiraled into political nastiness, with administrator notes soaring to Sample’s attention. A Trump name-drop is nothing if not a caustic way to sabotage the normally political-free, food-obsessed community. On this feed, the battle between favorite forms of potato—12 options ranging from fries to tater tots to vodka—is the type of post normally generating debates and laughs.
Originally started as Loudoun County Going Out Group in 2014, Sample created the site as a way to meet new people over good food. He changed the name two years later to better reflect the group’s evolving interests in all types of foodie conquests—recipes, recommendations, outrageous concoctions and, like anywhere else on the internet, zeitgeist memes and quick-cut, disembodied hand cooking videos. But in March of 2017 there were still only 3,000 members. Now, with the group’s rapid growth at more than a 100 new members a day—and over 30,000 members total—it’s gaining the attention of restaurant owners and their publicists. Sample is still figuring out how to wield this power—and how to profit from it.
“I learned how to crack a crab before I could walk,” Sample says, remembering the simple, classic meals around his family table. Growing up in Leesburg, the restaurant scene was just as streamlined with Johnson’s Charcoal Beef House, Mighty Midget Kitchen (both closed) and the Leesburg Diner, “and that was it,” he says. “We didn’t have much growing up.” He didn’t know sushi existed until he was in his 20s. Today, his favorite food is steak.
While studying sports and event management at Johnson & Wales in Rhode Island, he learned to cook from his roommates enrolled in the school’s culinary program. And that’s where his real interest in food, and sharing food with friends, started.
I meet Sample, 37, later that same day at SideBar in Leesburg. He’s prepping for tonight’s NoVA Foodies event at The Conche and pulls out a sheet of notebook paper with names, some of which are crossed out. He needs to contact people on the waitlist because of last-minute cancellations. He glances at his paper and then starts tapping on his phone.
We spend almost two hours eating General Tso-sauced cauliflower, mixed grain salads, tacos and a dessert of fried cookie dough served with ice cream. Sample doesn’t put his phone down the entire meal. In part, that’s how we now live. A phone is an appendage. There’s always something to reference or Google or photograph—Sample deconstructs his taco’s composition, noting how the guacamole and cheese obstruct the view of the chicken folded into the tortilla.
With phone in hand, he stops to check Facebook. Because of the nonstop pace of posts, he doesn’t receive push notifications and so he manually surveils. “Since I haven’t checked in the last few minutes, there’s been 29 reported comments.” His gaze returns to his phone.
Sample is a professional photographer. Most of his work is snapping for real estate listings, but he hopes to parlay his reach to hungry eyeballs on Facebook to more paying gigs. Current clients include Magnolias at the Mill in Purcellville and DC Prime in Ashburn. He also started working with a video company, Brand Ready Media, to make social media-length (one to two minutes) commercials for restaurants. Contracts include posts on the Foodies’ page. Otherwise, restaurants can only post specials, events or other notices on the page every Sunday. Sample gives away access to his members for free.
He spends about 20 hours a week managing the group—he’s the sole administrator, plus four moderators—but doesn’t make any money for his work. “That’s something that’s got to change,” he says.
Restaurants propose a swap: pictures of dishes for free food. He declines. Sample knows the worth of a sexy burger on social media. Justin Schuble, @DCFoodPorn on Instagram, makes up to $50,000 a year photographing food for local restaurants and big-name food brands, according to a Washingtonian profile.
“We value the rise of influencer marketing,” says Allison Shannon, president and CEO of marketing firm 37MMG and a childhood friend of Sample’s sister. It’s Shannon’s client, The Conche, that’s hosting the NoVA Foodies meet-up. “That group of people is a specialized, influential group of power,” she says of NoVA Foodies, “and their reviews matter.”
Kyle Schmitz was another publicist to reach out to the NoVA Foodies hive. A member posted about a meal at 2941, a client of Schmitz’s Konnected Media Group, and others chimed in—for this chatty group it’s not uncommon for a post to garner more than 100 comments—about their experiences, or lack thereof, at the Falls Church restaurant. Schmitz swooped in.
Courting journalists and bloggers and offering them a comped dinner is common practice in restaurant hospitality, though the general public is usually not invited to media meals. But with social media influencers racking up more followers, likes and hearts than paid food writers, the face of power—and who delivers the message of what restaurants are worth the time and money—is changing.
And so baby-faced Andrew Sample, with slicked-to-the-side black hair and rosy, cherub cheeks, took 12 people to dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in Northern Virginia this summer. The group ate a complimentary meal in the hopes that they’d write positively about it on NoVA Foodies and build buzz. Schmitz also created an ongoing special for the entire Facebook group: a three-course, $50 prix fixe every Monday at 2941 for members only.
The group is like a big sounding board. A woman posted a survey asking for feedback on a proposed coffee shop she and her husband want to open, asking specific questions about location, hours and menu. More than 100 people responded.
Another person wrote in about an experience where a restaurant automatically charged a 20 percent tip. It ended up being a server error, the woman reported back to the post garnering 170 comments. And when she called the restaurant to clarify what happened, she found out that someone in the group already called the restaurant about the issue in question.
Near the big windows at the entrance of The Conche, tables are pushed together to accommodate the online-friends, IRL-strangers coming to try chocolate-themed food. Some arrive with friends, others come looking for names they might recognize from posts, especially Sample and moderator Paul Tomaselli, who is often the first person at a brand new restaurant—and posting about it to the group’s page.
“You’re never too old to meet friends,” says Patty Hall, who’s there with her husband and young son. This group contributes to her “Facebook bubble,” packed with food, travel and animals. The constant stream of memes, recipes and food photos “brings a lot of levity,” she says.
Kelly Lucas is there alone, trying to find time for herself, away from her family. This group is an outlet, and inspires her to be more adventurous. Once, she was driving home from work when she saw a picture Tomaselli shared of an ice cream sandwich from Sweet Signatures in Sterling. She headed straight there.
As the diners settle in—Sample easily filled the seats from his waitlist—he moves from group to group, chatting with his followers—the physical realization of his online world. His phone is away.
By later that night, he’ll pick it back up and post about the evening’s event. His 30,000-plus followers comment and “like” and, the proprietors of The Conche hope, make their own reservations to eat there.