It hasn’t been a good week for America’s octogenarian literary icons.

Hard on the heels of legendary journalist Gay Talese’s much-critiqued failure to name a single inspirational female writer, 80-year-old writer Calvin Trillin is facing accusations of racism (at worst) and tone-deafness (at best) over his poem about Chinese food in the latest issue of the New Yorker.

In an email to the Guardian late on Wednesday, Trillin suggested that his poem was being misinterpreted and that it “was simply a way of making fun of food-obsessed bourgeoisie” – and further defended the piece by saying that it was a device that he’d used before.

Have They Run Out of Provinces Yet? takes as its subject the multitude of Chinese cuisines:

Have they run out of provinces yet?

If they haven’t, we’ve reason to fret.

Long ago, there was just Cantonese

(Long ago, we were easy to please.)

But then food from Szechuan came our way,

Making Cantonese strictly passé.

In rhyming couplets, Trillin runs through a laundry list of Chinese provinces (Shanghai, Hunan, Fukien, Uigher, Shaanxi), lamenting the “stress” of staying up to date on the latest trends in food:

Now, as each brand-new province appears,

It brings tension, increasing our fears:

Could a place we extolled as a find

Be revealed as one province behind?

Although the poem has been online for several days, it was widely shared on Wednesday morning by Asian American writers on Twitter who decried its seeming embrace of orientalist tropes (and prosodic shortcomings).

“dear @NewYorker: this calvin trillin poem isn’t only offensive it’s also just... bad,” tweeted Karissa Chen, the fiction and poetry editor for Hyphen Magazine.

dear @NewYorker: this calvin trillin poem isn't only offensive it's also just... bad. https://t.co/KCAUpQTiKg — Karissa Chen (@karissachen) April 6, 2016

“Food should be a gateway to understand identity but the players and audience are basic so u get this shit,” tweeted chef and memoirist Eddie Huang, adding: “Soon the world is going to run out of provinces for basic whites to gaze on and consume and toss to the side.”

Novelist Celeste Ng suggested that the poem could be read as asking “Why are there so many kinds of Chinese people?”

“The meter is TERRIBLE,” she added. “If you’re going to write doggerel at least make it rhythmically consistent.”

@MrsTomSauter The meter is TERRIBLE. If you're going to write doggerel at least make it rhythmically consistent. — Celeste Ng (@pronounced_ing) April 6, 2016

Blogger Phil Yu of Angry Asian Man described the poem as a “ridiculous piece of self-centered white western indulgence” .

Writing for the Stranger, Rich Smith suggested that the poem expressed “nostalgia for a white planet”:

“This longing for a time of chow mein – which is, as I’m sure the food writer knows – a westernized dish – is a longing for the days of a white planet. Those days when we white people comfortably held power, when they made food for us, when the only fear was the fear of another cuisine to conquer, the days before we had to ask ourselves stuff like – does this poem rest on an unexamined racist sentiment?”

In his email, Trillin defended his poem, saying: “Some years ago, a similar poem could have been written about food snobs who looked down on red-sauce Italian cooking because they had discovered the cuisine of Tuscany.”

Trillin pointed out another poem he published in the New Yorker, entitled What Happened to Brie and Chablis?

That poem, published in 2003, also pokes fun at the foibles of foodies, although the satirical tone is clearer:

What happened to Brie and Chablis?

Both Brie and Chablis used to be

The sort of thing everyone ate

When goat cheese and Napa Merlot

Weren’t purchased by those in the know,

And monkfish was thought of as bait.

“It was not a put-down of the French,” Trillin wrote.

Trillin did not immediately respond to a subsequent inquiry.

Natalie Raabe, director of communications for the New Yorker, said by email that “the intention of the poem” was “to satirize ‘foodie’ culture”.

“Calvin Trillin has been writing about food for decades, in a variety of forms: profiles, travel writing, light verse,” she added.

Raabe did not respond to a request for comment from the New Yorker editor-in-chief, David Remnick. The magazine’s poetry editor, Paul Muldoon, did not respond to a request for comment.

Protestations that the poem is satirical are probably in vain.

Poet and author Jenny Zhang tweeted: “don’t say ‘it’s self-aware parody!’ just say: ‘I accept this has no value except as an example of failure.’”