This humble venture started, like many things do, in New York City. A romantic weekend for two (and my boyfriend's first visit, no less!) planned almost entirely around food. Restaurants researched, online menus scoured, reservations made months in advance. Days and nights arranged and re-arranged to facilitate anticipated meals planned down to the very last drop of wine.
I love food. Perhaps, I’d venture to say, more than the average person.
I embarrass my dining companions by snapping pictures at the table to send to equally food-obsessed family members, my bumbling enthusiasm for restaurants and the dishes they serve or delicacies prepared by nearest-and-dearests confuses some, amuses others. “You should have been a food writer,” one of those nearest-and-dearests once told me. “You missed your calling.” Indeed, I lamented, I could imagine nothing I’d love to do more.
I'm someone who likes to chronicle the taste and texture of each bite I’ve taken, and to relive these sensations weeks, months, even years afterwards. And what better way to do so than to get it all down in writing?
I created and deleted one-entry-wonders for months after aforementioned weekend of heavenly food. Until nearly half a year later, today, when I came to realize all the amazing meals in between that I've missed detailing because I've been too big of a wimp to get this thing running.
And so begins this modest blog of a not-so-modest passion for eating well. Just a place for me to wax poetic without weirding out the friends who just don’t quite get it. One meal at a time.