First things first, I love food. Sometimes it is hard to describe a passion that has been with you for as long as you can remember. Memories that are so ingrained that they seem as if they could have happened yesterday. I can still recall the sound and smell of my mother frying up a beautiful batch of crisp, succulent onion rings for the family. Spending countless hours fixated on shows like The Frugal Gourmet, Great Chefs, or the people's choice, Julia Child. Weekends and holidays spent watching my father take over the cooking duties, turning out jaw dropping roasts, or juicy cheeseburgers from the backyard grill. Somehow, my memories seem inescapably tied to the food that I ate. I can recall with infinite detail, the ritual by which my grandmother would toast frozen Lenders bagels, always the onion variety, always slathered with margarine (I have since forgiven the margarine misstep). My childhood recollection of restaurants is filled with the inevitable journeys to fried seafood palaces with names like The Captain's Galley, or Fisherman's Wharf, the product of a solidly middle class New England upbringing. I'll never forget my first journeys to New Haven's Wooster St. to share a bacon and onion pie with my father, at the time not even fully grasping what a magical example of culinary prowess lay in front of me (to me it just tasted great). We didn't have a lot of money, but looking back, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that we ate very well. My childhood food memories are blanketed in a unique sort of purity that I have recently begun to try and recapture. It was simply about the food. How it tasted, how it smelled, how it sounded when being prepared. The quiet contentment that washed over the participants as they dove into the first forkfuls of something remarkable.
So I've decided to write a blog about food, about cooking, about restaurants. About the cookbooks that I can pour over for hours. About the seminal experience of placing a beautifully crafted piece of cutlery in your hand. About recipes I love, and the abismal failure produced by others (I'm blaming my own lack of skill, not the recipes themselves). About the farmer who grows some of the most beautiful potatoes I've ever had the pleasure to eat. About chefs that at times seem like rockstars, some residing on TV, others toiling away in subterranean caves, little bigger than my bathroom. About moving to New York City, where the culinary landscape extends as far as the eye can see (both in the good and bad direction). About cooking for my girlfriend, whose diet a few years ago consisted of frozen pizza, chicken nuggets, and lucky charms (I have made some real headway in this department, but more about that later). About the fact that when I put on some good music, brew a great cup of coffee, and get down to the business of cooking a great meal (by my own humble standards of course), I feel real happiness.
Why the Humble Cook? The truth is, we all cook in some way or another. Some create elaborate six course dining extravaganzas, filled with obscure recipes, clearly chosen as an ego boosting exercise of gastronomic superiority, without any regard for our guests palettes. Some of us have become microwave ninjas, so adept with their skills, that a filling dinner akin to a heap of seasoned cardboard can be produced in just minutes. Many of us fall somewhere in the middle, neither chef, nor TV dinner slave. I'm just another cook, who really loves food. And since I am now residing in New York City.......well, you get the idea.
There is one thing that I have to air out, and that is that I would never refer to myself as a foodie. Why is that you might ask, especially given the fact that food is the central topic of this blog. If you search for the definition of a foodie online, you will get any number of results ranging from an aficionado of food, a gourmet, or even someone who keeps up with the latest food fads. In the end it comes down to what is inferred by the term, and the fact that I simply don't think I fit the bill. These days, when someone says 'foodie', there are certain stereotypes that are far removed from who I am, and how I view food. I will never sit in a restaurant and take pictures of my meal. I will never equate white linen with 'good' food, and street vendors with 'bad' food. I have never eaten in a Michelin starred restaurant (though I would love to at some point, albeit not for the service, but the meal itself). I will never spend more time bashing restaurants I don't like, instead of praising ones I do. I don't have an infinite amount of resources to spend on food, restaurants, equipment, etc. I have never eaten foie gras (though I'd certainly be up for it). I will never spend my days researching little used adjectives, so that I can launch an incredibly pretentious diatribe about the highs and lows of a meal. I am perfectly okay with saying "that was great". I have never thrown a formal dinner party. I love grilled cheese and tomato soup, and am perfectly okay with it being constructed with good old american cheese and a can of campbells (I don't need it deconstructed into a masterpiece of cold foams). And here is the final kicker, so hold onto your seats ladies and gentlemen............I don't drink wine. Yes, I said it, no wine for this guy. I will assure everyone who is now in a state of panic that it is possible to enjoy food without a glass of wine. I've done it, more than once. I promise, even if you don't believe me. So for me, it's just about the food, and the great people who serve it, cook it, sell it, grow it, write about it, and raise it. So a foodie I am not, but a food lover I will always be.
