PASSIONATE RATIONS

I despise pretension.  Hand me a heaping helping of my grammy’s mashed potatoes and I will almost always choose it over some garlic-mashed concoction for $10 a side.  I say “almost always” because I don’t want you to get the impression I don’t appreciate quality high-end establishments.  Good food is good food, regardless of setting.  And if it’s good food, I like it.  It’s just that, so often, the focus becomes more about the celebrity chef, the trendy locale, the attitude of the wait staff, or the income of the clientele than about the food and, when that happens, well, I’m just gonna look elsewhere is all.

I won’t pretend to have the palate of a sommelier.  The fact that I drink from four to seven Dr. Peppers a day might be taken to undermine such assertions, anyway.  (Although, let me point out, Dr. Pepper is far and away the king of soda/pop/cola/tonic—whatever your regional appellation may be—and I once knew a wine importer who schooled me in some of the finer points of champagne, so maybe that will out.  Indeed, let me regale you with descriptions of Dr. Pepper’s hints of cherry, vanilla and plum….)

Anyways, I think I know a good plate of pulled pork or polenta when I eat it.

My qualifications?  Well, I’ve lived and traveled in a lot of places and eaten a lot of different kinds of food with a lot of different kinds of people.  And I have a grandma who does home cookin’ to beat the band.  You just pick stuff up along the way.  The joy that has brought and still brings me, I just want to share.  Hence, this journal.  Besides, food–the good, the bad, and the ugly–is a good jumping-off place for some tasty storytelling.

So, to borrow from Wolfgang:  live, love, eat! (and read on).

Dr. Pepper Museum

(No, I am not paid for any of the links you will see here, though if someone’s willing, we can talk.)