Chapter One. I like to eat.

I like to eat. I like to write. Sometimes I can be clever too.

Food writing seemed to be my calling.

Back in my campus days, I had heady dreams of sitting outside European cafes, composing poetic works relaying my luxurious, exciting (and really f-ing easy) life as a food writer. I would eat insects in Cairo and poisonous fish in Tokyo, risking my tastebuds and my life for the sake of my readers, who would live ever-so-vicariously through me.

As I write this in my (suburban) Madison apartment, with a re-run of "Everybody Loves Raymond" playing in the background, it's clear I haven't quite made it there yet. But hope lives on, thanks to various Madison gigs, most recently as a food writer for the dearly departed Core Weekly (miss you much, little paper), under the seriously terrific editorship of Evan Rytlewski.

As much as I missed food writing after the proverbial (and literal) doors of Core shut for good, I resisted the blog thing for a long time. I'm not sure why...when it comes to food, I'll try anything. New technology can cause the type of frustration and fear many reserve for zombie invasions. My wonderful boyfriend, Mike Jones, encouraged me to set one up, to work my artistic juices (what a yucky euphemism), and with his support...well, here we go.

So without a plan, a map or a sidekick, I'm heading into the wilds of blogging, to randomly write about all things food. Sometimes I'll post recipes that I've tried, sometimes I'll talk about the best or worst meal I've had in recent days, sometimes I'll just bitch about the price of pine nuts (for those who actually read this, feel free to skip those posts - I just need to get it out of my system).