More years ago than I care to count, I fancied myself a food writer. I enjoyed a stint on the old college paper as the arts and entertainment reporter then as the section editor. I was no M.F.K. Fisher, but at least I rose above “the chalupa was like good, but the stuff kept like falling out of the tacos”.
Maybe one of these days I’ll babble about the path that I have followed to this point. Suffice it to say that long after college, I found myself divorced and transplanted back to my home town. After a few years home, I met the most beautiful woman I have ever known. In addition to all the romantic hyperbole, she reawakened my interest in truly good food.
Along with Mama Squirrel, I got Squirrelly, Jr., in the bargain. Proud Papa hyperbole aside, teh boy is amazing. He still has some typical eleven-year-old boy aversions, but his palate is remarkably advanced and adventurous. Teh boy has enjoyed oysters in several forms. He knows that medium rare is the only way to enjoy a good steak and that haricots verts are an excellent accompaniment for that steak. He doesn’t like broccoli or Brussels sprouts. I have to admit, though, that it’s not easy to find a good Brussels sprouts recipe. Plus I have started to notice that it is very difficult to prepare and serve good broccoli. More about that one of these days.
Now that my intrepid squad is assembled, I once again find myself with the desire to write about the food we enjoy, both out and at home. Somewhere along the way, there will be a quest to lose 50 pounds or so along with the quest for nummy treats. We’ll see which of those wins out or if perhaps they’re compatible. Any way it goes, it’s gonna be fun.