Introduction and Welcome

I grew up in Northern California, in lesser wine growing land and greater cowboy territory. I got to see my town turn from a farming community to an outer suburb. I also got to see the culinary revolution from a point right behind the front. I remember friends of my parents talking about Chez Panisse—I even think they went with my neighbors in the early eighties. While we always grew fresh produce, I saw the supermarkets get more variety, the rise of farmer markets (I remember one early one where the mushroom lady—a favorite vendor of mine—told me that although she only sold the legal, culinary species, she was also a fan of the other kinds of mushrooms), and perhaps most emblematically, the availability of quality bread. In high school, the only good bread was from one of three or so sourdough bakeries in San Francisco—I believe Parisien was the best brand, but I could be misremembering.

Then, everything changed. Slowly, but surely, we went from a two-winery town to a town filled with boutique wineries. The town restaurants went from Pizza and Chinese to Thai and Italian (and back to Pizza, interestingly).

And I went away to college.

I returned, determined to be a writer. Which meant I waited tables. I worked lunches at the new Belgian Bistro in town—I’m sure I’ll talk about it later—and lived at home. This led to barbecues that became more baroque as time went by, trying to lure college friends to the suburbs. And then a good friend finished college and found himself in the same position. We were kind of an echo chamber for each other, pushing ourselves to more and more extensive and elaborate culinary feats—the most impressive of which, in retrospect, was catering a vegetarian party in San Francisco for about 30 people at a cost of about 100 dollars. And that included flourless chocolate cake.

When I got into graduate school in New York, I left California. My parents left a few years later. And although I’ve been back a few times, I no longer am a Californian.

I became a New Yorker. I spent years studying and working in New York, working for three of those years as a barista at the first NYC Starbucks. Over more years than I care to remember, I got a degree in British Literature and a job outside of New York.

Still, throughout, there was the love of food and cooking. I’d try to sample the local cuisine when at conferences, and would throw dinner parties as often as possible. Restaurants were limited by budget, but even with a limited budget, one can eat well in New York.

Now, I’ve moved to Pennsylvania, where I have a job at a University as an Assistant Professor of English Romantic Literature, but I miss the connection to food that I felt in New York, and in California. Here, in farmland, ironically, I feel a bit cut off...for many reasons.

The reason I’m writing this goes back to that friend from my hometown. He’s now a food expert—he makes food products—and lives, with his family, in California, within driving distance of our hometown. He’s interested in taste, in how we think about it, and he will be the other major contributor to this blog.

For me, I have to caution that although I will try to limit it to food, my contributions might occasionally stray into other territory. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, and that has changed many things for me. I also do have some strong opinions about the contemporary education scene. And, even though I argue for editing and restraint in both cooking and writing, I feel a little crosspollination is not a bad thing.

I’ll let my friend speak for his contributions, but the best way to understand mine is to look at Raphael’s The School of Athens. At the center of his painting is Plato pointing upwards, to the abstract principle, and Aristotle downwards, to the concrete. I want to do both things with my contributions. I don’t want to just talk about tasty meals I’ve had; I want to talk about what makes them tasty. I want to see if some general principles can’t be teased out of individual experiences, but I don’t want those experiences to get lost in generalities. I want to include recipes and the theory behind the recipes.

Finally, a warning: unlike my friend, I am not a professional. My experience in the food world is limited to waiting tables and working at Starbucks. And, while I often enjoy pontificating about what I would do if I ran a restaurant, I realize that I am the culinary equivalent of a caller on sports radio: an amateur, speaking not from a position of knowledge, but from one of passion.

And a quick P.S.: This whole blog thing is designed to be interactive, a conversation about food. I think of my entries as conversation starters.