I follow a lot of food bloggers, and I’m not sure why.
Don’t get me wrong; I love food; my ample midsection is damning evidence of that fact. But there is no stretch of the definition of a “foodie” that would include me.
The primary reason is that I’m a picky eater. For example, I don’t like seafood. Every foodie I’ve ever read loves seafood. I don’t. There are a lot of reasons for this. I hate the smell of seafood and I rarely care for the taste. From my perspective, I prefer that my food to have walked on land before I consider eating it. For me, seafood is the Neanderthal of food groups. It didn’t “evolve” fast enough to make the grade at my dinner table.
I also don’t care for most ethnic cuisine, meals where I have to eat with my hands, or meals cooked by “performance.” (That’s right, I’m looking at you, Kanki’s. I don’t want a chef to entertain me, just cook my food. If I want a floor show, I’ll go to Vegas).
Location is also an issue. If I have to travel over 20 miles to a restaurant, I would rather stay home and order a pizza. So along with evolved food, proximity is a crucial component of my meal selection.
It also seems that every foodie I follow can also cook. That is a talent I’ve either never possessed or never learned. Growing up, my mother was a terrible cook. Being from the North, she believed in 4 spices: salt, pepper, oregano, and sugar. Try developing a decent palate from that culinary color wheel. I couldn’t. Another source of my food “hangups” is I grew up poor and a Southerner. So that meant I ate meals that were either processed, or breaded and fried. When your favorite meal is “Hamburger Helper” with hush puppies, you are doomed from the start.
So why do I like food bloggers? It is probably because we agree on one concept: the “experience” of eating. While I have a limited selection of suitable dinner options, I have learned to appreciate and savor a well-crafted meal. Also, because of my travels, I associate specific types of food with places I’ve visited. Iberico ham reminds me of Spain. Great macaroons? I had fabulous ones on Champs De Elysee in Paris. Great steaks harken me back to my days in Colorado. And when I think of Scotland, I think of… Hmmm, I guess it doesn’t work every place.
I’ve discovered the experience of fellowship over a meal is often better than the food itself. Like a great wine, stimulating companionship pairs with a meal to make it memorable. Most of the best aspects of a meal have little to with actual food. I could order a big old nasty lobster and with the right settings and still have a great dinner. Nah, who am I kidding?!
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