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?!