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 either. From my perspective, I prefer that my food to walk on land before I will 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 key component of my meal selection.
It also seems that every great foodie 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 3 spices: salt, pepper, and oregano. 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 food or breaded and fried. When your favorite meal is “Hamburger Helper” with hush puppies, you are pretty much doomed from the start.
So why do I like food bloggers? 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. In addition, 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 great macaroons on the Champs De Elysee in Paris. Great steaks harken me back to my stay in Colorado. When I think of Scotland, I think of… Well, 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?!