Life is a series of cravings to be satiated one by one. No, I am not a ‘foodie.’ And I hate that word. To me, the term foodie is a dumb cop-out weak description for a person with refined taste buds, high standards and of course, the knowledge and skill to truly appreciate the flavors of our world. Foodie. Bah! I’ll bet the bozo that came up with that one wore a helicopter hat and flung Spaghettios at the wall.

In the pursuit of happiness by way of epicurean excellence, this flavor chaser is driven by the intense experiences of my past that I seek to
recreate in the future. The idea of what I seek is simple; full bodied, bold, arrogant flavors that scream integrity, surmounting to what it is they are. An orange that tastes like an orange. A leaf of cilantro so powerful on the palate that you’re right back at the seaside cafe in Peurto Neuvo where you enjoyed the best salsa you ever ate. The sexy slurp of a plump oyster out of its shell, the rush of a wave in your mouth as you experience what it is to taste the ocean.

Needless to say I’m disappointed a lot. But when I have a sweet experience, man do I savor it.

I understand (and lament) why phenomenal experiences with foods are so few and far between. As a culture, we don’t really ‘know’ what we’re consuming. Do you ‘know’ your sister? As in ‘know’ the details of her life? When was the last time you held a potato in your hand and could say where it grew up? Yes, smartass, Idaho is a valid answer, but what I really mean is that we are so separated from the process of farming, cultivation and harvest that as mass produced foods travel through greenhouse, to factory to refrigerator to store shelf to home—flavors weaken and lose integrity.

A test-tube tomato made me poop all night! In Vetro veal almost killed me!

Why is it legal to play God with our foooood?!!!!!

Do you know where your cheese stuffed, twice baked, freeze dried, bacon wrapped, chicken nugget casserole came from? “It came from Stouffer’s!” Ma screamed, a bead of sweat catching in a hair on her chin (hormones?) as she struggled to open a new jar of Miracle Whip.

Sadly, so long as Grocery Advertisements show frozen breakfast sandwiches made of egg, sausage and pancakes 10 for $3.99 alongside organic green beans on sale for $2.99 a pound… well, the argument of eating smart versus right s reserved for another time.

I’ll leave you with this to ponder:

Is the organic ‘trend’ a much needed dose of lost nutritional ideals—or a crime for its reaping of major bucks in the name of living a healthy lifestyle? Or should we be grateful that our culture is reconnecting with a concept so basic it must have been lost somewhere between Ipods, Wheelies and Buttered Popcorn flavored jelly beans?

Who axed my ability to hold an apple, bring it to my mouth and know from what tree it came? Where did my apple sleep last night and how do I eat it safely?

Why do I have to pay more money to eat the way of the cavewoman?

I’m looking out the window right now and I don’t see dinner. The streets and yards of City Heights are driving me straight to McDonalds. And I’ve been meaning to ask, since when do chickens have nuggets?