I caught the cooking bug a few years back and dove head first into the world of gourmet food. I became a foodie and followed that trail for quite a few years. The job I had at the time fell in place with fine wine and dining. Talk about being in the right place at the right time . . . “burp!”`
I found myself able to travel the country sampling exceptional eats and drink.
One of my earlier novels contained several large banquets of exotic fare due to a post-apocalyptic earth. I received several reviews that thought the book needed to reduce the time characters spent sitting around a table shoving their faces full of food.`
I still enjoy fine dining occasionally, but my pallet thankfully has reverted to enjoying simpler fare. Give me a well-dressed hot dog or brat. If not a dog, then a perfectly grilled burger, toppings unlimited.
I do have to draw the line at certain fast food. If the material used to prepare my meal is shipped by tractor trailer, frozen and ready to drop into hot grease, it’s probably not for me. If the burger whinnies and the chicken’s . . . well, not really chicken beyond a reasonable doubt, I’d probably pass it by.
If I’m in the mood for a pizza and the eateries offering more resembles or worse tastes like Bisquick and Ketchup, I’ll make a B-line to an Italian restaurant where English is a foreign language.
I grew up on grandma’s fried chicken. What I find most ironic in this day and age is your average person either cannot or will not attempt to fry a piece of chicken. This usually arises for fear of overcooking the outside and the inside remaining underdone.
Here’s where I pile kudos on top of the fried chicken, fast food industry. They have cooking chicken down to such a science; a high school student can fry a perfect batch without fail. Come to think of it, I’m getting a taste for something crunchy like, with a good bit of spice . . . gotta go, have a great week!