I never really thought about food. Growing up in Chicago I guess I just always assumed that pizza was always good, that a cheap but delicious burger joint was on nearly every corner, that tacos were always fresh at 1 am, and that in the middle of the night you could always find a diner serving pancakes, chili, chop suey, and Greek chicken. And then I moved to the east coast.

                They put ketchup on their hot dogs. Their pizza is thin and greasy. There’s no Mexican guy sweating into hacked up cow as it sizzles on a flat top grill at 1 am. All of the sudden my very narrow understanding of existence was completely blown apart.

                Don’t get me wrong, I love the east coast. I’ve had some of the best meals of my life there. I learned how to cook there. But I’m also very much out of my food comfort zone there. I think that’s what first got me thinking about how food can tell you so much about a person or a group or a culture. In some strange way our eating habits define us, warn the rest of the world what to expect from us, can even divide us. Maybe that’s why I’m so fascinated by food. Or maybe I just really, really like to eat…