Permanently Hungry Heads West

I'm feeling very listy today.

On a recent military venture, I was lucky enough to be sent south of the Minnesota border... all the way to the  wild wild west! Okay it was only Scottsdale, Arizona. Not so wild anymore, but enough turquoise and desert heat to make you choke up a cactus. 

Yee-haw! Out on my first full-day tour of Old Town Scottsdale.

First, let me offer some context before you assume that I was just sent on a two week mission to eat:

1. I was in a group with five other people. One was a man.
2. 1/5 didn't eat seafood, 1/5 was torturing herself (aka dieting), 1/5 was a fake foodie (WAY too picky), and 1/5 didn't eat animals with hooves. Yes, hooves. I know, it was my first time hearing such a thing too.
3. My work schedule was highly erratic and shifted between four and 12 hour days- hence why some meals are breakfast, but mostly these are dinner tales. And when I wasn't eating/pool lounging/shopping, I was dealing with Code Browns (google it) in the hospital. I'd say the trade-off was still in my favor.

Scottsdale, Arizona, is in the heart of tourist country. The hotels, swag shops and restaurants know that you are not from around there and in the case of food exploration this novelty was particularly useful. Being so close to Mexico (compared to my usual near-Canada status), I suddenly had an immediate need to speak Spanglish and eat Posole. Lucky for me, I headed to the Salty Senorita with my sister Tiffany, who lives nearby, for the first lunch out.


Posole is a Mexican soup that I had once while living in California. I then had it homemade for me in Arizona, but no re-creation I have ever attempted or eaten, has even come close. Jam-packed with hominy, pork, onions, garlic and some mystery broth, I have never actually satisfied my craving for the spicy sweet dish. With high, hopes I opted for the chicken tortilla soup-- how much different could it reeeally be? Well, here is what I learned: 1. Just because I am closer to the border does not mean my accent will be more authentic. 2. I think our server was drunk, but whether it was from margaritas or the heat, I will never know. 3." [Prickly] Cactus Juice" = Pear flavor. 4. If it says chicken tortilla it means chicken tortilla, no matter how much you wish it was otherwise.

Strike one for chain restaurant. And shame on me for making assumptions. Is my special two week food adventure going to be a dud? Read on and find out..

Cherry on the Cake

It's been a long day and I've been fantasizing about Gorgonzola on brushcetta under ribbons of pancetta topped with a dimesized schmear of fig jam... Let's just say I've been less than concentrated.

In the ho-hum routine of going to class you find things to get excited about; I tend to go toward the food fantasy which might hold more sexuality than is considered normal--but don't judge me for that. So when I get home from a long day of class-versus-fantasy, it completely throws me to discover that I have received a response from a food writer!

[Insert ridiculous giddiness here]

I sent a message to Duluth Superior Magazine, hopeful that someone would point me in the right direction and lucky for me they did. I received a response from Robert Lillegard, the restaurant writer of the magazine. His polite reply and willingness to help me with my inquiry was wonderful to see in my inbox. However, Mr. Lillegard didn't stop there: he actually read some of my blog and gave me some fantastic advice:

"Don't take yourself out of the running by giving up."

Viola! The cherry to my cake: some hope.

Remember when I was whining about nobody responding to my tweets/posts/e-mails/etc.? Uh yeah, that's because I wasn't trying hard enough. Lillegard has been published in Latina and Midwest Living, not to mention he's only a slim few years older than myself. So he's got real-life experience-- finally words from someone not in a book!.

So what do I do now with this golden nugget of inspiration? Well for one, it means that I've got to put my big-girl apron on and start to be more proactive if I want to be realistic about pursuing this career.

For two, like Lillegard says, it isn't impossible to break into the food writing business; this is by no means to say it is in any way easy, but I've really got to start to make a solid and persistent effort. That requires writing more about food, networking effectively, and keeping up with the latest publications in food.

And three, I really need to dig into the food industry from every angle. In my last blog I spoke about Secret Ingredients, The New Yorker  Book of Food and Drink--a book I hold close to my heart these days. It's a great place to start research. The book gives interesting anecdotes, pieces of history, and like most food-referencing books, a lot of technical terms and important people. This will be my introductory education since I didn't attend culinary school, and I need to be able to understand what everyone is talking about-- especially if I actually have people (well one person) responding to me now!

A Mouthful

I find so often that as much as I like to experience food, I have some difficulty clearly expressing what what the point is. Usually it seems that the point of me telling you about what I've eaten is a personal recommendation or just a memory I'd like to share, but that is not always concisely conveyed. It is common for my school papers to do well--but not without a scribble on the side that reads something along the lines of "Clarify what you mean here" or "Side-tracked".

To me, in food writing it seems simple that the point of me telling a story to begin with is to praise the glory of food. But in reading many works by many different authors, my naivete is revealed: Food writing isn't just about gushing about some delicious steak or critiquing a questionable meal, it is about the world of food as well; there is a point to it.

There is more to eating than just the meal, there is a universe out there dedicated to understanding food, ingredients, technique, history, it's all there. I've been reading Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain, author I am particularly partial to, so his writing is clear as day to me. Aside from a few references that extend past my birthdate, I can hear him in my head dipping and weaving through his inflections as he tells me of his tales by text.

But to read a singular author is to understand a single perspective of the food industry. I think by magic (and I mean that literally because I do not recall requesting this book from the library, but somehow it arrived from another school to be checked out by me) I stumbled upon a book called Secret Ingredients, The New Yorker  Book of Food and Drink. It is a beautiful collection of writings on the subject of food from a fountain of angles. Many of the authors I do not know, but there are a few names here and there that suggest that everyone  who contributed to the book is a "somebody". Not to mention it's The New Yorker for goodness sake; you've got to have talent to be twice-published by them.

The very first chapter, "All You Can Hold for Five Bucks", by Joseph Mitchell, is truly delightful. He explores the social-food tradition of the "Beefsteak"; a gathering with roots in male bonding around beer and large slabs of red meat. But though Mitchell talks about the food, it is the history of the meal that entices me. I am mesmerized and perplexed that we do not have food celebrations of this gargantuan style anymore. A failing economy? Who cares! We could have world peace by the end of the week if we treated are UN counterparts to a [culturally appropriate] Beefsteak!

I haven't done the research to find out who Joseph Mitchell is yet, but I will, because thanks to him I have been made aware of the other wonderful aspects of the food world. He has pointed out the history and traditions that lie in the past; but they are not to be forgotten or under-appreciated because they make our food so much more rich than a T.V. dinner could ever explain, or that we might be able to understand from watching the travel channel.

It'll be hard to have a brain freeze ever again if people like Joseph Mitchell keep giving me things to talk about, and with my mouthful to say, you'll see the point I'm making.

Brain Freeze

Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing...


Scarfing down the joy of starting my first blog and having an excuse to write about food is one of the pleasures of my entire school semester. In the beginning I was ambitious and full of goals and ideas, but soon after over-dosing on my new found blog obsession I was quickly burnt out.

In my daily life, given the opportunity, I would explore every hobby and niche there is possible; only to give it up soon after. Most students know what it's like when school starts and you are laden with ambition and ideals of success. A-filled report cards seem like a cake walk and you don't think twice about all the syllabi's you've received-- you can handle it. But in my ambition to take the blogging world by storm, I seem to have had a brain freeze.

Perhaps it is the rigor of school that wears one down; by mid-term season the gusto we shared has faded away and we are left with all the reasons why we dread school. This blog seems the exception to my routine though. In fact, I really enjoy writing about my food still, and even reading a book that talks about food some more.

But as much as I am enjoying this all, I seem to be frozen in time. One spoonful too many and I can't write a lick about a food adventure. Furthermore, I can't even bring myself to finding out what my next food-trip will be. So here I wonder: Is this the right career for me? Will I strive to become a food writer and then come to find that I not only lose inspiration, but become ashamed that my "permanently hungry" adventures have hit a hiatus?

It's mid-semester so I think I'm just burnt out: writing papers for classes, reading books, chapters, articles, writing for work, writing for fun, texting, tweeting, posting--I'd say this is not a symptom of a failed career ambition, but a side-effect of my lifestyle.

When people become saturated in their work, they take a vacation to rejuvenate themselves. So in true-foodie-form, to help myself relax, I am going to eat. Liver and onions was my last serious experiment (yikes). Since then, I have tried my hand at fondue, eaten at an Italian restaurant, and an English pub. All had yummy results but nothing amazing to jump start my journalistic juices. I think I've got a spot in mind to try that will serve authentic food, and hopefully it will inspire some authentic writing. While I'm at it I'll even try contacting some authentic food writers.

I can feel my brain freeze melting away at just the ideas.

Or maybe I'm just drooling...

Slow Roasted Torture

But writing about sights and sounds and flavors that might otherwise be described as orgiastic-and doing it in a way that is calculated to inspire prurient interest, lust and envy in others... that raises more questions in my mind as to ... I don't know... the moral dimension.

Sitting here, choosing words, letter by letter, on the keyboard with the explicit intention of telling you about something I did or something I ate and making you as hungry and miserable as I can--surely that's wrong.

But fuck it.

-Anthony Bourdain, Medium Raw

I want to torture foodies with words too. In reality it isn't a torture to them, because they ask for it. I know, because I am one of them. We willingly turn on the television hoping someone is making an impossibly difficult food all the while telling us about how good it smells, knowing that we are watching, writhing with the urge to re-create every delicious meal we've witnessed.

Bourdain wrote a chapter called "So you wanna be a chef". In it he reminds us that the outcomes are not commonly those of Food Network stardom or even high-end success. Meanwhile he encourages those willing to endure a life of mediocre, under-paid, indistinct work in a kitchen with no name, to run the gambit and take the chance.

But what if I don't want to even be in the kitchen? I JUST WANT TO TASTE AND WRITE ABOUT FOOD. In the chapter, he goes on to encourage those who might want to join the cult and drink the Kool-aid to just take the initiative and go for it; if you have the chance, travel. Make friends with people who know their craft, learn everything you can about food, and if you should do desire, go to cooking school.

Finally! Some direction. Turns out I've already started doing all these things--sorta--instead of going to cooking school I chose a four year institution(I'm a late bloomer). And although I haven't wistfully traveled the world yet, I will. It's all an uncertain path, and I can only plan as far ahead as time allows, but after being discouraged about not having any direction to take I am revived with these words.

While taking on this journey towards understanding what it takes to become a good food writer, initially I am humbled and feel foolish for considering that I may be worthy of becoming someone people might want to listen to someday. But then I read words like the quote by Bourdain above, and instantly my spirits are lifted again. It won't be an easy journey, but regardless, I can't wait to slow-torture foodies with tales of my edible adventures. For now I'll just continue to sharpen my knives. I mean skills.

The Exotic Eating Expedition Begins

Feeling slightly defeated after my high souffle style hopes of speaking with a food writer have been simply deflated by the fork of reality, I suck it up and decide to explore the exotic world of food the best way I know how: by eating.

My fellow foodie roommate Lauren joins me and we navigate our way to a local smokehouse. The building is compact and there lies little room for lines between each small shop stacked side by side. The tourist shops beckon you to come in and spend your dollars on knick-knacks, but today we walk past them, today we eat.

The line is too big for the small deli and you must break through it in order to add yourself to the long wait. But we don't mind; the room whirs with orders and a cash register opening and closing and it's exciting for two first timers. There must be a good reason that people are patient enough to wait, the food must be that good.


I never order the most popular thing on the menu when I go somewhere new, unless it claims to be distinctly different.You can get a turkey sandwich anywhere so why waste your money to try what you already know? In my natural rebellion against food complacency and to satisfy my goal of exploring classic, authentic foods, I go all the way, I order Liver and Onions


I know, I know. Do not shake your head at me, I already know. If you've ever had liver and onions you fall into one of two categories: you love it, or you cringe at the thought of it. I happen to fall into the latter category and yet, gave this relic a chance. Giddy with hopes that this would be the serving that would convert me to a lover of the liver, I couldn't wait to try it.

I inhale the uncooked, meatloaf style slab that comes to me in a basket presented neatly with crackers and all the fixings that apparently go well with this dish, raw white onions included. I smell nothing to be alarmed of, and in her graciousness, Lauren volunteers to photo-document..my first bite experience


The cracker is smeared slightly with mayonnaise, under the liver, and a few slices of onion. I bite cautiously and savor the flavors that greet my palette, welcoming me to their individual expressions; the cracker, salty and dry makes way for the soft spread as it hits just before the crunchy cool onions try to use their sweetness to help me recover from the schmear's punch. Oh my gosh. I should have known better. What else did I expect from liver? Well obviously not much because just as I expected, the familiar taste of iron swarms me and I grimace just in time for a photo. It is not bad per se, I just happen to have an unfortunate aversion to the taste of wild game and rosemary.

I take a second bite hoping that the initial shock over-powered my optimism. But that does me in. I end my experimental dance with the organ then and there. Two bites too many and on my first food experiment I laugh with Lauren, "I should have went for the turkey". Smitten with the beautiful fish and cheese spread I do not resign completely from the smokehouse, but for today I have had enough. I swipe a fork through Lauren's cranberry-walnut mayo and make note to myself that although the exotic may be more exciting it is definitely different to say the least.

Starved for Contact

Embarking on this journey is unbelievably exciting from a theoretical standpoint, but from a technical perspective, it is terrifying. Where in the world do I begin? I don't have a role-Dex filled with food authors to contact at my leisure, nor is there a section in a phone book that is labeled under food authors for me to scroll through, picking and choosing whom I'd like to interview and interrogate. So where in the heck do I start?

Well, as a true product of my society, the first place I begin is Twitter. Yes, instead of looking for any realistic options, I begin by tweeting to world renown chefs and authors hoping that my cutesy nick-name and clever 140 character quips will catch their attention and inspire them to write back to another fanatic stranger. Needless to say, this fails, so in an equally age-typical effort, the next thing I do is use Google to search for food writers in my local area. To my surprise I actually hit a jack-pot of a page! Turns out someone has been writing about food and making a website dedicated to the local latest and greatest of eats. But as luck should have it, it hasn't been maintained after 2009.

Finally a bit of wisdom is bestowed upon me, and I am recommended to a local restaurant where a former food writer now works. Hallelujah! A bone is thrown my way and with some luck I may just get to meet this person and pick her brain. So I use the best means of non-intrusive communication I know: Facebook. Okay, so it isn't the most reliable source for contact but I can hardly think of another way to contact someone without using their phone number that wouldn't creep them out completely and give them some sense of privacy.

Well it's been a short while but I haven't received a response. Forget it. Nobody wants to talk to a student writing a silly blog about food writing and what it takes to be good at it. Not yet at least. I may borderline harass people until someone gives up some information on what I've got to do to break into the biz but I'm okay with that. I'm just a student after all, wide eyed and drooling for someone to contact me, and at the very least give me a response!