What a gift. An appetite for many things, often food, and sometimes knowledge. My first post is going to be rather short, as beginnings can and will be used against you. The less pretense I supply will bode well for any reader’s ability to find the context of my following posts.

The picture chosen above was out of fleeting inspiration. Avoidance, in this rare case, led me to Milwaukee, Wisconsin’s own Downtown Books. This was the kind of bookstore where the worker, usually an older, stoic gentleman, is sifting through the seemingly endless pile of books on the checkout desk. The shelves are haphazardly-saturated in spines, the organization…well there is little to none, and the fermented paper smell all provoke a will to gather. So, evidently, I gathered. I gathered The Art of Eating by M.F.K Fisher.

This book was and is my fuel to start this blog. I’ve had the idea for quite some time, but reading Fisher lit the fire under my bass. Consider the fish just barely touching the flames. Food is a means of experience and the experience itself. I eat to live and live to eat.

Fisher proclaims “The ability to enjoy eating, like the ability to enjoy any fine art, is not a matter of inborn talent alone, but of training, memory, and comparison. Time works for the palate faithfully and fee-lessly.” Thank you, Fisher. Because hitherto I had no poetic way to articulate my drive to enjoy beets to my friends. In-between unpleasant noises and bouts of self-encouragement, there lie the beets over a bed of greens and never enough goat cheese. I don’t need to like beets, but I want to. I want to push the potential of my palate.

With that I will end this post will many hopes and dreams for fun and creativity. I’m in line at L’Industrie patiently waiting for my burrata slice, foaming at the mouth, writing this, and proofreading out loud through the bubbles. The man in front of me keeps thinking I’m talking to him. Maybe I am?