I received a poorly spelled anonymous comment on my last post about what happens when I go grocery shopping hungry:
"i aspect a food blaggor too be eatign the fansy stakes nd potaytoes nd vegatabels not the leen packest and soops why do yo thnk yo are a godo food blaggor if yo eet these bad fodos."Translated into English, the comment reads:
"How dare you, sir, call yourself a food blogger! This sacred art is sullied by your boxed-rice buying proclivities, your preference for pre-made bread crumbs, and your insistence upon purchasing peanut butter! It is unacceptable that you should have anything in your freezer at all, in fact. I deride you and your affront in the strongest of terms!"Now, I assume this is one of my wonderful friends having a little fun. (Because God help us all if public schooling has failed some poor soul so thoroughly). But a good point is raised -- isn't the point of food blogging to share exotic recipes and demonstrate a thoroughly epicurean lifestyle?
I say no. At least not at Hungry Sam. I eat like a normal person. Sure, maybe I have an absurd food-oriented enthusiasm streak, and maybe I do cook more than the average 24 year-old D.C. professional, and maybe I'm a tad adventurous (I ate alligator last week!) -- but ultimately, it's silly to think even foodies never eat a frozen pre-made meal.
The fact is, this blog is not about food elitism. If that's what it means to be a food blogger, I don't want any of it. My sole purpose is to share my love of food and the enjoyment I get from it, whether I'm roasting a chicken with some exotic technique, grilling a bizarre meat like buffalo, or chomping on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
I'm an advocate for cooking food from scratch because I think it's a good, healthy way to enrich a part of life that so many people see as a chore. But fatigue hits us all, snowstorms spank Districts of Columbia and having some frozen or easy-to make mixes in the pantry is smart.
So, anonymous commenter, prepare to be outraged by today's food fun: I love Chipotle burritos.
Stolen from somewhere. |