Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Hov’.
Ah jeez, sorry about that. I’m using speech-to-text to write this bio and it just picked up the Jay-Z song I was listening to.
My name is actually Vin. Vincent, if you’re my mother. Vince, if you’re my old baseball coaches. Vinny, if you’re everyone else, despite me never once introducing myself that way. You guys can call me whatever you like, just try to keep it PG…and don’t call me Vinny.
I grew up in the NY/NJ/Conneticut Tri-state area, which as we all know, is a hotbed for great culinary…things. I have a way with words as you’ll soon find out. I was born in Brooklyn, and relocated to the Jersey Shore where I’ve remained ever since. Throw all your preconceived notions out the door; the Jersey Shore is everything like the show of the same name.
While I’ve been frequenting the East Coast’s…nay, the country’s best delis and pizza places since I was a baby, I appreciate all foods equally. I’ll get a deluxe Italian at New York’s top delicatessen, then hit Subway for a cardboard and shredded lettuce footlong on the drive home. I can eat a slice of pepperoni at a place called Nunzio’s then turn around and slam an entire thin crust from Domino’s without so much as a peep. Hell, I’ll even eat a Peep, and those things are made of memory foam and sand.
I absolutely love to cook. I also absolutely love to lie. Store bought, processed foods are my everything. I anticipate the release of new Doritos flavors like expectant parents anticipate their first born. A nutritionist once saw my cart at the supermarket and ran out of the place in hysterics. She hasn’t been seen since. Come home Carolyn, your family misses you.
But, seriously, I love to write, and I love to eat. I have an impeccable palate and my taste buds are insured for $2 million by Lloyd’s of London, so you can trust my reviews. I promise to try my best and steer you in the right direction when it comes to what snack impulses to respond to.