As far back as I can remember, I’ve always enjoyed eating food. From my time as a helpless baby to now as a less-helpless man, eating has always been an important daily goal of mine, aiming for at least three meals a day not only for the taste, mind you, but for the fact that it provides things like nutrients and whatnot that help to keep me alive which, at the current moment, is kind of important.
Over the past few years I have been able to parlay this necessitous hobby into a
moneymaking scheme minor career as a food critic for various newspapers and magazines including most recently The Hungover Gourmet, Red Dirt Report, and The Lost Ogle, almost completely against doctor’s orders mind you. From tales of culinary nostalgia to reviews of places where even the hungriest angels fear to tread, I have earned my fair share of death threats from angry hipsters who have on more than one occasion referred to my palate as a “garbage can.”
I can’t argue with this because, yes, there have been various points in my life I have eaten from a garbage can. And I liked it.
If you’re ever in Oklahoma City, chances are you can find me hanging out on the Southside, downing milanesa tortas from El Chavo Supertorta, menudo from Berta’s or imbibing on virgin chuviduvis from Croodoolandia. If you’re paying, I’d be more than happy to take you on a fully guided edible diversion the tourists don’t often get to see unless they take a wrong turn.
If I’m paying, however, we’re doing the Taco Bell Dollar Menu, holmes. Thanks for reading. ¡Cómpralo ya!