Much of our experience with food (or at least my experience) centers on the idea of escape. (This isn't going to turn into a self-help diatribe.) What I mean is that I often turn to recipes or restaurants that transport me from the mundane. Lately, I have been pining for my big-city staples, as it's hard to step across the street here in South Carolina for my favorite diner eats. But even in New York, I wanted to elevate, i.e. escape, my experience by continuously trying new and eclectic cuisine. For less than a tank, in the matter of a night, I could travel to the far reaches of the Middle East and back: Behold the power of hummus.
Keeping a blog has its benefits. Beyond its value as an immediate and low-maintenance way of exchanging ideas, it is forcing me to hone my thoughts and extract them. Among the realizations that I've come upon in recent weeks is instead of pursuing avenues of escape—my most foot-worn being food—I should be as present as possible. Open my eyes and mind to the South's cultural and culinary bounty.
But maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. After all, we all are searching—craving enlightening and enlivening experiences different (or what we perceive as different) from our own. Who doesn't appreciate tapas? To be offered myriad delectable options for composing the most tongue-tantalizing experience possible? I want the tapas of my life to be culturally, ethnically, professionally, and personally distinct, daring, dense, and delicious. Escape is okay, necessary even, as long as I remember where I am.
I will start here. And go from there.
