I'm Not a Waiter; I Just Play One in Real Life
I love to dine out. In fact, I would call myself a "foodie." Foodie is a term I've heard more and more often in recent years. I suppose my entrance into foodie-dom happened about ten years ago in Yountville, California. It was there I had a life-changing meal at the French Laundry. I can remember actually feeling awareness heighten because of the cuisine I was enjoying. It was probably the closest thing to a spiritual experience I've ever had without Jesus.
So with my newfound awareness, I was shooting off to Charlie Trotter's in Chicago and Gunter Seeger's in Atlanta, and any other place that earned the title, "Mobil 5 Star." These places became my mecca, and I their pilgrim. As this was happening, I also began searching for any local out-of-the-way place to find interesting cuisine. And Saturday morning always included a trip to the green market down the street to pick up the week's vegetables and fruits. Success for me was finding a local taqueria where nobody spoke English with amazing Chile Rellenos. Tripe tacos were always a bonus.
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