Define “foodie” and, also, yourself
I define it (foodie) as “a person who has blogged about how stupid they think that term is.” And I consider myself whichever it’s cooler to be—the unabashed foodie or the person who refuses the title. You pick. Here’s how I relate to food: I feel strongly about it because it makes more sense than feeling strongly about TV. If I eat badly, I feel gross, and if I eat a lot of whole grains and vegetables, I feel like a trillion bucks. It’s probably the easiest math I’ve ever done. Plus, it’s amazing how quickly your palate changes once you start eating well—sugary snacks start tasting like dirt and you’ll find yourself sitting around craving wheat berries. My husband is super into being a triathlete and making us all look lazy, and I get over my guilt about not having as many muscles as he does by attributing at least half his success to the diet we eat at home.
Best and worst thing about Richmond food scene:
The best thing is how consistently good RVA service is and how cheap it is to eat out, and the worst thing is that there’s too much greasy animal stuff. I’ll eat a Can Can burger now and then, but I almost always wish restaurants around here had more fresh vegetable and grain options.
One more meal in Richmond:
Edo’s must get so tired of hearing about how great they are, but I can’t find anything to beat their pasta. My husband and I had our first date there, and I’m thinking I should try to maneuver it so that most of my life events follow suit. If all goes according to plan, I’ll give birth on that stairwell, and when I die (in an unrelated incident, let’s hope), I’ll be buried in spaghetti Karl.
Biggest guilty pleasure food:
Normally, I’d look at you serenely and say, “I only allow myself to eat Doritos, Five Guys and doughnuts once a year.” But as I’m about to have my magical Edo’s childbirth experience any second now (You should probably steer clear of that stairwell in December, just in case.), I will admit that I have eaten all three of those items more than once in 2011. And, I’ve added frozen yogurt to the mix. Look, you go through the morning sickness months eating nothing but dry, baked potatoes—you deserve to be a hypocrite for awhile.
Change one thing about the scene:
Mamma Zu accepting Visa.
