Why do you care about what I eat?  It started in high school. During lunch, I’d take BART downtown to buy a whole pie at Blondies and then bring it back and sell slices. At no profit. It bugged me that we had lousy lunch service and even a freshman could only eat so much Al’s Hofbrau (RIP) and Beep’s Burgers. Blondies was a big hit. Later, when I got a ’79 diesel Cadillac Seville, my friends would pile in and we’d hit the Outer Mission for burritos at Guadalajara or sandwiches at Roxie’s, both places that I still frequent today. We made a big deal out of lunch and I loved it. At our Senior Retreat, I won the watermelon eating contest with ease. People cared about what I was eating.

In college, my grades were terrible but no one knew the Ann Arbor food scene like me. I read the coupon books handed out at the beginning of the semester with a bizarre intensity (3 small Bell’s pizzas with 1 topping for $5 is still the best deal I’ve ever seen). My roommates often came home from class to find me parked on the couch studying the menus in the restaurant section of the yellow pages. Textbooks remained unopened. Every night I begged my friends with cars to drive me to Detroit to Lafayette Coney Island, open 23 1/2 hours a day (they closed only so the guys could shower). In turn, my friends created eating “challenges” for me to complete in order to earn my coney dog. Drink an entire 32 oz. bottle of room temperature Beefamato juice? Done in 5 minutes. How about  a can of Tony Packo’s raw chili sauce? Scarfed. It was Man vs. Food long before Adam Richman. Once, on my way to a final exam, I ran into 2 friends about to have lunch at Red Hot Lovers, an iconic Vienna Beef joint with the best cheese fries on earth. Needless to say, I skipped the final and enjoyed a “Serious Dog”.  When I finally got serious about school, it was only with a promise to myself that each day would start with breakfast at Zingerman’s Deli. “Mass Communication and Public Opinion” could never get me out of bed but the thought of the greatest corned beef hash known to mankind certainly could. I earned straight A’s once Zingerman’s became a part of the plan. In college, people cared about what I was eating.

When I met my wife, I knew she was the one not because of her amazing personality or unparalleled beauty, but because she too had been to Manganero’s Hero Boy on 9th Ave. in New York. The night that we met, we were sitting at a bar and having the typical getting to know you conversation. When I learned that she grew up in New York, I thought that I’d impress her with my New York food knowledge by throwing out Manganero’s. She not only had been to Manganero’s but she was able to recite what she had eaten the last time that she was there…8 years earlier! It was love at first sight. Oh, and the fact that she drank Jack and Coke at 2AM didn’t hurt either. My wife knows my food tastes better than anyone. And she cares about what I eat.

I think that you get the idea by now. Food is very important to me. Perhaps a little too important. During the past few years, I’ve been asked “Why don’t you start a blog?” countless times. To everyone who’s asked, thanks for the gentle push. I’m very proud to present you with Urban Stomach. I hope that you care about what I eat.