Perhaps it is like the effervescent steam wafting above sizzling carne asada on a flattop or, maybe, more akin to the dissipating fog clearing slow from the asphalt. The morning mist joins mourning lovers of cold nights greeted by a sun too confident in its promise of safety and light dreaming up lofty visions for future burritos yet to be had.
A rose will bloom, it then will fade, but not my passion for tortilla-swaddled food.
In my absence I have learned many things about myself. I have discovered unprecedented skills in procrastination. A debilitating fear of success and failure ever-present in my day to day life. The experience of eating a burrito in a hovel far surpasses any words I may write about it, but that does not diminish the importance of the attempt.
In 2014 I consumed hundreds, literally multiples of 100 burritos. I traveled up and down California with a brief jaunt into Arizona tracking the best burritos the West Coast had to offer. I spoke with proprietors of establishments dating back to the early 20th century. I was leveled by nostalgia in a rundown taco shop. I was interviewed on a burrito excursion for radio. I was featured in the local paper with a front page mention and a full page spread. And then I documented it all and shared it with you.
And you read it!
Thank you. Sincerely, thank you for everything. For suggestions, for recommendations, for reading and sharing with your friends and family. I appreciate it more than you know.
So I guess I'm writing to say that I will be updating this again. I hope the posts are informative, but I also want them to be more personal. Some of my favorite posts from the last year are a good mix of culinary critique, op-ed ranting, and pure unadulterated confession.
If you are still around, enjoy.
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