A Manifesto?

Perhaps.  But if so, take it, as Pliny would have it, cum grano salis.  I've hacked out this space in the ether and set up shop to record my thoughts, challenge my own assumptions, and occasionally even get political about food.  Hence the name Ergo Edamus -- Therefore, Let Us Eat.

I don't necessarily want to be the grumpy gourmand, though I have been known to play that role.  But I contain multitudes, and with luck I will contradict myself on occasion.

I have read Michael Pollan, and I have read Tony Bourdain.  But I'm neither here nor there.  I've read Julia Child and Madeleine Kamman, and I still turn a spatula the wrong way.

I have been in and out of the kitchen -- scrubbed the pan, cleared and set a four-top in a hurry, waited my section and Gina's while she shtupped the busboy, prepped the salad, flipped the eggs.  I once worked a shift where I did nothing but butter toast for four solid hours.  I once made 500 hamburger patties -- 6 ounces each.

I was nearly killed by a waitress when I told a daily coffee-and-muffin that he had left a sawbuck instead of a single.  And by a sous chef when I touched his knife.

I don't know it all, but I know some.  Here's what I think...