Don't say I didn't warn you.

Two years ago I moved here from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I am a dedicated and accomplished self-taught home cook, which you have to be in Pittsburgh, because you never know what fried kitty-cat tidbits you are going to receive at even the finest eatery in that town. Yes, where I'm from, you're better off eating in.

Now a resident of Portland, OR, where delicious food of all kinds can be had for very little money, I have really super high standards.  What used to pass for sit-down restaurant quality food in my old home can only pass for trash can-filler here.  Excuse me, for "biodegradable food waste" since we separate our garbage like civilized people.  

A cynic since birth, I have the talent of having almost nothing nice to say about anything ever.  Honed by a college career of learning to analyze things (and a really unfortunate job market thereafter), whatever you love, I hate.  Really good book?  God it was boring.  Did you like that movie?  I did not.  

My husband is much the same; with no kids and a surplus of money which isn't going to student loans in any great quantity (because screw that) we eat at restaurants a lot.  And we're gonna make fun of them.  Even the ones you like.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

R

P.S. Thanks to Dad, for the blog title name.