Some people are born nomads. Maybe I was predisposed to be hungry for travel, or maybe it started very young when my parents would pack our bags, and head off to Costa Rica for a week-long hike. I suppose it all comes down to the life long dispute of nature or nurture. Nonetheless, I am here and I am moving. As soon as I settle in after a vacation elsewhere I feel the need to move again, to get out. And that is exactly what happened. After returning from a long and blissful trek through Ireland, Scotland, and England I came home only to hop on a plane bound to New Orleans. But that wasnt good enough, after returning for just five months I began to feel suffocated and started looking desperately for another opportunity to get back to traveling. Maybe its the feel of Orange County, or maybe its just me. I think it’s a little of both.
And now I am proud to say, at the end of December I will be moving to France. Yes, France. It will be for a minimum of six months, and a maximum of four years (or more?) And there I will be in a food writers dream. Surrounded by seductive pastries and world renown chefs, I will flourish.
And so, before I go I will pay my last tributes to the food and eateries of America, because I must admit I don’t think I will miss them much.