I grew up in the kitchen, helping my mom stir ground beef and peel potatoes for dinner. I browsed her cookbooks while she chopped vegetables, always putting a meal on the table, always gathering my sisters and I to join her and my dad at our big wooden oval table every night.
Those cookbooks became fantasy lands for me. I read Taste of Home and old church cookbooks, digesting the names of recipe submitters and their two-line stories about the recipe and what it meant in their life, imagining what those foods looked and tasted like. I began plotting menus in my head and started cooking meals for my family, often asking my mom a lot of questions, learning as I went.
When I started college life, I had no access to a kitchen and no way to control what I ate. I couldn't afford more than oatmeal and bananas. I snuck shitty cafeteria food into my backpack for dinner. I was hungry all the time, never satiated, and when I found food that I enjoyed, I couldn't stop eating. The obsession with how I ate grew, and I struggled with disordered eating, but this struggle began my journey into learning how to feed myself intuitively. Ever since, I've had a heightened appreciation for my body and all it tells me, for food that nourishes both my body and soul, and—English major that I was—the stories that recipes, foodways, traditions, and ingredients have to tell.
I love eating at restaurants. I love trying new food. I'm someone who can find the good in most things, yet I hold high standards and am semi-quick to judge. I think it's my intuition—learning to follow it lets me know when I'm about to eat a meal that has been created with care or a meal that has been cranked out as a gimmick.
I lived in Nashville and New York before moving back to Minnesota, and while I was unfortunately too broke to indulge in much of their restaurant scenes, I savored every bagel and coffee I spent precious money on. When I moved to Minneapolis, the restaurant scene here had been flourishing for some time, but because of the timing of Instagram (and now TikTok), this city and the surrounding area have become even more of a foodie's haven. We have award-winning chefs and a lot of people groups who have brought their food with them: Hmong, Thai, Ethiopian, Scandinavian, Indian...(actually, way more than I can list here).
I have had few restaurant experiences in the Twin Cities that have put a bad taste in my mouth. I have had some that were so-so. Most of the time, I am sated and excited. Because there are so many good experiences, I have begun to decipher what makes them worthy of praise (atmosphere, service, menu, food quality, etc.)
My friends have started to turn to me for restaurant recommendations (they call me Miss Minneapolis, and it's starting to grow on me). If you've ever seen me rattle off a list of places to try, you'll see my eyes widen and my smile grow and my lungs struggle to keep up with the pace of my talking. They know to trust me not just because I've tried so many places, but also because I'm quick to let them know if I think something doesn't live up to they hype. In other words: I'm enthusiastic and critical at the same time; I'm impressed by a lot but not by all.
I'm telling you all of this because I'm about to start writing my experiences in restaurants. When I began this website, I was writing food content that was geared more toward education of cooking for oneself. I still love writing about that, and think there is endless knowledge and wisdom to learn, and I plan to continue sharing that content. But I care deeply about the food scene in Minneapolis (and St. Paul), and I want you to care too. I think when we critique and converse we can keep raise the floor and make a better experience for everyone—diners, servers, and chefs alike.
Now that my stomach is growling, I'm ready for a bite. Bon appetit, buen provecho, prost, salud.
xoxo Amanda
Comments