Trekking the Birthplace of Food

Just got back from a cave where the world's oldest corn fossils were found. I'm researching my next work entitled Chocolate, Vanilla, Tortillas & Salsa: Trekking the Birthplace of Food. This saga will transport readers around Mexico and over the story of American cuisine. Think Anthony Bourdain with an extra helping of fun and a side order of down-to-earth spirituality.

A university colleague of mine, who does animation for Marvel Comics, will provide sketches of all the foods referenced on the trip as well as graphic maps to orient the reader. Text box recipes may be included. The cuisine I'll be exploring in depth includes hallucinogenic mushrooms, grasshoppers, mezcal, and cactus.

Here is my regional guide Lily Barbosa. A serious travel writer has a serious responsibility to get close to local people. I mean really damn close. This work will show once again that I'm willing to bring up the hard questions that other journalists shy away from, plus any other hard things required to fully complete the task. A gentleman doesn't brag about his conquests. Yet, the ladies of Mexico often comment that I'm a kinder, gentler Hernan Cortez with a longer, more-durable lance.

Here is the snug little hole in Coxcatlan Puebla where our cave-dwelling American ancestors deposited the fertile seeds that would give life to subsequent generations from Canada to Patagonia. Try reading that sentence again without making any sexual associations - anthropology is so hot! It took me days to negotiate the legal permission then hike the forbidding desert, so I could be one of few gringos to visit this historic site and write about it. Expect my next tale to be a monumental achievement.

By the way, I'm typing this post squeezed up against a wall at a friend's house, in order to steal his neighbor's internet signal, because we partied so hard he forgot to pay the bill. Yes, I'm a conquistador, a serious drinker, and a pirate. Sometimes, I'm so manly I scare myself. (Aargh, shiver me Freudian timber!) I'm gonna go put on my Japanese silk bathrobe, so I don't frighten away my metrosexual readers in Vermont.

Of course, I may forget to tie the robe in front, which could frighten almost everyone. Still, like they say in the trailer park, an untied robe by day keeps Jehovah's Witnesses away. Maybe nobody says that. Perhaps the perverts just use that as spiritual justification for a carnal desire to let it all hang out. Let me encourage each of you to buy my meticulously-crafted previous and future books, so I can stop letting it all hang out on the internet. Spare me a little dignity, will you folks?