A soft opening

Now that I put my marinated pork tenderloin in the oven, I have a few minutes to make my first post on The Gastropub -- an experiential blog devoted to glorious workaday cooking, stellar eating and dining, excellent but reasonably priced drinking, and lyrical food-writing.

I plan to write about what I know, what makes me happy, and what gets me riled up in the world of food. With the exception of a few classes in the Santa Barbara City College's adult education cooking program and a day-long session at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, I lack a formal culinary education -- whether in school or in restaurants. Yes, I am the Matt Damon of food-writing.

But as you'll come to learn, I do possess an honest and deep love for tasty food and beverages and for quality writing. I cook as often as I can. Before becoming a member of the world's most-hated profession, I dabbled as a member of the world's second most hated profession; that is, I was a journalist. I had stints at The Daily Pennsylvanian and USA Today, and I even got to pen a few restaurant reviews out of the deal. I read eGullet and Leite's Culinaria. I stare far too intensely at the Food Network. I deify Thomas Keller, Anthony Bourdain, and Dario Furlati. I also try to eat out frequently, preferably at places with -- as my French cooking teacher Stephane Rapp described it -- "a high cost-to-quality ratio." For me, relaxation is strolling through the aisles of a 24-hour grocery store at night. Bliss is chopping vegetables.

My girlfriend, my brother, and I were having lunch today at the local Baja Fresh, trying to come up with a name for this blog. I trotted out the pathetic "Ate is Enough," and it was promptly rejected by nearly everyone there including the Baja Fresh grill cook who can't even speak English. My brother chimed in with "Eat Me." My girlfriend -- a wine industry professional who has some serious writing chops herself -- laughed and liked "Eat Me" both for its edgy attitude and for the prospect of posting companion "Drink Me" pieces. Even better, when a little cake directed Lewis Carroll's Alice to "Eat Me" and a bottle enticed her to "Drink Me," Alice metaphorically gained new perspectives on the rabbit hole environs into which she'd tumbled. "Eat Me," it was.

Sadly, the Blogger Brass informed me that "Eat Me" was unavailable, owing more likely to its sexual implications than to the possibility that the Lewis Carroll's estate copyrighted the term. Confronted with an empty white box and the human need to fill it, I conjured up "The Gastropub."

Although the idea is making inroads in the United States, the "gastropub" is largely a London phenomenon -- a neighborhood pub where you can score high-quality, creative food and drink at reasonable prices. Think modern-day French bistros. Think South Dakota buffalo burger topped with baby spinach and melted Cana de Cabra. Think a pint of Dogfish Head Raison d'Etre or a glass of Jaffurs syrah. The epitome of the gastropub in America is Philadelphia's Standard Tap.

The word "gastropub" consists of two parts. "Gastro" hails from the Greek gastr, meaning "belly." Now, of course, it has evolved to refer too to the food and drink that one puts in his or her belly. "Pub" is short for the British public house, which is a tavern licensed to sell alcoholic beverages. "Pub," however, is also short for publication. Hence, "The Gastropub" -- a food and drink publication.

I hope that the blog will live up to the high standards set by the Standard Tap -- and that it will turn out at least as well as tonight's pork tenderloin does.

With that, I welcome you to The Gastropub. Sit wherever you like.