Pardon moi, señor! Have you ever tried to find a decent place in which to have a normal run-of-the-mill meal with your friends or family but couldn't quite decide where to go or who had the best food within the range of your social status? So, what do you do? You grab the nearest smart phone and search for the best diner or bar food or local dive around; you search high and low in every corner of the net only to find everything you never wanted to know about some hoity-toity French restaurant where you can't pronounce the entrees and you couldn't afford to buy an appetizer there even if you sold one of your kidneys to be served up as the daily special at Che Guevaras? We've all been there.
If there was only a place you could turn to whenever you wanted to try somewhere new to eat, or you were just passing through and wanted to find a great burger that included both a normal bun and actual ground beef? You know, a world of never-ending happiness, where you can always see the sun. Day . . . or night. A world with food fit for a prince, but made by a pauper. A world with a guide to all things yummy and all things, well, not so yummy. The wide, wide, world of . . . Foodie Pebbles.
I come from a long line of chefs, short order cooks, restaurateurs, innkeepers and masturbators (very satisfying line of work, I might add). So I come by the love of food naturally and I enjoy sharing my experiences and criticisms with everyone I meat. Maybe I don't know the difference between a French oak barrel wine and an American one, but I do know the difference between crap and crêpe . . . the spelling.
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