There's a bit of a problem when it comes to developing an opinion of an idea of food, especially when that idea runs dead on into the reality of said food. I've been thinking about that a lot this week as the United States Department of Agriculture considers lifting a 21-year import ban on haggis.

Haggis is one of those foods that allows for people to develop an opinion about it without actually having tasted it. Talk to your average American about haggis, and they're bound to reply with some level of knowledge.

"It's made in Sheep's stomachs", some might say.

"There's oatmeal in it", others might contribute.

"It's Scottish, isn't it?", still others will add.

And many will either wrinkle their nose at it, or perhaps consider the fact that haggis can be made with sheep's hearts, livers, and yes, even lungs. This is the part that makes me shake my head. I want to ask these people if they've tried haggis before showing their disgust. It would be a pointless question, to be sure, because their actions have already answered it before even asked.

Rest assured, for those of you who are curious, haggis, when made well, is quite delicious. It is peppery, savory, and has a texture which is not much different from ground beef. When made poorly, it's just as disappointing as a badly made corned beef and hash.

So what brings haggis into the world as a culinary novelty? The ingredients, plain and simple. For some, the "novelty" of using offal in a dish offers the opportunity to imply the oddness of the Scottish diet. The dish allows them to cast hinted-at aspersions on the exotic tendencies of others. We see this all the time when people talk about foods from other cultures.

The reality of this, for me, is that the novelty surrounding dishes such as these actually shines a light onto those casting those aforementioned aspersions. If we lived in a country where brains, hearts, and lungs were eaten on a regular basis, then haggis would hardly be a blip on our cultural radar.

Maybe it's no big deal for me because of the way I was raised. I grew up seeing deer, rabbit, and other game animals gutted every hunting season, with most every part of the animal used in some sort of dish. I'd like to think that farmers of livestock have found very little of interest in haggis, because they know that such dishes make the most economic sense.

Or perhaps I've gotten it all wrong, and people are actually freaked out by the use of oatmeal in such a dish, an ingredient we here in the States rarely use for anything but a healthy breakfast, and topped with nothing more complex than cream, butter, and brown sugar.

Nah. 'Cause we Americans tend to see blood pudding in the same exact light.

For me, the Super Bowl represents the true end of a Holiday season that started back in October with Halloween. What makes this season so wondrous to me is the fact that all of them have food play a distinct part in the festivities. Having said that, it is important to note for all of you would-be Martha Stewarts out there that the Super Bowl comes with its own set of rules and traditions.

I seem to mention these rules every year, but almost always some yahoo goes ahead and ignores them, and then makes a faux pas that clearly indicates that they have no idea what is so damn important about Super Bowl Sunday.

So what is so important about the football day to end all football days? After growing up in Pittsburgh during the 1970's and living off Campus at The Ohio State Univsity, where tailgating is an art, I have found a clear answer. Super Bowl Sunday is about all things football. This includes the teams participating, the game itself, the commercials supporting the game, the halftime show. In short, it's not about you.

This is not your time to shine, this is not your time to whip up a fancy meal. No one who is there to watch the game with any seriousness gives a rat's-patoot on the fact that you've spent day's looking for the perfect recipe for your lime sherbet punch. And the phrase "Healthy Super Bowl Recipes" should be avoided at all costs. Where other holidays have food at or near the top in importance, for Super Bowl Sunday, food ranks somewhere below the importance of whether the commercials were entertaining and whether the halftime show is worth sacrificing the all important bathroom break.

Don't get me wrong, the food needs to be good, but anything that smacks of attention grabbing is a no-no. Here are some guidelines:

Don't go fancy: Keep it simple, and stick to recipes that have a broad appeal. Hamburgers and hot dogs work well, but your Grilled Eggplant Sub with Mozzarella and Tomato Jam reeks of "too much effort." Ditto for your "smoked salmon pizza". Honestly, no one is going to care if you put pomegranates in your guacamole.

Go to the unhealthy: This day, more than any other in America, is the one where it's okay to eat as if you're a college freshman with money to burn. Barbecue, pizza, and beer are the standards, not the exceptions. If you must have salad, steer towards those with mayonnaise.

It's a buffet: On Super Bowl Sunday, there are no appetizers and desserts. Insisting on otherwise means that you want to control when food is served. The pace of the football game is likely to dictate otherwise.

The more finger food, the better: Chips and dip, sandwiches, and Buffalo Wings are long established football tailgating traditions that, by design, leave eating utensils as an option. Foods that require anything more complicated than a fork should be left for another day.

Drinks: Think back to any football game you've attended. Did they serve wine? Leave your bottles corked and stick to beer and drinks that require minimal amounts of effort, and don't leave your guests tipsy by the end of the first quarter. Margaritas are okay, Long Island Iced Teas are not.

No Soups: Seriously? Soup? Have you even been to a football game? Stews on the other hand are somewhat acceptable, with Chili being a classic dish.

Menus can highlight the teams in the Big Game: That means Gumbo, Jambalaya, and Étouffée for New Orleans (and Hurricanes for you amateur bartenders). For Indianapolis it means... I don't know, what? A gallon of milk? Who goes to Indianapolis for food?

The key point to remember here is that the food is here to support the viewing of the game and any conversation surrounding topics relating to the game. It is not a focal point. If you feel as if Super Bowl Sunday is better served by you foisting squash salad on your guests, and demanding that everyone sit down at the table in order to eat your New York Cheesecake that you made especially for the event, you better re-evaluate your position. Because Super Bowl Sunday is also the one Food Holiday in the year where you, the chef, are not important, and can easily be replaced by a quick run to the 7-11.

I had a friend in college who always ordered steak or a hamburger when we went out to eat. It didn't matter what type of restaurant we visited, if these options were available, then they were the ones ordered. If we happened to be at a place where such options weren't typically available, then the menu item that seemed least exotic was chosen. On more than one occasions, requests were made to the kitchen to see if steak and/or hamburger could be obtained.

As I get older, I find this sort of approach to food confusing. It's akin to a Buddhist trying to explain their religion to a Christian. Logically I understand that there are people out there who don't have an ounce of curiosity about cuisine, but such an outlook is simply not part of my genetic makeup. To NOT try something a new dish, especially when said dish has been tried and tested by countless others is like asking me to not breathe.

In looking at a menu, I am typically drawn to two types of items.

1. Specials of the day
2. Items that seem out of place on the menu

Granted, some restaurants have specials just to get rid of certain food products, or because they know that a certain dish sells better when it's not offered that often. And sometimes odd menu items are their because the owner/chef can manage their menu effectively. But sometimes these are ways that a dish that is special to the owner or chef can find its way onto the menu. This was their one way to get that special dish served.

Two examples:

- A teriyaki restaurant that my co-workers and I frequent has kimchi on their menu board. The first time I noticed this, I picked up an order.
- A Greek restaurant that is a favorite of mine had kreatopita on their menu. Having never tried this dish before, I ordered it. It turned out to be this wonderful meat pie, with rich, savory ground lamb mixed with bechamel sauce and peas, then topped with filo.

One of the results of both of these orders is that the owner of the place came out to see who in the heck ordered these dishes. The teriyaki owner came out because she said she had to see who would order her kimchi, because it was seemingly a rare event. She then commented about how the recipe was her grandmother's and that she put it on the menu because she ate it several times a week, because it made you healthy.

The owner of the Greek place also came out to see who ordered his special dish, and then went into great detail about the ingredients he used, demonstrating just how proud he was of his meal.

Aside from getting a great meal at both of these places, there was an additional value to be had here. There's a joy to be had in listening to a chef or owner talk about their food and what it means to them. It opens up the dining experience that much more, and imbues their dishes with a personalization that can be lost at times at restaurants. Yes, the menu is the critical part of the restaurant, but it comes at a bit of a cost. The menu can act as a wall between the staff and the consumer. If you know where to look, there are times when it brings you something truly special. This is something you cannot get if you only order steak or hamburger.

Candy is one of those food items that fits into the category of "I know it when I see it, but I'll be damned if I can tell you what constitutes it." This lack of a concrete definition makes defining what, exactly, is candy, a tad bit difficult. Looking at the Snickers bar, one of the most popular piece of candy in America today, bears little in the way of clues.

It's easy to see why the Snickers bar is tremendously popular. It's a bar of nougat, topped with roasted peanuts, then covered with caramel, before being enrobed in milk chocolate. But these are merely ingredients, none of which define candy outright.

Perhaps it's the sugar used to mesh these ingredients together? But this discount candy made from honey or syrup, but yet includes pastries.

Perhaps it is its portabilty? But then this would include such products such as cookies, and exclude classic candies such as Pixie-Stix, which is nothing but sugar and a bit of citric acid combined in a straw. Without that critical bit of packaging that is the straw, Pixie Stix would be nothing more than a simple baking ingredient.

Even dictionaries have problems with their definitions. Is candy " crystallized sugar formed by boiling down sugar syrup"? It can be, but the six year old in all of us knows of products that exceed this perspective. Is candy "a confection made with sugar and often flavoring and filling"? Well, yes, but so are turnovers, cupcakes, and macaroons. For every characteristic one can give to candy, an exception can be found.

From my perspective, candy is a product whose definition is dynamic. What constitutes a candy differs from person to person, from culture to culture. Baklava is considered "candy-like" in the Middle East. Confectionery in India includes an extensive use of milk and clarified butter.

The etymology of the word candy does somewhat help clarify the definition, but only a little. Looking at the Old English Dictionary finds that the word goes back at least 2,000 years, all the way to the Persian word qand, which was their word for the crystallized juice of the sugar cane. Using that definition, it's possible to trace back the word even further, to the Sanskrit khanda. That the word has changed very little over the part two millennium, and yet still connotes roughly the same definition is remarkable.

What this means is that the first candy was nothing more than the crystallized grains of sugar. From that product, one which is often mere by-product of the sugar cane, a billion dollar industry was born. The history of candy starts right at the beginning of the history of sugar.

Recently a friend of mine made me aware of a web site that seeks to determine a person's food threshold. The basic premise, for those of you too lazy to click on the link, is that there are different levels of adventurism or tolerance in our food choices. Someone who is a vegan may rate a score of four, while someone who eats shark fin soup will rate as high as an eighteen. While their post is nominally about how some food folks seek to push culinary boundaries while others seek to restrict themselves for ethical reasons, there was something about its idea that seemed a bit off.

Part of it was the Dungeons & Dragons rating system that seemed to make food choices into levels of culinary accomplishment. Part of me wondered that if I had chocolate covered ants, did that mean that I was now level 15, and able to purchase new feats and skills?

But the larger issue here is the use of a rating system to determine a person's place on a food ethics scale. As food ethics are inherently an individual's interpretation of what is and is not acceptable, a single, linear rating system, while laudable in theory, breaks down in application. I know of many people who have no problem with eating rabbit, but draw the line at veal. For others, insects are okay, but horses are right out.

The problem here is that a person's food choices are a result of the culture in which they were raised. Growing up in Western Pennsylvania, where the opening day of deer season is a public holiday, eating game is no big deal. If you were to head to any area of the world where protein was difficult to find, you'll find that eating insects becomes no big deal.

Additionally, affluence allows for a greater range of ethics when it comes to food decisions. The less financial resources one has, the more difficult it becomes to adhere to decisions based off of ethics or taste, such as "I won't eat organ meat".

That's not to say that one can't model a person's food threshold. But perhaps a linear scale probably isn't the way to go. There are too many variables that influence our food choices to make a scale mean anything substantial.

Meanwhile, I'm going to chow on this plate of Frog's Legs.

It's no secret that I am a breakfast/brunch aficionado. If ever asked the question "Would you rather have a plate of corned beef hash, or a meal at a four-star restaurant?", I would respond "It depends. Who's making the corned beef?"

I understand that from a restaurant point of view, breakfast/brunch is likely the easiest meal to prepare for customers. But it still can be done badly. Cooks can take many different paths that can lead them down the road of ruin. There's one particular trend that makes me want to get up and leave a restaurant immediately.

Potatoes. I love them. I think that they have a place on the breakfast plate. But for the love of all that is human, please, please, please do not overdo the potatoes. Case in point? There's a restaurant in Seattle that serves corned beef and hash with a side of hash browns. That is, officially, too many potatoes.

And let's talk Corned Beef and Hash for a minute. Take a look at the picture above. Below the poached eggs is an order of corned beef hash. But it would be difficult to discern that without me having to point that out. Why? Because the restaurant where this picture was taken used a ratio of 9 parts potato to 1 part corned beef. In essence, it was an order of potatoes with a whisper of corned beef. It is NOT corned beef hash.

Depending upon the taste of the cook, as well as the type of potatoes used, the ratio of meat to potato will and should vary. But there is a point of no return, one where the customer will realize that if they wanted a plate full of potatoes, they damn well would have ordered one.

Seriously - a bad breakfast will ruin my day for a good hour or three. Corned beef hash is NOT difficult to make. A bad corned beef hash makes me want to scream.

I have a love affair with the egg.

Out of all of the ingredients in the world, not one captures my attention the way that the chicken egg does.

By itself it's quite remarkable, able to be boiled, fried, poached, scrambled, or baked. Each of these methods of preparations highlight something different. Yes, the albumen brings a slight tofu-like consistency. And the yolk? The yolk is a present on Christmas morning. It brings the flavor and the color. Without it, you have subtlety. With it, the world opens up.

It is the basis of my favorite meal of the day - breakfast. But it is at home for lunch and dinner. Carbonara, phad thai, and fried rice are all better when eggs are added.

The real magic of eggs comes when you look beyond the basics. Want to liven up your pastries? Brush a little egg wash on your crusts. Want to give your cake some flavor complexity? That's one of several reasons why eggs are added.

And let's not forget the magic that is the egg white. Meringues are a miracle of both science and texture. Whipped egg whites can make batters lighter and airier.

Yolks? Whipped yolks give themselves to everything from custards to mayonnaise to steak tartare.

It's easy to take the egg for granted. It is, after all, quite ubiquitous. But what this simple little piece of food brings to our world is something that is borderline miraculous.

Note: For great bits on the egg, read either Michael Ruhlman's take on the egg in his Elements of Cooking, or Harold McGee's in depth coverage in his On Food and Cooking.

I've been crankier than normal of late, so I've decided to take that negative energy and pass it on to you all. Never it let it be said that I am not a giver.

I tend to think a fair amount of the food world, and my place in it. I also read a fair amount of food blogs and magazines, and the conclusion I have reached is that there are some topics that others talk about that leave me scratching my head, wondering "How is this at all relevant to me or the food community at large?" Here are some of those items which you will read precious little of on this site.

• The World's Largest (fill in the blank with some sort of food item): It's not that I don't applaud the folks who typically look to get themselves in a record book of some sorts, it's just that it ceased to be appealing to me after the age of 13. It's novel, I agree. But trying to fit it into the larger context of the food world? I don't see how it's relevant.
• The World's most expensive (fill in the blank with some sort of food item): Most of these items tend to be nothing more than PR stunts, and unoriginal ones at that. And part of me believes that there's nothing more gaudy than sucking down a martini with diamond garnish or eating a sundae with gold flakes. It's wealth for the sake of wealth, and again, I don't see how it's relevant to the food world at large. Although it does speak volumes about the restaurants and promoters who pimp these menu items.
• Top Chef and other shows of their ilk: I know that I'm likely to be a minority in this opinion, but I feel that shows such as these feed the celebrity culture rather than our food culture. While the chefs featured all likely have skills in the kitchen in one form or another, it's just as likely that you or I can find a chef equal to their skill in our own city who don't feel the need to be on television. While I think it's great that some of these chefs see some success in the restaurant business, being put on T.V. doesn't mean that they are better than those who don't make it in the cast.
• PR Flacks: This one is a tough one. I know that there are decent PR folks out there. I've worked with several. But for every good one who is honest and trustworthy, there's a dozen more who are trying to tell you that Pizza Cones are the most revolutionary items to come on the market in the past one hundred years, or that Ice Water in a Box is a marketable idea whose time has come. If there's a hell, these folks are sure to have front row seats.
• Zagat-junkies: You know these folks - they're the ones who swear by Zagat/Chowhound/Newspaper Reviewers. They're the ones who go to restaurants that are highly rated by media outlets without exploring other, lesser known places. They go to these places, not actually to enjoy the food, but rather to either a) claim to be "in the know", or b) to be seen at the latest and greatest reviewed place. The flaw in their thinking is that if they're always going to the latest and greatest, then they'll never give the little guy the chance, nor will they ensure that the places that they've stated they loved before will be able to stick around when the next Zagat book or New York Times review comes out.
• Eating contests: Otherwise known as competitive eating, I'm still of the belief that these events are mere novelties. They speak more about the competitors (and their followers) than about the foods they consume. In my opinion, the Rock, Paper, Scissor League has more credibility.
• Trend Setters: Let me clarify this a bit. When I say "Trend Setters" what I mean to say is anyone who believes that they are the ultimate authority about what is in and out of fashion in the food world. Anyone who writes something along the lines of "Beets are in this year" or "Vanilla is the new Chocolate" is guilty of this. While I think that it's laudable that magazines and websites can give press to lesser known and lesser used products, I feel that there are some who feel as if the world would jump if they snapped their fingers. This, from my perspective, runs contrary to what makes the food world so great. There is a special joy when we, as individuals, discover something new on our own. Dictating taste is the opposite of that joy. And yes, I'm sure I've been guilty of this.

There. I feel a bit better. Now get the hell off of my lawn.

There are foods that seemingly met with the approval of all age brackets. Chocolate is a gimme, as is pizza. Rare is the person who would turn down fried chicken, or a nice dish of ice cream.

But there are some foods out there that we grow into. These are the foods that are typically shunned by adolescents and ignored by teenagers. But for some reason, these foods gain in popularity the older a population gets. For lack of a better phrase, let's call these "adult foods".

I'm not necessarily talking about foods that adults eat because it's the healthy choice to make. While foods high in fiber may be beneficial to adults, what I'm talking about here is the way a food tastes. A dish once thought to be abhorrent is now considered, not just palatable, but even pleasurable.

This makes sense, as how we taste does change with age. Everything from the nutrients we consume (or don't consume) to how well we take care of our teeth will affect our sense of taste. In the course of twenty, thirty, or even seventy years, all of these influences will have a cumulative effect upon our perceptions of food.

Additionally, the act of tasting can also be refined. As we get older, experience in tasting helps us pick out nuances in food both subtle and distinct. When we were younger, all chocolate could be considered good, but with age and experience we can learn what characteristics differentiate a good piece of chocolate from a bad one.

As I've grown older, the one food that has really leaped in my rankings of favorite foods is easily that of the oyster. When I was younger, oysters were slimy things, often bought from the tin, and often smoked. There was a novelty to them, to be sure, but mostly? Mostly they were ignored.

Now as I've aged (and have moved to a region of the country where oysters are plentiful), I find myself migrating to dishes that contain the mollusk, regardless of whether it's raw, cooked, or deep fried. It's getting to the point where I can tell differences between the different varieties.

But it's not just oysters. Other foods that I have once disdained I've recently rediscovered. The ultimate test, I suppose, if anyone could make liver an interesting treat.

So what has been your "adult food"? What food have you hated in the past, that you've recently grown a fondness for?

"I don't like Chinese food." My boyfriend declared this to me on about our second date. Fear gripped me. Growing up in Seattle, that was my comfort food. Well, that and pad thai from the local Thai restaurants. "Or noodles," he explained. I grew up in a household with two hard-working parents, where spaghetti with jarred sauce was served at least three times a week. And I had never gotten tired of spaghetti. "But surely you like some kind of noodles," I would argue over our early dating meals of sandwiches and fries with copious amounts of beer. In my head I would try to fathom how one lived without Chinese food or noodles. I got to day one--you could eat a sandwich for lunch and maybe potatoes for dinner--and then I stalled. Noodles were, in all their various forms, such a staple in my life. Especially when they came in the form of Chinese hand shaven noodles.

Yet, I continued to date him, for reasons unrelated to his distaste for my favorite foods, until one day the subject of Chinese food arose again, amidst an amplified discussion of where to eat dinner. "You don't like Chinese food? Probably because you never even had Chinese food," I ranted, and then accusatorially, "you're from Indiana, what kind of Chinese food do they even have in Indiana?" And the truth spilled out--his only experience with Chinese food was actually at a buffet restaurant in Des Moines, Washington at lunch with co-workers. Well, that was the last I needed to hear of it. I marched him right down to our local hand shaved noodle master and sat him down with a plate full of Jack's noodles. I watched him eat. I watched as the chopsticks returned, again and again to the plate without pause. The thick noodles, with their soft pull, mixed with crunchy cabbage, dressed together in a wonderfully light sauce. His eyes wouldn't meet mine, but his mouth kept meeting his meal.

There it was--enjoyment. Of both noodles and Chinese food. I breathed a little sigh of relief. I was no longer going to have to admit I had broken up with a guy I really liked because I couldn't believe that any sane person could dislike both noodles and Chinese food.