Kiss me, I'm delicious!

The first and most important thing you should know if you are serious about good food is that QUALITY IS IMPORTANT.

The second thing is that you should OWN a copy of THE JOY OF COOKING and READ IT COVER TO COVER.
Here they are online:
http://www.thejoykitchen.com/
You can link to their book from here. The 1975 edition is the best one.

There are better collections of recipes and there are more comprehensive and advanced guides to technique, but this one book will give you a correct and solid starting point in a very user-friendly format. That's right! Fuck La Methode! America kicks ASS! Rombauer-Becker! WOOOOOOOOT!!!!!11!!1!!

I grew up in a house were the preferred method of cooking was boiling and the preferred ingredients came out of a can. Because eating is kind of necessary and food can be, you know, good, I became a big fan of cooking shows at an early age. Whenever I had something delicious I was bugging people for their recipes. By eight had produced my first culinary triumph; a simple egg and cheese souffle, thanks to Graham Kerr. (Boy, did I get in trouble for that one! 'You're wasting eggs!" said my mom. "MM! mm mmmm mm mm!" agreed my dad, chowing down.) I was the only kid I knew with a table of equivalent measures taped into the cover of her diary.

I've been lucky to have had pretty good chefs for partners. The only loser in this regard was the Dishrag, but at least he had the sense to stay the fuck out of my kitchen and eat what I threw at him.

Margaret taught me how to make awesome hippie- style commune food. We ate really, really well and spent practically nothing. Yes, we were vegetarians. Yes, we made our own yogurt. Yes, we ate brown rice and miso soup. I like that stuff. Quit buggin me.

The Ex was simply a damned good cook, if somewhat messy, and he came from a line of people who could take, notably, Cheez Whiz and stale bread, and make it elegant and tasty. I still make his Yorkshire pudding, beer battered fish, the Red Delicious apple slices with brie, and stir fry.

The Biker is a fantastic cook. He and I watch food shows the way other couples watch porn, only not naked.
OK fine; sometimes naked. Anyway, we take notes. We critique knife skills. We heart Tony Bourdain and we hate Rachel Ray. We long for the return of 'Daisy Cooks'. We discuss saute pans and the relative merits of riveted handles vs. welded. The truly cool thing is, we play off each others skills and interests and ideas, and together we've come up with menus and recipes that I would be proud to serve to anyone, Michelin starred chef, head of state, Ina Mae Gaskin, anyone. Cooking is usually a lone occupation, but somehow we are able to team up and produce things that blow us both away. And at 450lbs combined, we're a tough audience.

You never want to go shopping with us. We yell across the store and brandish whole body fryers in the air. 'Whaddya think, with a glace? OH MY GOD THESE POBLANOS ARE FUCKING GORGEOUS! Leeks? Do you see leeks? Go check the white onions! Ooo shit, deal with the little new haricots verts; they're like jewelery. Where's the produce manager?"
At this point the Biker fades into the background. Produce Muk strides forth with a glint in her eye.

Produce managers all over Washington State have learned to fear me. I WILL go right into the back and knock on the guy's window if I have to. I do not care. I used to fight with the guys in the Pike Street Market just to get the green pepper I wanted, and then pay them in food stamps. Hell yes. This is people's food! This is important stuff!

I was solely responsible for the reinvention of Lynden Costco's produce department. Oh yes! True fact! It started when I had to go tear the produce manager a new one for the disgusting state of his cukes (he blamed the supplier) and bullyragged him again until he stocked his asparagus properly (on end in fresh water, not stacked lying on their sides like cadavers in a morgue), harangued him about the sad condition of his Mexican selections ( "This is almost insulting! It's like some kind of subtle discrimination or something!" I insinuated darkly) pointed out the less-than-optimum condition of the floors, and told his assistant when it was time to turn the stock. "Dude," I said, "come on. There's shit flying around here. Turn the kiwis."

That man shaped his shit up.

I used to go out of my way to tell him what a great job he was doing. He started carrying organics! The produce was glorious! The cukes were no longer coated in lard!

And finally, his department won an award! I shook his hand!

Then the store closed down. But it had an award-winning produce department when it did.

On the other hand we have The Green Barn. They are as close to a gold standard as you're going to get in this life. Not only are the staff the most service oriented bunch of people I have ever met, you could not ask for a more perfect selection of produce. Glorious stuff. Locally produced, many organics, lots of Middle Eastern, Mexican and European staple specialties...I cannot say enough about these guys. The place is fantastic. When they were in a little open-fronted building I shopped there in the middle of winterwith the snow blowing in and did so gratefully. That's how good they are. I told everyone I knew about them. I even conducted my own guerrilla promotional campaign...I'd sidle up to people shopping for produce in chain supermarkets and say 'You know, right down the road here you can get the same thing, only better quality and locally produced, for a dollar less a pound. Yup. I NEVER shop for produce here." And you know what? They just expanded! Bought property, built a new building and put in a dairy section! OF COURSE I am singlehandedly responsible for their prosperity. This should go without saying.

Like I said, this is people's food. It's important.