Baltimore. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning for absolutely nothing, happy with the epic fail that is their lives.” Sure, when we think of Baltimore, we think of Scranton-esque hellhole. But we at chicken and rice wanted to discover what lurked beneath its unpolished surface–what diamonds in the rough still glimmered in the colonial port. We found crabs.

They feed on their dead.  Nature’s roombas, the bottom-feeders consume the detritus of the ocean.  However, in one of the most beautiful violations of the garbage-in garbage-out paradigm, these crustaceans are delicious.  The crabcakes in Baltimore were unequivocally superior to any I had ever tasted.  The seasoning brought out the true flavor of the crab without overwhelming it, and a lightly fried exterior added to the texture of the dish.  The care and attention to detail in the presentation was truly surprising, and definitely added to the experience.

Friends, there are many things we can say about Baltimore. But I think the one we can all agree on it that the city knows its bottom-feeders. The state of Maryland gets a 8.5/10 for having the foresight to never clean up the city of Baltimore, where nature’s trash collectors and America’s trash have formed a symbiotic relationship which can only be described as delicious. Hats off, and a strong recommendation to visit the great city for lunch, and leave shortly after.  The aquarium is pretty cool too.

Few things motivate me to drive hundreds of miles into the wilderness. One is a lost puppy. The other–pancakes. But not just any pancakes–these pancakes were legend.  These pancakes had back story. These pancakes would make Joseph Campbell blush.

It began with the forging of the great pancakes. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of pancakes. And nine, nine pancakes were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else, desire pancakes. For within these pancakes was bound the strength and will to govern each pancake. But they were all of them deceived, for another pancake was made. In the land of Vermont, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master pancake, to control all others. And into this pancake, he poured his flour, his milk, and his will to dominate all life.

That was exactly what I was thinking of when I consumed these pancakes. Topped, injected, and gently massaged with Vermont syrup, these pancakes were truly delicious. Worth the trip? Doubtful. Unfortunately for the state of Vermont, the syrup gets no better the closer you get to it. Sure, it was good. But was it five-hours-of-driving good? Probably not. I’d settle for an Elven pancake rather than the one pancake to rule them all, and probably wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Pancake shapes would have also been appreciated. The State of Vermont gets a 5/10–points for effort but lacking originality, and probably not worth the gas money.

Friends, Cassis has inspired me. Yes, though his name may sound foreign, his ideals were true. They were American, and to not highlight the delicacies of the food itself would do injustice to the effect it inspires in its consumer.  Since the beginning of time, our need for sustenance has governed and dictated the course of human civilization.  Tribes would track migrating herds, cities were built to allow agriculture, even wars have been fought to emphasize what Thomas Malthus described as the one inexorable truth of governing philosophy: people must eat. In such a spirit do I begin a new chapter in chicken and rice, my life, and the history of mankind.

When George Mallory was asked why he strove to climb Mount Everest, he uttered, “Because it is there.” Four simple words, which symbolize the determination, the strength of resolve of humanity to reach beyond the accepted boundaries of understanding and possibility just to see if it can.  As such, I pose a similar challenge to myself. I will visit every state in the United States of America.  I will do so, and sample what each state considers to be its most delicious meal–the product of millenia of human struggle, of a delicious fusion of cultures of melting pot America.   I will savor the soul of its greatness, its reason for existence, and I will document my travels as they occur.  Why go to such lengths? Why indeed.