The Weekly's New Food Critic Arrives After a Thousand Miles Without Bacon

One thousand three hundred and seventy three miles, six states, three day's driving, five pounds of beef jerky consumed, two tires blown (in Utah, on a Sunday no less, so thank Jesus and the gods of interstate travel for the guys at Paco's Rim World who set me right NASCAR-style in about three minutes flat), one burned-out clutch (much love to Jason and the guys at CV Autoworks in Ellensburg for getting me back on the road) and more days than I care to count without my recommended daily allowance of cold beer, green tea, breakfast burritos, bacon cheeseburgers and whiskey neat. That's what it took to get me from my nice, comfy digs in Denver, Colorado to my lovely new office overlooking Western Avenue, right here in Seattle. And you know what?

I couldn't be happier.

Moving should be a chore. It should be an adventure. Even though it isn't covered-wagon-days anymore, going cross-country ought never be a simple thing, because if it was, no one would ever get to feel the sweet sense of accomplishment that comes from closing a new door behind them for the first time, slumping against it, huffing out a long breath and saying, "Well goddamn, it looks like I made it."

I can feel all the miles behind me, and still sense the tug of gravity and comforting latitudes that I left behind. Denver was a great town for a food writer to play in, no doubt. But Seattle is my new home now--every gray, damp, unfamiliar, drink-sodden and food-stuffed inch of it. And since you'll likely be seeing my byline a bit in the upcoming days, I figured it only proper to briefly introduce myself. I'm Jason Sheehan, your new restaurant critic, food writer, culinary point-man and food service hooligan. And I am really glad to finally be here.

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