When I was a child, I found the making of food to be fascinating. My mom first let me enter the foray of cooking when I was probably around six or seven years of age. She let me crack and scramble my own eggs in a plastic bowl and then let me put it in the microwave. I remember watching as the eggs puffed up with great interest. That pretty much cemented my love of cooking and food in general (I have since moved to cooking my eggs stovetop). Now, one of my favorite activities to do outside my apartment is to try the new and trendy restaurants that are popping up over any of the cities I have lived in, now Los Angeles. The result is a wide-ranging pallet of tastes but also some populist scorn at what others believe to be a type of food snobbery.