I eat a lot. I don’t know any other way to articulate my love for food than those four honest, un-extraordinary words. Having lived in Buffalo all my life, I have cultivated a taste for just about anything. If you asked me about the best way to spend my hard-to-come-by cash, it would be on filling my belly with scrumptious treats.

I remember walking into Lagniappe’s on Allen Street for the first time. It was the second time I had ever had broiled crawfish. The first time I had it was in DC at a dockside fish market where it was served hot and steaming with a smattering of Cajun spices. Lagniappe’s made it even better. They broil it in a big pot together with corn on the cob and potatoes, and leave it to stew in beer and seasoning. As I tore it apart, sweating from the steam and spices, I fell so sweetly and tenderly in love with the place.

I’ve had some of the best food in my life here in Buffalo. Spicy beef tripe from Chang’s Chinese Garden, baked sweet onion and bacon buns from Bao, buttered ginger and cranberry scones with plum preserves and green tea butter from Tru-Teas…I have an elephant’s memory for great food. I won’t remember your name until I meet you for the sixth or seventh time, but if you’ve invited me over for a great meal or taken me out to eat somewhere delicious, I will be sure to remember your name and your mother’s name, too.

I have always attended Buffalo’s local eateries faithfully, for tasty, well-loved food, unique atmosphere, and interesting people. You find out interesting things about the food you’re eating when you come into close contact with the people involved with it. I found out where the apples in my omelet at Solid Grounds came from, that congee is commonly eaten for breakfast in China (I ordered it for dinner, anyway), and how to test for a good roast at Buffalo Bean and Leaf, all from chatting with owners and servers.

Some of the most interesting things I have eaten have come from local dining establishments, like the escargot maki at Kibarashi sushi, or even the fried fish cake stick at our very own Korean Express. Buffalo has got some of the most fascinating, diverse and innovative food for a city that is lauded almost entirely for its beef on weck and endless repertoire of hot sauce. There are chefs and restaurateurs that are seasoned purveyors of savory bites, and there are those who are budding with wild imaginations and a few of pots and pans. I would much rather bank my money on this lot than on the local McDonald’s franchise owner.

Just recently, I dined at Merge, a new restaurant owned by Sarah and Eliza Schneider. I was excited to go because of the prospect of an eatery trying something almost entirely new in this city, but I had something of a bad experience. The service was negligent, the food could have been better; my guest and I were there for about three hours. But the atmosphere was so warm and well put together, their community initiative was so strong and their ideas were fantastic, albeit rough around the edges. Despite the experience, I saw promise. Instead of leaving a shitty tip, I wrote a detailed comment card expressing my hope for their success and input for their improvement.

Call it cheesy, but I have an indelible faith in things like this. I admire the pursuit of something new and exciting as opposed to something that will make money. I eat local because I love my city, and I love food. Megan Janish’s story reflects what my stomach has known all along: local is simply just better. I have tasted better food, received (usually) better service, and have experienced more camaraderie with my fellow Buffalonians in the restaurant business. Because of the family feel that I get from most local restaurant, sometimes it just feels like coming home to dinner. You just can’t get that at big box chain eateries; it’s kind of like being invited over for dinner at a stranger’s house. You don’t really like the food, but you don’t really want to say anything about it, not because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but because you feel like it wouldn’t make a difference. You put that food away with an awkward haste and feel embarrassed when you dribble sauce on your napkin. Now, why would you want to put yourself through all of that shifty hassle? Pull up a chair at a local diner and tuck into delightful food. Dribble wherever you need to. It probably means you’re enjoying it.