Since I signed some officially-looking papers today, I guess it’s time to divulge my cool news.

As of this week I’m going to be writing for the Gut Check blog at the Riverfront Times.

Pause while I squeal, which I’ve been doing a lot since I got the news a week ago.

I’m excited to be back to food writing. Excited to be writing for a publication with a sizable circulation, because I do have a writer’s ego that needs coddling. Even more excited that they’re letting me write about two of my favorite things.

Favorite thing #1 – Dive bars. I’m convinced that Prettytown is the Dive Bar Capitol of America, and I love it. I love bars where I can get a Stag in a repurposed Ragu jar for $1. My mission: find more places like this around the St. Louis area, hang out in them, write about it.

Favorite thing #2 – Shitty old cookbooks. The obsession was born a decade ago when I discovered The Gallery of Regrettable Food, which I still think is The Funniest Stuff Ever Written. I mean, the disembodied head that lives in a yellow room and craves house-cake? For me, it don’t get funnier than that. So I started my own collection. I haven’t bought any since before Clara Jane’s birth, until two months ago, which put me in the mind to start making the horrible recipes and blogging about the experience. And yet, I’m lazy. I had lots of tiny things to make in that time. I don’t like setting up blogs. Thankfully, the good folks at the RFT liked the idea, so I’ll be doing my evil over there.

For my first post, I punished the RFT for giving me the opportunity to write for them.

Now’s the hard part: I really want to tell you about what I did today, but it’s intended for an entry for them. You have to wait, and I’m sorry. Not really. They pay me better than you do. I mean, I love you and all, but it’s 2009 and I have a company offering me money to write. I’ve gotta run with it.

I’ll still be here, of course, as I doubt they will pay me to whine about the state of my esophagus and tell poop stories.