As soon as I say these words, I realize I’ve discovered the point. The point is not about playing Food Tour Guide. It’s not about peppering Paul Olmo with questions. The point is being able to say I have no idea. Without apology. With confidence, even. The same confidence Brit’s dad would have before a marble slab of unlabeled cheeses. I have no idea, I realize, is a big part of who I am.
