Letter from the Editor

The first time I met a man I will call M, I was traveling across the country in a 1971 VW minibus with a girl who broke up with me after a week, and performing plays in people’s in people’s bedrooms, and he was going to cooking school. Sometimes it takes a really destructive love affair to realize this’s no way to spend your life. Writing code for hours and hours and hours and then? What do I get at the end of the day? A headache. We then proceeded to perform an anarchist musical in his living room.

That was years ago now, and he has since gone on to become a food hacker, his own term.