Technically, I am not a hoarder. The tangible cookbooks I do have rest comfortably on shelves or stacked in neat piles on tables, and the myriads of digital books are categorized specifically on my tablet. But the sheer volume of them, fellow food lover ... well, let's not split hairs here.
A little over a year and a half ago, I fell in love with the LA dining scene. I spent a whirlwind-ish five days hitting up as many hot spots and do not dare miss locations as I could fit in. Time, my stomach, and my pocket book eventually got the better of me, but not before I experienced some of the freshest, inventive, and exciting food of my lifetime.
Living in a rather secluded and arid neck of the woods, I can't think of anything more exciting than being gifted with fresh fish. Truthfully, it happens to me more often than is fair, compared to other folks in town, because my boss is a fisherman. There's never a shortage of striped bass from Lake Powell, but I also tend to receive fresh cod and halibut when he visits Alaska (usually once a year), fresh red snapper, shrimp and oysters when he visits the Big Boss down on the Gulf of Louisiana, and most recently, fresh brook trout from cold-water creeks in Southern Utah.
It pretty much goes without saying most people, generally, want to be "like everyone else." It makes them feel connected to those in their immediate sphere. It helps them feel they are part of a tribe. With some exception, this is especially true during the formative years of childhood - at least it was for me. And for someone who wanted to fit in so badly, I couldn't have pushed people further away with my need to belong.