I can’t adequately express how happy I was to have the food show moved down to where the money and dolts are this year. My feet thank the organizers, and my gut is even more grateful, because I am one of those 25+-year veterans who knows the only way to tackle those miles of aisles is to plunge in, start tasting and just keep a list of what went down the gullet (and, more important, what could not be swallowed without spitting up). There are no trend stories with credibility to be nailed. It’s a trade show, one that attracts the scary side of America, the rolling thunder thighs in their mobility carts (painfully, I know from wheelchairs — what you see at the show are different; they’re what you need when you’re too grotesque to walk). I always go partly to see people in the business I like, but also for what I disguise as “research reasons.” You never know what you might turn up as you indulge in once-a-year borderline-bulimia. But even from afar, I remained convinced of one thing: If you have time to Tweet on that gorge march, you’re doing it wrong.