Part One: Lifeblood

ACT I: THE 814 & 412

 

Forget fancy footwork, my childhood revolved around fiery Frank's RedHot and dreams bigger than central Pennsylvania's apple orchards. Here, in the land of 814, buffalo wings were royalty, the undisputed post-game victory treat. Each bite was an explosion: tangy vinegar cutting through richness, followed by a slow-burning heat embraced by buttery warmth. Food was merely a transport system for that delicious fire.

​

Our small town wasn't much on paper, but creativity could unlock endless adventures. While the world buzzed with possibilities, ours was a world of simple gatherings and maple syrup, our liquid gold.

​

The closest brush with big-city life came through the 412 area code. Pittsburgh's energy and the electrifying "Let's Go Pens!" chants were a different world, yet strangely familiar. Let me give you a taste: Imagine the smoky aroma of grilled kielbasa mingling with the tang of sauerkraut. You take a bite, but something's missing. Then, a dollop of fiery sriracha adds a vibrant kick, mirroring the spirited but not-too-wild soul of a Pittsburgher.

​

But the call of adventure roared louder than any final whistle. I craved more than glimpses of what lay beyond. And every visit to that special city, our go-to for any occasion, fueled that yearning.

​

​

ACT II: THE 912

 

University snuck up on me. Craving sunshine instead of the north east I ventured south to the sun-drenched streets of Savannah (for all you geographically challenged folks that's the 912). The cobblestones became my design playground, but food remained my true love affair, simmering just beneath the surface.

​

Savannah's culinary scene was a whirlwind romance with international flavors. Mexican sunshine danced with Lowcountry spices in innovative tacos that were brighter than my future. Sure, I had my share of questionable kitchen concoctions that wouldn't win any Michelin stars (think crushed-up Cheese-Its, Frank's, and tongs), but in Savannah, food was an adventure more than just flavor. Cozy with friends, dusty spice shops whispering their secrets, and hidden culinary gems tucked around every corner – each bite was a memory waiting to be captured, a flavor explosion just waiting to happen. And guess what? That's where my first sauces were imagined!

 

Inspired by the city's vibrant spirit and those unexpected flavor combos. I started bottling up random recipes that made my taste buds dance. Every jar was a story waiting to be shared. So yeah, blame it on Savannah if you get addicted to my sauces, hard-to-resist Southern charm.

​

​

ACT III: THE 570

​

My heart was set on a move to Chicago, but the pandemic had other plans, throwing me a curveball. Back to Pennsylvania, I wandered (570 this time). After some time a warning came that the house I was living in would be turned into company offices by my boss/landlord/friend. Suddenly, where and how I lived became a choose-your-own-adventure. Except the "adventure" part mostly involved housing prices spiking like habaneros, leaving my future looking about as appetizing as a hotdog.

​

This corner of Pennsylvania, though quaint, swaps the big city buzz with true quietness. But here's the twist: the air itself carried a unique flavor - the fragrance of fresh farm stands and Amish sweet treats. It wasn't just "apple pie all year long" here; flavors danced with the seasons, each bite a delicious reminder of nature's cycle. And trust me, when "your season" rolled around, the taste bud party was real.

​

Amidst the housing scramble, my brother's voice echoed constantly: "You should live in a van!" Inspired by our favorite motivational speaker, I decided to embrace minimalism and christened my humble Sprinter van "Stevie." Stevie became my training ground, teaching me the art of living small and dreaming big. It also witnessed the start of some saucy adventure

. I decked Stevie out with FDA-approved sauce-making gear, transforming him into a battle chariot ready to conquer farmers' markets and tantalize taste buds with some flavorful stories I was cooking up.

​

ACT IV: THE 603

​

Stevie became my ambassador of taste, parked amidst bustling farmers' markets like a beacon of fiery color in a sea of leafy greens. Each of my creations, a memory bottled in liquid sunshine, danced on people's tongues like a symphony of forgotten flavors. But the entrepreneurial life wasn't my only adventure.

​

Enter my uncle, the Indiana Jones of hiking trails, with a map leading to an unknown part of the northeast wilderness. Weekends were spent conquering New England's peaks, each summit marked by epic recovery sessions in the 603 fueled by Littleton's own Schilling Beer Co. The aroma, so rich, could resurrect the dead (or at least, very sore knees). And across the river, oh, the cheese curds! Each bite, a cheesy explosion of joy, etched themselves onto my memory like cheap tattoos.

​

These adventures, woven into the fabric of my being, became the fuel for future sauce creations. Maybe it was the post-hike starvation, but Littleton's magic lay in its marriage of savory meats and potent ranch, a flavor combination that transcended the earthly plane. It piggybacked on the sweet-savory dance I craved, quenching all my taste buds desires in a single bite. 

​

​

ACT V

​

This, my friend, is just the first chapter in the ongoing saga of East Coast Sauces. Each creation became a passport to a different journey, a testament to the spirit of the places I'd called home. From farmers' market vibrancy to cheese curd euphoria, Stevie and I were on a mission to capture the essence of every adventure, one delicious drop at a time. From Bar Harbor to Miami, each place has whispered sweet sweet magic in my ear. And now, it's my turn to share them with you, you don't even know what's on its way. East Coast Sauces isn't just about heat; it's about capturing the essence of adventure through life along the best coast, the memories that linger on your tongue long after the last drop.

 

Along the way, I met this beautiful lady who showed me a world that was completely foreign and sparked a passion in me to try to do some good with her against human trafficking. So grab a bottle, take a bite, and let your taste buds embark on their own journey. Remember, with an East Coast sauce in your hand, you can conquer any bland bite. Cheers to sharing a few stories and doing some good!

​

​

​

Part Two: Coolness Personified

TBD