Yup. that’s me. I never look right in pictures…Okay, so the super-new, super-cool 2010 Voracious Dining Guide and list of our almost-100-favorite-restaurants has only been on the street (both the actual street and the the virtual one) for a few hours now, but I’ve already started to get questions about it. Questions which I will answer right here, in something like the order in which I’ve received them.First, there was this one, waiting for me on my voicemail when I rolled out of bed at the crack of 9:30 this morning:You’ve only been in Seattle for three months. I don’t believe that you ate at all these restaurants. And if you did, you must be really fat.Well for starters, I am really fat. Like hugely fat. 300 pounds, easy. In addition, I’m just four-foot-two-inches tall, which more or less makes me completely round. And being short, fat and Irish, I go everywhere dressed in green knickers, buckle shoes and a derby hat like a proper leprechaun. Also, I’m black. And the way I managed to get to all those restaurants in so short a time? Like all leprechauns, I’m magic and can just flit around from place to place by wiggling my nose and dancing a drunken little jig. I am the magical black leprechaun and I can do anything!Seriously, you dolt? Of course I didn’t eat at all these restaurants. Which you would’ve known had you actually read what was on the page. This years conveniently alphabetized and glossy edition was a team project which brought together all members of the Seattle Weekly editorial staff to talk about the places that we love–where we go when we have friends in town, where we eat when we can’t get reservations at the restaurant of the moment, where we go to celebrate birthdays, paydays and successfully concluded bail hearings. This one convenient list contains (almost) everything we love about the city of Seattle, food-wise, and while I certainly got my picks in, I could never have done this myself. Nor would I have wanted to.The next question came in many forms, all basically boiling down to the same whining cry:Why isn’t my favorite restaurant on the list?Because your favorite restaurant sucks.On my way into the office, I got this one by phone:Why alphabetical? Why not list the restaurants by neighborhood or cuisine?Why not list them by price? Why not list them by zodiac sign or numerologically by address?Actually, the answer to this is simple. Because we had so many great restaurants this year, and because we had so many writers chipping in suggestions for their favorites, organizing them in any way other than alphabetically would’ve left us with 90-some restaurants in 90-some different categories. I mean, we could’ve gone by cuisine, but our pizza category? It would’ve been just two or three entries long. And then we would’ve had to follow it with Italian, break that down into high-end Italian and neighborhood Italian (both with just one or two entries each), add a separate category for fancy-pantsy New American restaurants where pizza is also served (like Mistral Kitchen)… You see where I’m going with this. To go by neighborhood would’ve left us with the same problem. In the end, alphabetizing the entries was the only reasonable way to go. Not only that, but going A to B to C also allows you, the reader, to maybe discover some far-flung place you’ve never heard of before which you would’ve missed if you’d been able to flip right to the section for your neighborhood and get all pissy about us not including your favorite place for waffles.Speaking of which, I then got this question from another friend who’d already picked up, dissected and devoured the entire pull-out section:So now I have this huge list. I’ve never even heard of half these places. I’m asking myself, “What city have I been living in?” What am I supposed to do now?Eat, baby. Go nuts. Run through the entire list, from All Purpose Pizza to Zippy’s. Or tack the thing up to a dart board and start throwin’.See, the best thing about this list is that it covers all the bases. We’re giving you the vitals on nearly a hundred restaurants (name, address, phone, neighborhood, etc.), then writing briefly about why we love it so, then telling you roughly what it’ll cost you to go and eat there yourself so you don’t get flim-flammed–expecting to eat some falafel, only to discover that you’ve been charged $50 for a bowl of deconstructed falafel foam.So what should you do with this list? Trust us, that’s what. We’ve done all the scouting and all the leg-work for you. Now all you have to do is eat.And, of course, if any of you out there have any further questions, complaints or congratulations, just post ’em right here. That’s what the comment button is for. I’ll do my best to field them as they come in.