Over the past 18 years, I’ve been lucky enough to eat my way through New Jersey and get paid for it. What I’ve learned is that, from High Point to Cape May, our state is a treasure trove of exceptional food finds. I developed a "think globally, shop locally" mantra almost from the beginning, because our diverse cultures led to so many good stories — and because it’s fun to discover the proverbial hole-in-the-wall with homemade food.

As a fourth-generation Newarker who grew up reading The Star-Ledger every morning, the idea of writing for the paper intrigued me back in 1996. So I pitched a column idea to the food editor at the time, she asked for a writing sample and must have liked it, because here we are 18 years later.

I never expected the loyalty and kindness of readers and the extraordinary people I would meet along the way. So, it is with true, bittersweet feelings I tell you today’s column is my last. My family and I are moving to Maryland, and searching for stories takes more time than I will have.

It’s not that I’ve run out of quirky food-finds to share with you — there’s so much happening that’s worth a column, it would take me a few more years just to catch up. Lucky for us, unique restaurants and markets still are opening all across the state, and many are courtesy of people from all around the world.

That’s fine with me. In a never-ending quest to sample every cuisine, I’ve dipped, picked, pinched and sipped things I’d rather not completely comprehend. I followed gestures in non-English-speaking enclaves, and I once even tried blowfish, admitting afterward that if it had killed me, at least I’d go out smiling.

In New Jersey, the food scene flows with changing neighborhoods. Once I wrote about an Italian butcher on Belleville Avenue in Bloomfield, and years later, I went to the same store, now serving Filipino food. The Iselin section of Woodbridge has so many Indian businesses, the neighborhood known as Little India has expanded into Edison, making naan the best thing since sliced white bread.

Whether it's sweet-and-sour or sriracha, we take it for granted we'll be able to find the ethnic foods of our ancestors on multiple menus, but it wasn't always so. For example, when Jimmy "Buff" Racioppi was at an Italian street festival in Newark in 1929, he got in line for a sausage and peppers sandwich. Tired of waiting, he counted the people in front of him and behind. If so many people are willing to wait for these little meals in a pizza roll, he thought he could open a restaurant doing the same thing. The Italian immigrant couldn't have imagined that almost a century later, Jimmy Buff's would be a household name.

Or, picture this: a team of white-aproned women mixing, pounding, rolling, cutting, filling, sealing, boiling and bagging more than 25,000 Korean dumplings per day — by hand. I've never seen anything like Best Dumplings in Englewood. It's precision without machinery.

I admit the subject of food makes me a little goofy. One year, I was writing about Stewart's Scottish Market in Kearny and it was Christmas week, inspiring this rhyme: "'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, all the creatures were feasting on roast beef and grouse."

After a trip to Ashley Turkey Farm in Flanders, I started thinking about the birds: "People say you're dumb, then try to butter you up. Children paint your portrait by tracing their hands on paper, and just when everyone else is gathering to enjoy Thanksgiving, you're the browned and fragrant guest of honor."

Or on waxing rhapsodic over my favorite cheap thrill, a wonderful WindMill hot dog in Long Branch: "It's not easy being a hot dog. Who likes being called a weenie?"

Still, it was always about the food. I've written about everything Jersey, including pork roll, of course. I had a blast making sausage using a 75-year-old grinder in Nutley and got to toss a pizza (sort of) at the legendary DeLorenzo's Tomato Pies in Trenton (now in Robbinsville). Some beloved places have closed, and others seem lost in time, like Church's Kitchen in Vauxhall. Fishermen and farmers have always been passions, so I deservedly plugged as many farms and seafood markets as possible to help sustain the unique character of our culture.

I've eaten Ethiopian food with my hands at Mesob in Montclair, picked peaches in a moving car (Tree Licious Orchards in Port Murray), learned to love monkfish liver at Kanji in Tinton Falls, rode Amtrak to see how food is prepared in dining cars, shucked scallops right off the boats at the fisherman's co-op in Point Pleasant, got "juiced" at Green Nectar in Millburn, and went to a lot of chocolate shops (If Adam and Eve had taken a bite of chocolate instead of that pesky apple, would things have turned out differently?).

At each stop, the people behind the food were fascinating. I met Carl Wolf, who created Alpine Lace cheese, the product that actually started the low-fat revolution. Food shopping with chefs David Burke and David Drake turned ordinary days at the grocery into lessons in haute cuisine. I've eaten junk and loved it at minor league stadiums, and I've driven to Paterson at 4 a.m. so I could taste pide bread right out of the ovens at Taskin Bakery. We delighted in the "other" Atlantic City, where pizza is still called pie.

Along with you, I celebrated the millennium and grieved on 9/11. You’ve "watched" my children grow up and we’ve shared holidays. You met my friends Sandy, Jan and Lenny, who found so many great places for me, and I joined remarkable readers for meals at their own food finds. You’ve put up with my endless alliterations ("topsy about tomatoes") and my silly side, "If Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean, can you imagine the dilemma of deciding what to make for dinner?"

And more than a few of you have asked how eating all this food affects me. Let's just say it was really good timing to find delicious diet food at Chow For Now in Fairfield a few weeks ago.

What a remarkable ride it has been. Thank you all for coming along.