by Jim Gaffigan
ALSO BY JIM GAFFIGAN
Dad Is Fat
Copyright © 2014 by Jim Gaffigan
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crown Archetype,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group,
a division of Random House LLC,
a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
Crown Archetype and colophon is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gaffigan, Jim.
Food: a love story / Jim Gaffigan. — First edition.
pages cm
1. Gaffigan, Jim—Anecdotes. 2. Comedians—United States—Anecdotes. 3. Food—Anecdotes. I. Title.
PN2287.G28A3 2014
818′.602—dc23
2014022619
ISBN 978-0-8041-4041-6
eBook ISBN 978-0-8041-4042-3
Illustrations and maps by Ellen Byrne
All photographs are courtesy of the author excluding the photograph on this page by Richard Newell and the photographs on this page and this page by Corey Melton.
Jacket design by Michael Nagin
Jacket photography by Justin Metz
v3.1
DEDICATION & ACKNOWLEDGMENT
If you read Dad Is Fat, you know that I do everything with the help of my wife, Jeannie. She is my writing partner, eating buddy, and best friend. I would not be an author, father, successful comedian, or the man I am today without Jeannie. She was by my side while I struggled through writing this book, and she helped turn my incoherent blurbs into something readable and much funnier. This book would not be a book without Jeannie. Jeannie believed in me even before people were yelling “Hot Pocket” at the airport. She was the first person I convinced shellfish were bugs and bacon was candy. Making Jeannie laugh remains one of my greatest accomplishments.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication & Acknowledgment
Why Food?
Curriculum Vitae
An Eatie, Not a Foodie
Why Dad Is Fat
Not Slim Jim
Proud American
The Buffet Rule
Cup of Gravy
The Geography of American Food
Seabugland
Eating BBQland
Super Bowl Sunday Foodland
Mexican Foodland
Wineland
Coffeeland
Food Anxietyland
At Least I Don’t Eat Blubber
Nobody Really Likes Fruit
Even Fewer People Like Vegetables
Salad Days
Whole Foods Nation
More Watery Water
Something’s Fishy
Animal Eater
Steak: The Manly Meat
Kobe Beef: The Decadent Meat
Not the City in Italy
Bacon: The Candy of Meat
Pastrami Playdate
Corned Beef: There’s Something About Reuben
Hot Dogs and Sausages: The Missing Links
Gyro: The “Last Call” Meat
The Cheeseburger: America’s Sweetheart
French Fries: My Fair Potato
Top Microwave Chef
Museum of Food
Hot Pockets: A Blessing and a Curse
He’s Here!
Say Cheese
Crackers: The Adult Junk Food
The Royal Treatment
Non-Royal Treatment
International Relations
My Longtime Companion
Looking For Mr. Goodburger
Comida Rapida
I Need a Hero
Chicken Dance
Pizza: That’s Amore
The People’s Court
Ketchup: King of the Condiments
Just Desserts
Ice Cream: Forever Young
Let Them Eat Cake
Airports: My Home Away from Home
Breakfast: A Reason to Get Out of Bed
The Bagel: My Everything
Doughnuts: The Circle of Life
House of Carbs
The Celebration of Food
Family Dinner
Last Supper
The Final Meal
Additional Acknowledgments
About the Author
WHY FOOD?
As many of you know, I am a comedian who, with the immeasurable assistance of my wife, Jeannie, wrote a book called Dad Is Fat, which chronicled my life as the father of five young children in a two-bedroom apartment in New York City. The book enjoyed some success and changed how people raise their children! Well, okay, fine, the book enjoyed some success.
Here’s me and my basketball team.
Anyway, I was approached about the possibility of writing another book. I thought long and hard. I knew if I did a second book, I wanted it to be as good or even better than Dad Is Fat. (I know, impossible, right?) I didn’t want only to be known as the really good-looking guy who wrote one terrific book. So, like a good author, I spent some time reflecting while I rewatched all six seasons of Lost on Netflix. I then thought about who I am and what I know. Then I had a breakthrough. In the comedy world, what was I known for? What was my comedy associated with? Obviously I’m known for and associated with … you guessed it … being good-looking. But what else did my comedy say about me? Boom. I was a good-looking comedian who talked about food. This, of course, led to a brilliant idea. What if I wrote a book that was edible? I pitched it to my publishers, who were so trapped in the old publishing model that they got caught up in how bookstores don’t have refrigerators, how to deal with digital delivery, and a bunch of other book-nerd stuff. Whatever! It was at that point that I decided to do the next logical thing. I ate a ham sandwich. Then I decided to write a book about food.
CURRICULUM VITAE
What are my qualifications to write this book? None, really. So why should you read it? Here’s why: I’m a little fat. Okay, to some I might not be considered that fat, but the point is, I’m not thin. If a thin guy were to write about a love of food and eating, I’d highly recommend that you do not read his book. I’m not talking about someone who is merely in good shape. I’m talking thin. Skinny. I wouldn’t trust them skinnies with food advice. First of all, how do you know they really feel passionately about food? Well, obviously they are not passionate enough to overdo it. That’s not very passionate. Anyway, I’m overweight.
I’ll admit it. I consciously try not to take food advice from thin people. I know this may not be fair, but when Mario Batali talks, I always think, Well, this is a guy who knows what he’s talking about. He actually has experience eating food. This is why some sportscasters wonder what’s going on in a player’s head during a tense moment in a game, but the sportscaster who was once a player knows what’s going on in a player’s head. When I talk about food, I like to think I’m like one of those sportscasters who used to play professionally. I’m like the Ray Lewis or Terry Bradshaw of eating. I’m like the Tony Siragusa of eating. Well, that’s a little redundant.
When a thin person announces, “Here’s a great taco place,” I kind of shut down a little. How do they know it’s so great? From smelling the tacos? If they only ate one taco, the taco could not have been that great. Or maybe it was great, but the thin person cared more about the calories than the taste: “I had to stop at one taco. I’m on a diet.” A taco that won’t force you to break your diet just can’t be that great. Fat people know the consequences of eating, but if the food is good enough, they just don’t care. Overweight people have chosen food over appearance. When a fat person talks about a great place to get a burger, I lean i
n. They know.
Speaking of thin people, another person it makes no sense to take advice from is the waiter. Why do fancy restaurants always hire thin, good-looking people to be the waiters? “I’ll have the hamburger, and I want someone who is at least an 8 to bring it over to me. Can I see some headshots?” Why would we care what the waiter looks like? Even if we did, why would we take the waiter’s advice? We don’t know him. He is a stranger. “Well, he works there.” Does that make him have similar taste in things you like? Does that make him honest? Not to sound paranoid, but the waitstaff does have a financial incentive for you to order something more expensive: “Well, I highly recommend the 16-ounce Kobe Beef with Lobster and the bottle of 1996 Dom Perignon.”
What restaurants really need is a fat-guy food expert. Many fine-dining establishments have a sommelier—a wine expert—to assist in wine selection, but if a restaurant really cares about food, they should have a “Fattelier.”
FATTELIER: Well, I’d get the chili cheese fries with the cheese on the side. You get more cheese that way.
ME: Thank you, Fattelier.
Although they can’t be thin, the food adviser can’t be too fat. If they are morbidly obese, then you can conclude that they will probably eat everything and anything and do not have discerning taste. This is not to say that they won’t have valuable views. I’d still trust an overly fat person over a skinny one any day. The best adviser would have a very specific body type: pudgy or just a little overweight. This makes it clear they have a somewhat unhealthy relationship with food, but not a clinical problem. They are eating beyond feeling full. Sure, I am describing my own body type, but that’s why I am qualified to write this book about food. What other credentials do you need, really? Stop being a snob. Read the book already.
AN EATIE, NOT A FOODIE
Now that I’ve convinced you to read this book, I should clarify something. I have strong opinions about food, but I am not a food expert or a “foodie.” I couldn’t name more than three celebrity chefs, and I’ve never posted on Yelp. I have five young children and work nightly as a stand-up comedian, so I rarely go out to dinner. What I have is a general and very personal knowledge of food. I know which food I enjoy. I know which food I hate. I know how food makes me feel. I realize that because of my food obsession, the fact that I am writing a book about food could mistakenly give some people the impression that I think of myself as a “foodie,” but I don’t. I think of myself as an “eatie.” I don’t have anything against foodies. I appreciate their love of food and I envy their knowledge and culinary escapades, but I’m generally satisfied with what I’ve been eating. Foodies seem to be on a never-ending search for new restaurants and interesting dishes. I don’t have an insatiable desire to discover what makes something taste good or to find exotic combinations. I guess I’m not that bored. This is not to say that I don’t appreciate today’s chefs trying to expand the horizons of the culinary arts. I just don’t need a Japanese taco or cranberry sauce on my steak. There is plenty of regular food I still want to enjoy. I wish it were more complicated than that, but it’s not.
Me doing my thing.
I am also way too lazy to be a foodie. Foodies will travel for miles in search of the perfect hamburger. “There is this place in Greenpoint that’s only an hour by train and a forty-minute walk from the subway that has the best burger in town!” It can’t be better than the burger I can get across the street. Mostly, I just want the closest best burger in town.
The reason I know about so many great places to eat all over the country is not because I traveled to those cities and towns to seek out those restaurants. It’s because I was in those cities and towns to perform stand-up comedy. All I have to do is ask a food-loving follower on Twitter where to eat in that particular city, and bam! Shortly thereafter I am cramming my face full of the best food in town. Yes, I’m lazy, but I’m resourceful.
I travel a lot and I like to eat. Besides asking my followers on Twitter or approaching strangers in cities I visit about where I should eat, I do no research. Most cities have at least one food place that locals recommend with pride. “Well, while you are here you have to eat at this place.” Unfortunately, this is not the case everywhere. Once I was in Rapid City, South Dakota, and asked a cab driver for a local restaurant that was unique to Rapid City. He replied in a very matter-of-fact manner, “There’s nothing. You should go to Outback Steakhouse.” Nothing? I didn’t believe him. So I pressed on. “Well, where did you go before chain places like Outback Steakhouse were here?” “Nowhere,” he replied. Is it possible the fine people of Rapid City did not eat outside their homes prior to the arrival of chain restaurants? Of course not. Well, hopefully not. I don’t know. I didn’t do the research. I asked another two people in Rapid City, and nobody had suggestions. Therefore, in this book there is no reference to some local Rapid City food specialty. This isn’t meant as a slam on Rapid City. This is a commentary on my research method or lack of a research method. If your favorite local food place isn’t referenced in this fine book, it’s because I didn’t go to your town or the local stranger I asked didn’t suggest it or someone didn’t mention it on Twitter. It is also possible that I’m too dumb and lazy to remember the place. After all, I’m an eatie, not a foodie.
WHY DAD IS FAT
I can’t stop eating. I can’t. I haven’t been hungry in twelve years. Once a writer at Entertainment Weekly described me as a human garbage can, which I think he meant as a compliment. Last night I had the following train of thought: Ugh, I’m so full. I guess I’ll have some cheese. Hmm, I don’t even like this cheese. I guess I’ll finish it. I know it’s not right. On more than one occasion while eating something, I’ve thought to myself, Maybe this will make me hungry. It’s either that or feel my feelings. Jeannie likes to point out, “You know you are only eating your feelings.” I always respond, “Yeah, but these feelings are delicious. Especially the ones at night. I wish I had more feelings.” Have you ever eaten so much that you feel sick? Well, I love that feeling.
I treat my body like a temple. A temple of doom, but a temple nonetheless. I often find myself thinking about what I will eat at my next meal while I’m in the middle of eating a meal. I always eat like I’m on vacation or about to begin a period of fasting. I’ve eaten things and not noticed that they tasted horrible until I was taking the last bite. Afterward, that horrible taste only leads me to want to eat something else to cleanse my palate. I’m a stand-up comedian, and I’ve contemplated ways that I can incorporate eating while onstage into my stand-up routine. If other comics bring a beer up with them, why can’t I bring up a cheeseburger? Comedians with a drink onstage usually wait for an applause break and then take a sip. I could do that. “I support the troops!” Crowd applauds. I take a bite of my Baconator.
Always conducting research.
When I don’t want to eat something, I assume I’m sick and most likely dying. I try to stick to three meals a day and then an additional three at night. The only time I stop eating is when I’m sleeping. I’m not really comfortable watching television while not eating—it’s just too weird. I don’t know what to do with my hands. As a result of all this behavior, I’m always full. When the instructions on medication say, “Never take on an empty stomach,” I think, Not a concern of mine. I’m sure your mother told you to not go swimming until an hour after eating. This is a virtual impossibility for me. Technically, I should never go swimming. Thank God this hour rule is not actually against the law, because if you ever saw me in a pool you would think, Arrest that man and ask him not to wear a Speedo. And, in this hypothetical scenario, if I went to prison because I ate too soon before swimming and I wanted to protest the injustice of my sentence, a hunger strike would not be an option. I’d cave after fifteen minutes. Yes, not having food for a short time compromises my principles. If I went to a shaman for help with this problem, he would never tell me what my spirit animal was for fear I would eat it. My wife thinks I’m eating myself to death, and if I am, i
t’s taking longer than I thought.
I like to have my name baked into my food.
NOT SLIM JIM
As a result of my constant eating, I’m not thin. Sure, my beard probably hides none of it, but at least I know why I’m not thin. When most people gain weight, they rarely admit that it is due to the food they constantly shove into their mouths. We blame external forces. “Well, work has been stressful.” “That was a brutal winter.” “I have young kids, which makes you more hungry, right?”
I’m not in denial. I realize I could lose half an ounce or two of weight. I take full responsibility for the reality I’ve created, even if at times I feel like I’ll never lose this baby weight. That’s the price of being a father.
The truth is that it was I alone who caused my weight gain. Luckily for me, most of my girth is intentional. I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I’m preparing for a very big role. Sure, it’s a cinnamon roll, but I don’t want to look like I can’t finish it. Or spell it. Some people lie about their age. I lie about my weight. Sometimes I catch myself telling total strangers that my belly is not real. That I actually had to get stomach implants to ward off female suitors. This strategy generally fails, because I’ve caught women staring at my gut. I usually point to my eyes and say in a very condescending tone, “Hello, I’m up here.” After all, I’m not some piece of flab for anyone to ogle.
Once, after a show, a woman told me, “You’re not that fat.” Like it was a compliment. I held myself back from answering her, “You’re not that polite.” I’m not sure how overweight I am, because you are supposed to find out this information by calculating your BMI. Once I found out that did not stand for “Big Mac Included,” I stopped trying.
There was a time when I was thin. Sure, I was six years old, but I’m confident I can get back into those clothes. Actually, around the age of seven it became very obvious that I had the body type of someone who would have to work out twice a day just to look out of shape. I struggled through my twenties and thirties, and then one day I looked in the mirror, saw my belly, and said, “I give up. It’s all over.” It wasn’t defeat as much as it was acceptance. I figured, I got a hot wife. If she leaves me for getting fat, that means she’s shallow. “Honey, do you think looks are important? No? Good. Now pass the gravy.”
