Food: A Love Story (2 page)

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, it’s taking longer than I thought.

I like to have my name baked into my food.