Like a pound of crispy bacon the book is deliciously satisfying. Gaffigan explores why we love food, what we love, and how much more of it can we stuff into our pie holes without falling into a coma. He covers the whole gamut of eating from breakfast, lunch, and dinner, to regional cuisine, fast food, fine dining, the intricacies of airport cuisines and, oh, that hated kale.
The
chapters are short and read more like an expanded collection of essays. If you
have ever listened to his comedy routine, some will be familiar. I didn’t find
the book less enjoyable for that as it contained plenty of new material and
some more background added to the old. For those who are familiar with
Gaffigan’s act, his standup includes a memorable bit on Hot Pockets that
launched him to comedy circuit stardom. My favorite observation is that Hot
Pockets always comes in a box of two; one to eat and regret and the other to
leave in the freezer until you move. As Gaffigan says, “I’ve never eaten a Hot
Pocket and then afterward thought, I’m
glad I ate that. In the book he offers not just more funny riffs on Hot
Pockets, but also explains how he developed the routine. He accepts its
popularity as a blessing and a curse, admitting if he were to keel over today
his obituary would, no doubt, describe him as the Hot Pockets’ comedian.
He
expounds on our quirky eating habits around the country with the Jim Gaffigan
Food Map. It’s not exactly Rand McNally, but it works. Regions are divided into
areas such as Seabugland (pretty much all of the East Coast), Eating BBQland
(Southeast/Parts of Midwest), Mexicanfoodland (Southwest to Texas), Coffeeland
(Pacific Northwest) and others. My favorite is New Orleans as Food Anxietyland.
Gaffigan admits to an angst that comes over him every time he steps into the
city. Where should he eat? What should he eat? The decisions are endless.
Should he go for French, Cajun, Creole, beignets? I feel your pain, bro. I,
too, have agonized between a po’boy and muffaletta and ended up getting both.
The
book is great fun and loaded with pictures of his wife and family. Frankly any
man with five kids deserves props for that alone. Despite his adventures in
junkfoodland the Gaffigan’s sound like a very healthy, loving bunch. I’d share
a meal with them anytime
*****
Excerpt
from Food: A Love Story
People
are nicer in the South. They are. Even when they are rude they are polite.
Maybe it’s the singsong of the southern drawl, but even a “Y’all can go to
hell” from a Southerner sounds friendly. “Well, thank you kindly. Y’all can go
to hell, too. An’ y’all come back now, y’hear?” People in the South are nicer,
but they are slower. I don’t mean they are slower intellectually, I mean they
just move slower.
FIREMAN:
You have to get out! Your house is on fire!
SOUTHERN
GUY: All right. All right. I’ll leave. But first I have to drink me some sweet
tea. Then I’ll deal with that pesky house fire.
I
think I’ve identified why people in the South behave in such a nonchalant
manner. It’s the biscuits and gravy. Everyone in the South seems to move like
they’ve just had two helpings of biscuits and gravy. They are moving like you
might after Thanksgiving dinner. You know when you are uncomfortably full but
pleasantly satisfied as you drag yourself over to the couch for a nap. That is
how everyone below the Mason-Dixon Line moves in everyday life. I really
believe it’s the biscuits and gravy. The feeling you have after eating biscuits
and gravy is identical to the feeling of chaining a bowling ball to your foot.
More amazingly, people in the South are eating biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Yes, breakfast. They aren’t coming home drunk late at night slurring, “I’ll eat anything.” They are waking up thinking, Time for cement!
*****
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