Food: A Love Story

by Jim Gaffigan

  Other Countries

  As a touring comedian I have the privilege of visiting other countries. Now, I enjoy other cultures as much as anyone, but what they are serving for breakfast I find baffling.

  Europeans are all proud of their muesli, which I’m pretty sure is what we here in the USA feed our cattle. In some European countries a tray of deli meat is sitting on the table at a breakfast buffet. Initially I thought the deli meat was there because a refrigerator broke or someone accidentally left it out from yesterday’s lunch. There’s no bread or condiments. Just a big tray of different varieties of sliced ham and salami. Eating slices of cured meat for breakfast sounds to me like something that would occur in a frat house while standing in front of an open refrigerator. Not an appealing image first thing in the morning.

  English Breakfast

  I was equally shocked and relieved when I discovered that Americans don’t have the unhealthiest breakfast. The English win the “Oddest and Unhealthiest Breakfast” award for the traditional English breakfast, which, for some reason, includes baked beans. That’s right, baked beans, with all their undesirable side effects, are consumed first thing in the morning in England. The other items in a traditional English breakfast include a fried egg, a fried piece of toast, a stewed tomato, a sausage link, and a strip of bacon, and a piece of fatty ham. Yes, the “traditional” English breakfast, for some reason, includes all the breakfast meats. This makes the Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast look like a bowl of cut fruit in comparison. I’ve heard that waking up and smoking a pack of cigarettes is better for you than a traditional English breakfast.

  Traditional English breakfast.

  Irish Breakfast

  The traditional Irish breakfast includes many of the traditional English breakfast items plus something called “black pudding,” which is most definitely not pudding. It never even was pudding or anything close to pudding, and that is extremely obvious upon first sight. Black pudding appears to be a sliced, oversize, sausage-shaped thing with something that looks like seeds in it. Apparently the “black” in black pudding is a reference to blood, which I always understood should be colored red, not black, unless it is the blood from a zombie or an otherwise undead creature. There is also a “white pudding,” which is also not a pudding or white or made from blood. Scientists worldwide are still trying to decipher the molecular composition of white pudding. Personally, I think it’s made from ghosts. The Irish might be unfairly associated with drinking too much, but whoever decided to call black pudding “black pudding” or white pudding “white pudding” was definitely drunk. “Let’s call that stuff pudding! Ha, ha. No, I’m not drunk. Okay, I had one drink … every two minutes for an hour. Ha, ha. Oh, it’s black. Call it ‘black pudding’! Ha, ha. The other one? Call it ‘white pudding.’ Can I pass out now?”

  Traditional Irish breakfast.

  Breakfast in Bed

  Breakfast in bed is a glorious fantasy for me, and not just because I’m a fan of lying down and eating bacon (which I believe is how people kill time in heaven). Breakfast in bed is such an amazing concept because it gives you the option of going right back to sleep when you are finished eating. “Well, it would be rude to eat and run, right? Wake me up when lunch is ready.” I’m always amazed there aren’t restaurants with beds instead of tables. “We’d like a bed for two … with a view of the TV if you have it.” I think the ultimate experience is lying in bed and watching TV while people bring me food on a tray. It’s too bad hospitals have that whole sickness-requirement thing. If it weren’t for that minor detail, I would check into the hospital mañana!

  “What are your symptoms?”

  “I’m hungry AND I could go for a nap, STAT!”

  You can’t turn down breakfast in bed. If you see someone walking into your bedroom with a tray of food in the morning, it is impossible to say, “Sorry, I just ate.” Although that is usually true for me.

  THE BAGEL: MY EVERYTHING

  I have loved living in New York City for the past twenty years. Everything happened here. I started stand-up comedy, met my wife, Jeannie, and became a father of a basketball team in New York City. The energy, the people, Broadway, Central Park, and even the subway still captivate me, but probably my favorite part of New York City is the bagel. I realize saying New York City has the best bagels is a bit of a cliché, but there is just something truly special about a New York City bagel. Maybe it’s the water, maybe it’s purely a psychological phenomenon, but bagels taste different in New York City.

  I wasn’t always a bagel snob. Back in Indiana I could go through a sleeve of frozen Lender’s Bagels before they were thawed. As a college student in Washington, DC, I worked in a café and discovered the masterpiece that is a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese and bacon. But it was in New York City that I received my bagel education. I gained a respect for the power and art of a New York City bagel. Bagels in New York City are more dense, more flavorful, and, when toasted, develop this crunchy outer crust that becomes its own entity. When you bite through that crunchy outer layer and experience the warm, chewy insides of a New York City bagel, you will become a believer too, and you will forsake all other bagels. Bagels outside of New York now just taste like stale round rolls with holes in them. They feel like the bootleg DVD of bagels.

  As a struggling new comedian in New York City, late at night I would often shuffle, defeated, into H&H Bagels on Second Avenue after a less than stellar show a block away at the Comic Strip comedy club. The scent of bagel perfection was like a comforting welcome from an old friend. I’d meekly ask, “What’s hot?” and then I would be handed happiness in the form of the freshest, hottest bagel in New York City. Eating the delicious bagel was like a reassuring hug telling me that even if the audience didn’t get me, the bagel did. The bagel knew how to make me happy. Bombing so often at the Comic Strip allowed me to drown my frustrations in freshly baked versions of every traditional variety of bagel. Sometimes I’d get butter or cream cheese on the almost-too-hot-to-hold bagel, but often I would just consume it au naturel. During those early years, H&H Bagels was a shield from the awkwardness of figuring out stand-up comedy. A safe haven where I could escape from the harsh rejection I felt at the club. A bagel even sort of looks like a shield. A delicious shield you can hold up in front of you with your finger in the hole, and nothing bad can happen. Holding my bagel shield, I was like the little Dutch boy saving the village of my ego from the flood of audience disinterest.

  I’ve never been the same. Now my daughters go to school on the Upper East Side, and going to Tal Bagels has become my reward for getting up early and transporting them to the other side of Manhattan while barely conscious. Now whenever I make it to the Upper East Side, which at that hour feels like I’ve traveled to another planet, I feel like I’ve earned a bagel. I heard someone talking on the phone describing a “delicious gluten-free New York City bagel,” and it made me angry. How dare you call that a New York City bagel? I know New York City bagels. Well, I’ve eaten a whole bunch of them, and there is no such thing as a delicious gluten-free bagel. I just shook my head, sneered at my wife, and walked away to get something to eat.

  Bagels are pretty much universally loved. Everyone has their bagel. Their bagel of choice. Mine is the “everything” bagel. The everything bagel is a toasted mixture of poppy seeds, sesame seeds, onion, garlic, and salt. I like all bagels, but an everything bagel is something more than special to me. I love my children, but I can’t articulate the depth of feelings I have for a toasted everything bagel with cream cheese. They say you can’t be everything to someone, but I think the everything bagel is my everything. If reincarnation is real, I’d like to come back as an everything bagel. Then I could guarantee that I’d be loved. I’ve recently decided that the next time I have to cry in an acting scene, I’m just going to imagine a world without New York City everything bagels. What a horrible world that would be.

  DOUGHNUTS: THE CIRCLE OF LIFE

  Cops love doughnuts. Ha, ha, ha
. Cops and doughnuts. They go together like, well, doughnuts and cops. I find this an interesting stereotype, because you know who else loves doughnuts? Absolutely everyone. “Yeah, we’ll get those cops back for having power by saying they love that thing everyone else loves.” Of course cops love doughnuts, because they know the difference between right and wrong. And not liking doughnuts is wrong. Have you ever met someone who doesn’t like doughnuts? Of course not, because those people are in jail. The cops probably caught them murdering puppies because they never knew the love of the doughnut. As ridiculous as the cop-doughnut cliché is, I will admit that I’m always excited when I see a police officer in a doughnut shop. I feel as though an angel has just gotten its wings. Maybe I’m just high from the smell of the doughnuts.

  Many mysteries surround doughnuts. I think it was Plato who struggled over the question “What is the difference between seeing a doughnut and wanting to eat a doughnut?” The answer is, of course, “One second.” We all know seeing a doughnut happens occasionally. Wanting a doughnut is a continuous desire. See, now even you want a doughnut. I had a doughnut recently. I was with my friend Tom and we were walking by a doughnut shop, and I asked him if he wanted to get a doughnut. He responded that he wasn’t hungry. Understandably I replied, “What does that have to do with it?” As if there has ever been a good reason to eat a doughnut. “My doctor says I need more powdered sugar in my diet. Well, another day on the doughnut cleanse.” Everyone knows doughnuts are bad for you. Whenever I eat a doughnut I always think to myself, Looks like I’ll never know what it’s like to be a grandpa. Of course I am aware that doughnuts are bad, horrible things to eat, and according to my health-nut wife, they are not appropriate for a trail mix. I’ve repeatedly tried to explain to Jeannie that I’m on a different trail. Mine leads to the emergency room. Trail mixes have nuts, and my favorite nut is most definitely a doughnut.

  There is no nutritional value in a doughnut. There may be the odd study that found somehow that chocolate and wine can help you live longer, but no one even contemplates doing a study about the doughnut. The doughnut is all about taste. In Los Angeles there is a doughnut shop chain named Yum-Yum Donuts. The name cuts right to the chase. I suppose you need an IQ of maybe two to understand the concept. “Yum, yum? Me like yum, yum!” I imagine their target audience is cavemen. “Me know yellow fireball rise in sky, and Yum-Yum Donut.”

  Dunkin’ Donuts

  You can’t really discuss doughnuts in the United States without bringing up the omnipresent Dunkin’ Donuts. Many cities have their own local doughnut shop or chain, but they usually always also have a Dunkin’ Donuts. In New England, Dunkin’ Donuts is not just a local favorite. It is engrained in the New England provincial identity. “Dunkie’s” is a favorite son. It seems like New Englanders view that doughnut shop like a relative or a childhood friend. “Dunkie’s is awesome. It’s wicked awesome!” They are so passionate and vocal at times, it makes me question whether Dunkin’ Donuts is making doughnuts or playing for the Red Sox.

  I like Dunkin’ Donuts, and judging from the fact that there is a Dunkin’ Donuts on every city block in most major cities of the United States, I am not alone. This is not to say that Dunkin’ Donuts shops are the most appealing destinations. I don’t think I’ve been to a Dunkin’ Donuts that didn’t have a homeless guy standing in front of it. It’s possibly part of the design plans. I picture the architect showing his model to a prospective franchisee. “There will be an entrance here with a deranged lunatic standing outside.” Maybe they find the lunatic first. “Hey, there’s a guy living in a cardboard box who is yelling about the end of the world. Why don’t we put a Dunkin’ Donuts there?” Either way, there’s always some character standing at the entrance of Dunkin’ Donuts serving as a freelance Ronald McDonald. “Welcome to Dunkin’ Donuts. Can you spare some change?”

  Dunkin’ Donuts may be the most successful doughnut chain, but all doughnut shops are generally an interesting concept. It’s almost as if Alcoholics Anonymous opened their own restaurant. “What should we have at our place? Coffee … doughnuts … maybe a little honesty! And definitely a place to smoke outside.” I’ve never really understood how Dunkin’ Donuts stays in business. Of course, they sell coffee, but even if they sell three thousand doughnuts in one day, what would they make, thirty bucks? Additionally, whenever I go into a Dunkin’ Donuts, it seems like they’re always trying to get rid of the doughnuts. Allow me to recount my recent visit to Dunkin’ Donuts:

  ME: I’ll have six doughnuts.

  DOUGHNUT LADY: That’ll be three dollars. But if you get a dozen, it’s a nickel.

  ME: A nickel more?

  DOUGHNUT LADY: No, just a nickel.

  I heard a rumor that if you get two dozen doughnuts, Dunkin’ Donuts gives you five bucks. Okay, fine. Maybe they aren’t paying us to eat them, but it does seem like Dunkin’ Donuts is trying to get us addicted to doughnuts.

  Whenever I buy a couple of doughnuts for the family—well, for me, really—the Dunkin’ Donuts lady always throws in some Munchkins for free. Munchkins are like the gateway doughnut. Like a classic drug dealer, Dunkin’ Donuts follows “the first time is always free” rule. At some point during my adult life, Dunkin’ Donuts absorbed the ice cream parlor Baskin-Robbins. Dunkin’ Donuts and Baskin-Robbins are a marriage made in obesity. I guess the marketing idea was that Dunkin’ Donuts could finally offer dessert.

  Krispy Kreme

  Over the past decade or two, doughnuts have witnessed a rebirth in popularity. When I was a kid, a doughnut seemed like this unattainable item that grown-ups would eat in offices and occasionally at gatherings after church. While that hasn’t changed at all, doughnuts do seem more popular. We all witnessed the Krispy Kreme wave as it overtook the nation and then suddenly disappeared. At first, Krispy Kremes were so popular that several years ago some friends of ours, Chris and Emily, gave out entire boxes of Krispy Kremes as the parting gift at their wedding. I ate the whole box on the way home. Biting into a Krispy Kreme is a unique experience. The doughnuts melt in your mouth so easily that for a short time I tried to convince Jeannie they were a liquid. “I’m thirsty. I think I’ll have a doughnut.” Then out of nowhere Krispy Kreme doughnut shops disappeared. Of course they didn’t completely disappear, but their presence diminished significantly. It is possible that a group of district attorneys threatened a class-action lawsuit.

  Portland

  Many American cities have great doughnut shops, but Portland, Oregon, seems to have a vibrant doughnut obsession. I don’t know if this has to do with its geographic proximity to coffee-obsessed Seattle or its—well, let’s just say—“late-night eating” culture. Whenever I announce that I’ll be performing in Portland, my Twitter feed is peppered with advice to go to Voodoo Doughnut. Often the comments are not suggestions but demands. “You have to go!” “If you don’t go, I’ll kill you.” The actual word voodoo means something like “mysterious forces or powers that govern the world and the lives of those who reside within it,” which is pretty much the same way I feel about the power of an actual doughnut. Voodoo Doughnut has a doughnut called “Captain My Captain” that has Cap’n Crunch cereal on top of a doughnut. I call it the “Mutiny of My Diet Doughnut.” At Voodoo, I always get the maple-bacon doughnut and then nap in the cab back to my hotel. Well, it’s more of a “passing out in a sugar coma” than a nap, but you get the idea. Not to play favorites in destroying my health, I must also add that Voodoo Doughnut is not the only doughnut shop that Portland is known for. There is also Coco Donuts. At Coco’s I always get a lavender doughnut so I can feel fat AND fresh.

  Tim Hortons

  I love Canada, and Canada loves Tim Hortons. I’m no Canada expert, but I know they like their hockey, poutine, and Tim Hortons. Tim Hortons is the Canadian version of Dunkin’ Donuts, or maybe Dunkin’ Donuts is the American version of Tim Hortons. Either way, I’m applying for dual citizenship.

  Gourmet Doughnut Shops

  Gourmet doughnuts. Yes,
gourmet doughnuts. I believe they are deep fried in gold. We can’t stop dressing up junk food. It started with the boutique cupcake shops. Now we have gourmet doughnuts. It’s an evolution. I can’t wait for the Sloppy Joseph. What will bored, rich people eat next?

  Specialty, or gourmet, doughnut shops now can be found in most major cities. I’m not sure how anything deep fried can be that “gourmet.” Gourmet doughnut shops are a perfect destination for those of us who want to waste money while we gain weight. I recently purchased a gourmet doughnut. At the time I didn’t realize I was buying a gourmet doughnut. I was in a doughnut shop. I suppose being in a doughnut shop never really leads to a healthy or smart purchase. You never hear, “I was in a doughnut shop and I found these great probiotics.” Anyway, there I was in a doughnut shop. I pointed at a square doughnut and told the doughnut guy, “I’ll have the square one.” As he started to ring it up on the cash register, he said, “That will be $3.99.” I politely said, “Oh, no, I only want one.” He then in a matter-of-fact manner informed me, “That is the price of one.” At that moment there was this long, awkward pause where the doughnut guy stared blankly at me and I waited for him to lean forward and say, “Just kidding.” But he didn’t. He just looked at me with a smug smile that said, “Got ya, tubby!” He knew I would pay for the doughnut because I was in a doughnut shop, and it’s not like I was there to buy a yoga mat. Like the great philosopher Plato, he knew the difference between seeing a doughnut and eating a doughnut is but one second.