Read Online Food: A Love Story by Jim Gaffigan - Free Book Online
Authors: Jim Gaffigan
Tags: Humour, Non-Fiction
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vocal. “We’re from New York, and we’re tough!” “We’re from Texas, and we like things big!” My home state is more like, “We’re from Indiana, and … we’re going to move.” After shows in some cities, audience members will express gratitude for the show, and then they will add in an apologetic thank-you for coming to their town. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way here. Can you take me with you?” Being from a small town in Indiana, I can relate to that feeling: “Sorry, there’s nothing cool here.” The one place I never encounter even a hint of low geographic self-esteem is Northern California. This is understandable, since NorCal is so beautiful, rich, and relaxed. It’s an abundant, good world in Northern California, and the residents know it. It’s not arrogance. It’s just grateful awareness. Everyone in Northern California seems to be healthy, financially stable, and drinking wine. Did I mentionthe wine? It’s flowing everywhere in Northern California. It is wine country, so it’s no surprise that fine wine in NorCal is as common as Budweiser in St. Louis. Wine is a key element of the culture, and it is overemphasized with gracious abandon. Bottles of wine are gifted to me at every show I do in Northern California. The outdoor stages are located in wineries so beautiful I feel like I am performing in a painting. Last year I even performed at a wine-themed music festival called Bottle Rock. Yes, “bottle” refers to a wine bottle, and, yes, I was given bottles of wine there too.
I enjoy wine, but I’m certainly not an expert. My knowledge pretty much ends at the difference between red and white. My ignorance is usually hidden from the world until I’m handed a wine list when I go out to dinner. Does anyone really know what they’re looking at when they look at a wine list? Because if you do, I think you’re probably an alcoholic. “Yeah, I had three of these for breakfast.” I pretend to read over the binder of eight thousand wines with an inquisitive look on my face, but I don’t know what I’m looking at. I can never remember the names of the wines I enjoyed in the past, because during those times I was, well, drinking wine.
Occasionally I’ll make the mistake of asking which wine the waiter would suggest. They always seem to point at one of the more expensive wines. “Well, this wine would complement your meal.” I always think to myself, Is there a box of wine you’d recommend? ’Cause that would complement my wallet. Wine intimidates me. At fancy restaurants all the names and types of wine seem infinite. It’s like no wine name can appear on more than one wine list. Every time I open one of those huge wine list books I try to identify one wine that I’ve seen before, but I just end up looking like an idiot. It’s exactly like that nightmare you have before finals in high school where youdon’t recognize anything on the test and it all looks like gibberish. When it comes to the fancy wine list, I am 100 percent white-trash hick.
There is an inherent formality with wine. It is absolutely necessary to drink wine out of a wineglass. Drinking wine out of anything else is kind of pathetic. “Hey, can you refill my Yahtzee shaker? Hit this sippy cup too, will ya? Danke. ” Wine formality reaches its apex when you are responsible for “tasting” a newly opened bottle of wine when you are out to dinner. A feeling of anxiety always comes over me. All confidence seems to evaporate as I take the sample sip. What does good wine taste like? What does bad wine taste like? I usually just look at the waiter and say, “Yeah, that’s wine, all right. Fill ’er up.”
COFFEELAND
It’s impossible to talk about coffee and not think about the Pacific Northwest. Seattle changed the way we drink coffee. Well, at least what we pay for coffee. Starbucks, Tully’s, Dutch Bros., and Seattle’s Best all come from the upper-left-handcorner of the map. While all have excellent
I enjoy wine, but I’m certainly not an expert. My knowledge pretty much ends at the difference between red and white. My ignorance is usually hidden from the world until I’m handed a wine list when I go out to dinner. Does anyone really know what they’re looking at when they look at a wine list? Because if you do, I think you’re probably an alcoholic. “Yeah, I had three of these for breakfast.” I pretend to read over the binder of eight thousand wines with an inquisitive look on my face, but I don’t know what I’m looking at. I can never remember the names of the wines I enjoyed in the past, because during those times I was, well, drinking wine.
Occasionally I’ll make the mistake of asking which wine the waiter would suggest. They always seem to point at one of the more expensive wines. “Well, this wine would complement your meal.” I always think to myself, Is there a box of wine you’d recommend? ’Cause that would complement my wallet. Wine intimidates me. At fancy restaurants all the names and types of wine seem infinite. It’s like no wine name can appear on more than one wine list. Every time I open one of those huge wine list books I try to identify one wine that I’ve seen before, but I just end up looking like an idiot. It’s exactly like that nightmare you have before finals in high school where youdon’t recognize anything on the test and it all looks like gibberish. When it comes to the fancy wine list, I am 100 percent white-trash hick.
There is an inherent formality with wine. It is absolutely necessary to drink wine out of a wineglass. Drinking wine out of anything else is kind of pathetic. “Hey, can you refill my Yahtzee shaker? Hit this sippy cup too, will ya? Danke. ” Wine formality reaches its apex when you are responsible for “tasting” a newly opened bottle of wine when you are out to dinner. A feeling of anxiety always comes over me. All confidence seems to evaporate as I take the sample sip. What does good wine taste like? What does bad wine taste like? I usually just look at the waiter and say, “Yeah, that’s wine, all right. Fill ’er up.”
COFFEELAND
It’s impossible to talk about coffee and not think about the Pacific Northwest. Seattle changed the way we drink coffee. Well, at least what we pay for coffee. Starbucks, Tully’s, Dutch Bros., and Seattle’s Best all come from the upper-left-handcorner of the map. While all have excellent
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