Food: A Love Story Page 3

  GRAVY DRINKER: Honey, I’m going to Kmart.

  WIFE: Well, why don’t you have a cup of gravy?

  GRAVY DRINKER: Well, I guess I could …

  WIFE: And why don’t you sign this additional life insurance policy?

  GRAVY DRINKER: Boy, you love buying life insurance.

  THE GEOGRAPHY OF AMERICAN FOOD

  People look at a map of the United States and see different things. Some people see red states and blue states. Some see North and South. Some see East and West. I see food. I’m not saying the geographical areas of the United States actually look edible to me (not yet, anyway), although I once saw a potato chip shaped like Alaska. Unfortunately, I ate it before I could take a photo. Anyway, my point is, I travel a great deal as a stand-up comedian. I’ve performed in all fifty states and eaten my way through pretty much every major city. After my fourth or fifth lap of performing and eating across our beautiful and delicious country, I started to think of the geography of our country as it relates to food.

  My food geography of the United States, while unscientific, is very personal (and brilliant, in my personal opinion). My hope is that one day, schools, businesses, and prisons will have the Jim Gaffigan American Food Map hanging in their libraries and/or bathrooms. We all have our own unique dreams.

  I believe the United States is composed of five major food areas:

  • Seabugland (Northeast Coast)

  • Eating BBQland (Southeast/Parts of Midwest)

  • Super Bowl Sunday Foodland (Midwest/Parts of East)

  • Steakland (Texas to Upper West)

  • Mexican Foodland (Southwest to Texas)

  And smaller unique areas:

  • Wineland (Northern California)

  • Coffeeland (Pacific Northwest)

  Some of my geographic areas of food blur into other food geographic areas. The greatest example would be Texas, which is a convergence of Mexican Foodland, Eating BBQland, and Steakland. I’m not being generous here. It would be unfair to not put Texas in all three of these major food geographical areas. They just do things bigger in Texas. Louisiana and New Orleans in particular are unique to the food geography of the United States. It’s almost as if the Mississippi River flowed all its special food excellence down, and it drained into New Orleans. There are, of course, other exceptions to my regional distinctions, but first let’s explore these major areas on the Jim Gaffigan American Food Map.

  SEABUGLAND

  You will notice on my food geography map that I’ve identified the northeast coast of the United States as far south as Maryland as “Seabugland.” By seabugs I mean those so-called food items you call “shellfish.” On the surface, naming an entire section of the country after shellfish might appear like an oversimplification. After all, the Northeast boasts many other regional food specialties, and most coastal areas of the United States are littered with shellfish, and I emphasize the word littered. However, shellfish are an integral part of the northeastern identity. Whenever someone does a bad Boston accent, it’s either to say “wicked” or “lobstah.” Lobster is as much a part of the New England personality as is the hating of all things New York City. All along the northeast coast you find this obsession with things that live in shells. Coastal Connecticut, New York City, and Long Island have a long-standing love affair with oysters. Maryland is not Maryland without crab. I know, technically Maryland is “Mid-Atlantic,” but it must be included as part of the East Coast bug-loving culture. If you can catch something in a net and crack it open for food, those bug lovers will eat it.

  Shellfish are not for me. I’m from the Midwest, and outside of the occasional shrimp cocktail, I had limited exposure to shellfish—or any other kind of seafood, really. I’m still not sure I (or anyone, for that matter) would recognize a scallop in its natural form. Are those the things that stick to the side of the aquarium? Who knows? The French may refer to seafood as the “fruit of the sea,” and scientists may call shellfish “crustaceans,” but to me they are creepy-crawly giant insects on the bottom of the ocean. I have a rule that if food looks like something that would crawl out from under a refrigerator, I don’t put it in my mouth. If you like shellfish, do me a favor: next time you see a really big cockroach, just tell yourself, “If that could swim, I’d eat it.” I always imagine fish in the ocean swimming along, looking down at the ocean floor, seeing shellfish and thinking, We have to get an exterminator up in here. There is a reason why Red Lobster and exterminators have the same image on their signs. Shellfish are bugs. They have a shell like a bug. They have tons of spindly legs and crawl around like bugs (I have a four-leg maximum on things I’ll eat). They even have antennae like, well, like monsters, frankly. Shellfish are probably monsters. You don’t have to watch any sci-fi movie from the ’60s to understand my point. Consider the following: If you went home and saw a chicken in your house, you’d think, Why is there a chicken in my house? If you saw a lobster in your house, you’d think, We have to move. This is because there is not a nickel’s worth of difference between a lobster and a giant scorpion.

  New England: Lobster

  “Lobstah!” Finding lobster on the menu is fancy. It is rare and pricey. “Oooh, they have lobster.” Lobster is so special, restaurants go so far as to have tanks of live lobsters with rubber bands on the claws. The lobsters always seem to be peering out with a curious expression.

  LOBSTER: What are you doing here?

  PATRON: I’m going to eat you.

  LOBSTER: Ha, ha. Yeah, right. Hey, Harvey, this guy thinks he’s going to eat … Harvey? Where’s Harvey?

  In some lobster tank restaurants, diners can choose their own lobster. I always found this strange. “Um, I guess I’ll take that one that is really struggling with the rubber bands. He seems rather appealing. Why don’t we boil him to death?” I’m always perplexed why I’m involved in the decision process. I wanted to have dinner, not play executioner.

  All this ritual that I imagine makes PETA members squirm is supposedly justified, given everyone’s love of lobster. And people do love lobster. For many, it just doesn’t get better than lobster. “I love lobster!” I usually nod in agreement and say, “I like butter too.” Really, butter is what makes lobster so good. Each bite of lobster is usually submerged in a small bowl of paradise, also known as butter.

  GUY 1: How can I eat three sticks of butter?

  GUY 2: Well, I found this giant swimming sea scorpion. Maybe if we boil it to death …

  Drawing my inspiration from Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins, I think it really comes down to “a spoonful of butter helps the bug meat go down.” In, of course, “the most delightful way.”

  Even the experience of ordering lobster contributes to its mystique and popularity. Lobster is often listed on the menu as “Market Price,” which is code for “you can’t afford it.” The “market” always seems to be the most expensive market in the area. Lobster also is a unique food that requires its own wardrobe, the lobster bib, which indicates not only that consuming lobster is messy, but also that people don’t mind looking like a toddler while they do it. A nutcracker is conveniently provided to the lobster connoisseur so that those who dare seek it out may earn the bounty of the lobster meat in the claw. A lobster knife is used to expertly dissect the tail. The ultimate entrée in some steakhouses is often lobster tail served alongside a steak. Yes, somehow the tail of a giant scorpion that can survive in saltwater is the gold standard of accompaniment to a steak. I feel that in life these two animals would have been enemies, but there they are together on the plate in some kind of phony, glorious unity: cow and bug tail. I don’t even feel completely comfortable eating a chicken’s wing, and some people crave eating the tail of a lobster? “Is that the area near the lobster butt? That’s what I want, a little turf and bug butt. Mmm.”

  The World Is Your Oyster

  A century ago a visit to New York City involved a mandatory stop for oysters. It was like getting lobster in Maine or a house for five dollars in Detroit.
You had to do it. New York City was where you would see a Broadway show and eat a boatload of oysters. Oysters and clams piled up along every murky dock on the East Coast. Oysters were so abundant that Long Island even has a town called Oyster Bay. I imagine Oyster Bay one hundred years ago as a big hole filled with oysters with just a little bay in it. Now finding clams and oysters in their natural habitat is a rarity. What happened? You guessed it. We ate them all.

  Scientists have recently declared oysters to be functionally extinct. Apparently 85 percent of the world’s oyster ecosystems have been destroyed. Only 1 percent of the natural oyster population remains intact as a result of our voracious consumption. Oysters are now an expensive delicacy. I just don’t get it. I don’t even understand how mankind started eating oysters. I’m not saying there were tons of food options back in the 1700s … but oysters? Really? How hungry would you have to be to make that leap? Maybe two guys were having an unproductive day of fishing.

  MAN 1: Nothing biting over here.

  MAN 2: Nothing here either.

  MAN 1: I’m hungry.

  MAN 2: Me too. Hey, I found a rock with a snot in it. I was thinking of eating it.

  MAN 1: Um, okay. Go ahead.

  MAN 2: (slurps up the oyster)

  MAN 1: What does it taste like?

  MAN 2: Pneumonia.

  Often on the menu, oysters will be listed as “oysters on the half shell.” As opposed to what? “In a Kleenex?” Even the way you are supposed to eat an oyster indicates something counterintuitive. “Squeeze some lemon on it, a dab of hot sauce, throw the oyster down the back of your throat, take a shot of vodka, and try to forget you just ate snot from a rock.” That is not how you eat something. That is how you overdose on sleeping pills.

  It’s not just the East Coast that follows this weird and disgusting tradition. These rare and endangered oysters are found in many coastal areas across North America. It seems wherever there is a murky dock with brackish water, oysters and clams can grow or spawn from whatever creates them. There are East Coast and West Coast oysters. There are oysters from Prince Edward Island and the Puget Sound, and supposedly they all taste different. “Oh, this snot from a rock from this filthy dock area around San Francisco tastes more snotty than this snot from a rock from a filthy dock area on the Gulf Coast.” I’m not sure how the price of an oyster is determined. “Oh, this snot from a rock is from the filthiest dock in Nova Scotia! Let’s charge two hundred dollars for it.”

  I only ate the lemon.

  I understand I am in the minority in my view that oysters are only slightly less disgusting than their culinary cousin, the Rocky Mountain oyster. Some of the arguments in favor of oysters seem absurd: “Oysters are an aphrodisiac!” We know this is a scientific fallacy, but why would anyone ever believe such nonsense? I could just see some guy approaching a woman in a bar. “What do you say you and I get some snots from a rock and see what happens? Maybe we’ll end up at my place. Maybe we’ll end up at the emergency room. Let it happen, baby.” Aphrodisiac? It is more believable that after you eat an oyster you’re so happy to be alive you’ll sleep with anyone.

  Once I had a friend defensively point out to me, “Pearls come from oysters.” I never really understood his reasoning, but I explained I make a rule to not eat things that also make jewelry. Diamonds come from coal, but we aren’t dipping that into cocktail sauce. I would think that, given that pearls do come from oysters, we would NOT eat them. It seems like a prank played on some not-so-bright business partner.

  PEARL GUY: I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I take the rare jewel and you can have the snot from the rock.

  NON—PEARL GUY: Um, okay. What am I supposed to do with that?

  PEARL GUY: You can tell people it’s an aphrodisiac.

  NON—PEARL GUY: Deal.

  Maryland Is for Crabs

  Maryland is for crabs. Not for “crabby people,” although that would make the state more appealing to me, but for actual crabs. This slogan was initially a parody of neighboring Virginia’s state tourism slogan, “Virginia is for lovers,” but it pretty much sums up Maryland’s attitude toward crabs. Those Marylanders just love them some crab. Maryland is for crabs. And by for, I mean rooting for. The University of Maryland’s team may be called the Terrapins, the state’s football and baseball teams might be respectively named the Ravens and the Orioles, but I think the people of Maryland would have preferred it if all the teams were simply named “the Crabs.” You just enter the state of Maryland, and the incessant crab sell commences. “You should get some crab! Are you going to have steamed crab? Why don’t you get a crab cake?” I usually politely ask if I can just pay my toll. There is a fascination with the crab that goes way beyond the fact that it is an important industry and export for Maryland. Once Jeannie and I were out to dinner at a crab restaurant on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and a stranger, not even a waiter, approached our table and addressed me directly: “I couldn’t help but notice you aren’t eating crab. Is there a reason?” I didn’t know how to respond. After a moment of stunned disbelief, I just was honest. “I thought I’d order what I want.” I didn’t have the courage to tell the guy I wasn’t really in the mood for bug meat.

  I feel the same way, Patrick.

  The crab is embedded deeply in Maryland culture. It is common knowledge that every Maryland vacation home must have an image of a crab in every room. Images of crabs even appear in kitchens on potholders, towels, and bowls, where one would think any logical person would never want to see the image of a bug. “Ooh! There’s a bug at the bottom of my soup!” I do not exaggerate. I have seen this crab obsession firsthand. Every summer I attend a weeklong family reunion hosted by my amazingly generous Aunt Katie on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The climax of the reunion is a gathering at my aunt’s house, where picnic tables are covered with newspaper. Wooden mallets and sharp knives are arranged neatly in empty wooden bowls, and a crate of steamed crabs is placed like a treasure chest as the centerpiece of the table. There are even oyster crackers shaped like crabs. The irony! Over the course of hours, relatives sit down to experience the ritual of eating crab. From a distance it may appear as if a pinewood derby car is being constructed as the wooden mallets crash to the table, and the pounding and hammering is deafening. The conversation is light and convivial. It’s like a coed knitting circle, except people are eating bug meat.

  Giving little kids a hammer is always a good idea.

  Aunt Katie hosting her annual “Find the Bug Meat” party.

  I don’t participate. Being the father of five young children, my time is normally spent stopping any given member of my basketball team from drowning in the nearby pool. Well, that’s my excuse. Even if I were kid-free, I wouldn’t partake in this barbaric bug-smashing ritual. Is any meal worth that much work? Are we really supposed to be eating these things? Isn’t it a red flag that you need a hammer to eat a crab?

  WAITRESS: Oh, you’re having the crab? Let me get you some tools so you can crack open the bug shell and get that half a bite of bug meat.

  Crab is like the pistachio of shellfish. In my estimation, there is too much effort for too little reward. An experienced crab eater can find “plenty of meat” in other parts of the crab during the culinary autopsy. The most crabmeat is found in the claw or the pincer of the crab. Pincer? That does not sound very appetizing. Let’s go with claw. Who wouldn’t want to eat a “claw”? It seems to me that the term claw should actually discourage people from eating crab. The oversize claw is the crab’s natural form of defense, its only weapon against attack. If you’ve picked up a live crab, it will, with great confidence, try to snip off your finger. “Snip, snip.” The crab must think, Nobody is going to get me because I have these claws. More irony. It’s like carrying around a gun and thinking, Nobody is going to mess with me while I have this.… Why is someone eating my gun?

  There is also that nasty part of the crab that you are not supposed to eat. I think it’s called ALL OF IT. Because they are crabs, as
in the sexually transmitted disease that has the same name because it’s the same exact thing. I honestly don’t know how people even order crabs with a straight face. I imagine a couple on a romantic date, with the man trying to impress his lady by ordering for her. “Yes, my wife and I will have the crabs. No, actually, I’ll get crabs and give her some.” Whispering to the waiter, “Don’t tell her. I want it be a surprise.” Apart from its ill-fated name and frightening body, everything about the crab as a creature is creepy. It only moves sideways. To the right and then jerking to the left. It always looks like it’s trying to avoid an awkward situation. “Uh-oh. I owe that guy money,” as he sidesteps away.

  I’m sure God is up in heaven looking down completely bewildered. “What do I have to do to stop these humans from eating the crabs? I gave it a rock-hard shell! I put it on the bottom of the ocean! I named a disease after it! I knew I should have covered it in needles! (over shoulder) Jesus, you’re going to have to go back down there!”

  Lobsters, oysters, and crabs. Oh my!

  I’m not just freaked out by shellfish. Seafood in general gives me the willies. With most seafood, I don’t understand the appeal. Like anchovies. What is the difference between an anchovy and a sweaty eyebrow? Whenever I see an anchovy I think, Someone has attacked Tom Selleck. Why would you want to put that on a pizza? Octopus? Really? Octo, meaning “eight”; pus meaning … really? “Yup, the pus part’s my favorite. Them suction cups remind me we need a new bathtub mat.” The octopus is really the epitome of the sea monster. Initially delighting people as the frightening subject of seafarers’ folklore, now the octopus delights people as high-end cuisine. Eaten, of course, after carefully boiling the octopus properly to rid it of slime, smell, and residual ink. Yum.