Food: A Love Story by Jim Gaffigan Read Free Book Online Page B

with provolone, salami,and pepperoncini in it and drink a pitcher of beer like you are preparing yourself for some kind of long, difficult journey of waiting . Finally your pizza arrives in a pan carried by your server with some kind of clamp contraption that I’m pretty sure is the same one they use to shape molten glass. After the first slice you are full, and you should be. You’ve eaten roughly three pounds of food that is baked on top of a crispy, cake-like crust. There is never a reason to eat more than one slice of deep dish, but you forge on. The wait has built an enthusiasm and excitement in you that can’t be quelled by just one slice. Most humans stop after two slices, but I like to think of myself as a superhuman. My brother Joe, who lives in Chicago, makes fun of my love for Chicago-style deep-dish pizza. “It’s for tourists.” I don’t care. Last March I brought my nine- and eight-year-olds for their first deep dish, and they thought it was weird. Weird? I immediately demanded a paternity test to see if they were actually my children.
    Wisconsin
    Every December Jeannie and I and our five hundred children travel to Milwaukee for the holidays. It’s hard enough to eat healthy during the holidays. In Wisconsin, it’s impossible. We usually are in Wisconsin for about ten pounds. That means one week for those of you who have never visited Wisconsin. That is how time is measured in Wisconsin. Well, it should be.
    “How long have you been in Wisconsin?”
    “Forty pounds.”
    “Oh, you came during Summerfest.”
    I don’t know if it’s possible to visit Wisconsin and not gain weight. Eating healthy doesn’t seem like an option in Wisconsin. I don’t think they even sell salads. And why should they? Wisconsin is the home of the butter burger, the kringle, thebratwurst, and cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. Eating healthy in Wisconsin makes as much sense as going to rehab in Amsterdam. It just doesn’t work.
    Some of my favorite things on this planet are from Wisconsin: beer, bratwurst, cheese, and, of course, my wife, Jeannie, in that order. Good food is everywhere you look. If you visit someone’s house in Wisconsin, a cheese plate is put out. It could be eleven in the morning or ten o’clock at night. There will be a tray with Cheddar cheese and summer sausage. As a result of this plethora of edible happiness, people in Wisconsin eat all the time. Eating is important in Wisconsin. Even their beloved Green Bay football team is called the Packers. The state is about eating. It makes sense that the serial killer from Milwaukee was also eating his victims. He was simply doing what a serial killer from Wisconsin should do.
    Cincinnati
    Often there seems to be logic behind a local specialty. Omaha and Texas should have great steaks, given the cattle that are raised and packaged there. Italian beef in Chicago and bratwurst in Wisconsin make sense, given the Italian and German immigrants who settled there. From my uneducated viewpoint, chili makes no sense for Cincinnati. Even what they do with the chili in Cincinnati makes no sense. They serve it over pasta. Yet somehow it works. Chili in Cincinnati is not just a local culinary specialty. It is an industry. There are thriving fast-food chili franchises in the Cincinnati area. The story goes that a Greek immigrant in the 1920s wanted to cater to the local taste buds, so he started serving chili over spaghetti at his hot dog stand, which I’m pretty sure makes no sense whatsoever. Either way, Cincinnati chili does appeal to people like me who have trouble deciding between two entrées. I’m always amazed thatthey have drive-thru chili places. For sure, the most dangerous item to eat in a car would have to be spaghetti, with chili a close second. I’m surprised they don’t make you eat it with chopsticks. Texting while driving seems less complicated.
    St. Louis
    St. Louis is famous for its thin-crust pizza, which almost seems like an overreaction to the