Food: A Love Story (9 page)

I used to be a waiter in a Mexican restaurant in Indiana. Yes, Indiana. That’s where you want to go for Mexican food—Indiana or Belgium. Actually, Indiana, like much of the Midwest,
has a vibrant Mexican American community, so the Mexican food where I’m from was quite good. Then again, it’s hard to screw up basic Mexican food. The Midwestern suburban Mexican food I grew up with consisted of the same four ingredients. As a waiter I was asked a lot of questions with the same answer.

PATRON:
What are
nachos
?

ME:
Nachos are tortillas with cheese, meat, and vegetables.

PATRON:
Oh, well then what is a
burrito
?

ME:
Tortilla with cheese, meat, and vegetables.

PATRON:
Well then what is a
tostada
?

ME:
Tortilla with cheese, meat, and vegetables.

PATRON:
Well then what is …

ME:
Look, it’s all the same stuff. Why don’t you say a Spanish word and I’ll bring you something delicious made out of tortillas, cheese, meat, and vegetables?

It’s all the same stuff in different shapes. It almost seems like a conspiracy. Like they had a meeting two hundred years ago in Mexico and some guy stood up and said, “Hey look, the reason I got everyone here is pretty simple. I figure we can give this same entrée seven different names and sell it to the Americans. Now, who’s in on it?” Then one guy in back stood up and said, “Wouldn’t that be dishonest?” “Well, if you keep your mouth shut, we’ll name one of the entrées after you. What’s your name?” “My name is Chimichanga.” That’s a true story.

The best Mexican/Mexican American/Tex-Mex food is found in places like San Diego, Los Angeles, Albuquerque, and, of course, Texas. Here are some of the great Mexican Foodland specialties.

Guacamole

I eat a lot of guacamole. If I died right now, I’m sure some of my children would just remember me as the balding guy who brought home the overpriced, delicious green dip. I hope at one point some really important person sat the inventor of guacamole down and told him or her, “You are a great human. We thank you for your contribution to our planet.” Guacamole is made with the avocado, which is so delicious I think it should be reclassified as a cheese. When guacamole is on the table, I tend to feel sorry for salsa because guacamole gets all the attention. It is always eaten right away because it is that good and also because exposure to oxygen turns it brown in a matter of minutes. Guacamole should be chunky. Non-chunky guacamole just makes me sad.

Churros

Churros are originally from Spain, but since I’ve given credit to Wisconsin for the German bratwurst in this book, I should probably blame Mexico for the churro. If you don’t know what a churro is, just try to picture a ribbed doughnut stick. A churro is not fluffy like a doughnut but rather hard and crunchy. It’s like the pipe cleaner of pastry. Churros are sold at fairs or anyplace that might sell cotton candy or other foods we should never eat. Churros are also sold at places we should never eat, like a New York City subway platform. I’ve only had one churro in my life. The guy who sold it to me almost seemed surprised that I was buying it. I then realized I’d never seen anyone actually eat a churro. Maybe the guy who sold me the churro went home and yelled up to a roommate: “Hey, Churro, get down here. Remember that sugary bread wand you came up with when you were drunk? Well, I finally sold one today!”

Queso

Whenever I’m in Texas, I have to get queso. Well, I don’t have to, but I do anyway. Queso is an amazing combination of melted cheese and chile peppers that I seem to crave once I enter the Lone Star State. It’s a bowl of cheesy nirvana served with chips as an appetizer in Tex-Mex places. It’s like that nasty pump cheese they put on nachos at the movies, but not made of recycled park benches.
Queso
even means “cheese” in Spanish. It’s like eating a block of spicy cheese but without being interrupted by the annoying cheese chewing. I like to think of queso as the unhealthy cousin of guacamole and a great way to get full to the point of physical discomfort before they even start cooking your entrée.

Green Chile

New Mexico is really passionate about the green chile, and it’s understandable. I’m amazed that the green chile does not have a greater national popularity. They are that good. Unlike the taste explosion of a jalapeño, the flavor of a green chile is balanced, consistent, and, of course, delicious. Comparing the jalapeño to the green chile is the same as comparing a burst of freezing cold air on a hot day to sitting in an air-conditioned room. In New Mexico the green chile is more than a simple ingredient—it is a necessity. They have green chile stews, green chile burgers, green chile pizza, green chile hash browns, and these are not stunt dishes. These are the most popular items on the menu in New Mexico restaurants. At times I think the reason why the green chile is not a nationwide phenomenon is because the people of New Mexico are secretly hoarding the tasty green chiles. They are hiding them from the rest of us. Everyone I’ve encountered in Albuquerque seems to have them
in bulk stored in their freezer as if an impending green chile shortage is coming. I had a cab driver once confide, “I’ve got ten pounds of green chiles in my freezer.” I didn’t even ask her about green chiles. She just brought it up out of the blue. And you know what? I was impressed and a little jealous. The green chile addiction is one I understand. New Mexicans treat their green chiles like contraband. Sometimes if you drive around New Mexico, you will see locals selling green chile tamales out of an open trunk on the side of the road, and people are pulling over to buy them. Green chiles are exciting and a little dangerous. You have to wear gloves when peeling a roasted green chile, or your hands will burn. If I lived in New Mexico, I’d be eating so many green chiles I would have to get a hazmat suit. I heard there is talk of reshooting all the episodes of
Breaking Bad
, but instead of meth Walter and Jesse sell green chiles. I can’t wait.

Fried Bread

The only thing more astounding than the dramatic beauty of the Southwest is the fact that people there are eating fried bread. There is unhealthy eating throughout the United States, but in New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah, there are stands that only sell fried bread. When I first saw that, all I could think was,
I’ve found my people.
I realize a doughnut is also fried bread, but at least we don’t call it
fried bread
. In some parts of the Southwest fried bread is called “fry” bread. It’s like a call to action. “If you aren’t fat already … fry bread! Let’s get fat!” Fried bread is very neutral and can pretty much go with anything. It is used in place of the shell for spicy tacos, covered in honey and sugar as a dessert, or just snacked on in its natural form. Fried bread is like the unhealthy Switzerland of the food world.

At what point do you even feel comfortable eating something
called fried bread? I’d love to hear the interview to decide if someone is prepared to become a part of the fried-bread culture.

INTERVIEWER:
Have you ever eaten cake in the shower?

APPLICANT:
A couple of times.

INTERVIEWER:
You may be ready for fried bread. Ever eat in your car so you don’t have to share with your children?

APPLICANT:
Every day!

INTERVIEWER:
You are definitely ready for fried bread.

Fried bread by its very name goes against all the basic rules of healthy eating. It is the opposite of a diet.

DIET DOCTOR:
Okay, I am putting you on a strict diet. Here are your rules. No bread. No fried food.

ME:
(
interrupting
) Okay, what about
fried
bread? Is there, like, a fried-bread-only diet?

I don’t judge the fried-bread eaters. I admire them. They are much more honest than most of us. We eat fried bread, but we do it in code.

“Would you like fried bread?”

“Never! (
sotto
) I’ll just have an
elephant ear
.”

“Would you like fried bread?”

“Of course not! I am a debutante! I’ll just have a
beignet
.”

We have a million names for fried bread, but in the end it’s all fried bread. We just want to eat fried bread and have no one find out about it. We are like that guy at the party trying to find weed.

“Hey, is your friend
Herb
here tonight?”

“Who?”

“You know. He hangs around that other guy named
Bud
?”

“I still don’t know what you are talking about.”

“
You
know, he’s going out with the girl from Mexico named
Marijuana
?”

“Sorry, I don’t know that dude. Hey, you want to smoke some pot?”

WINELAND

It’s always fascinating interacting with crowds after shows. I can get a sense of each city or state’s identity and what they are proud of while meeting audience members. Some states are very 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 mention
the 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 you
don’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.”