Blogger in Town

I now have brownies in the oven. Fausta, of Fausta’s Blog, is in town, and she invited me to have dinner with her family. Fausta was kind enough to interview me last year for her Blogtalkradio podcast. We somehow managed to score over 700 listeners. I offered to bring brownies, and she accepted, and then it turned out she couldn’t eat the damned things. But her family will like them.

I doubt I’ll have any brownies. I rarely indulge. But I bought three pints of blueberries, and tomorrow there will be cheesecake. God help me. I could not stop myself.

I rented a new P.O. box, in case anyone wants to send me copies of Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man – The World’s Unhealthiest Cookbook to autograph. SASE, please. Unless you want Marvin to have a new toy. I don’t really care which book you send. I’ll autograph the others, too. I have a feeling only one person will take me up on this, but so many people have asked, I had to give it a shot. Email me if you want the address.

The Post Office has a sign that says you can’t carry a weapon on the property. And that sign is way inside the building, so you have to be inside to see it. That’s government wisdom for you. It should say, “If you can read this, you have just committed a felony.”

I Want to Rub it in my Hair

I hate to write anything today, because a new blog entry will bump that magnificent cheesecake photo off the top of the page. Wait, I know how to avoid that.

A commenter says he prefers his food to be imperfect-looking, because it suggests it’s intended to be eaten. I sort of agree. I have never understood the “presentation” fetish. I can understand trying to make food look reasonably good, but as far as I’m concerned, all tasty food looks good.

I think food that is too perfect can be off-putting. Food is a lot like women. The most attractive women aren’t the perfect ones. The most attractive women have a lot of good features, plus one or two things that make them look “possible.” If a woman looks so great you know you have no shot, she tends to become invisible.

I now have three reviews up on Amazon, and I only had to write one of them. A reader named Jennifer put one up. Thanks, Jennifer! Nothing looks worse than a book with no reviews. My publisher is trying to get the old book removed, and they want to move the old reviews to the new book’s page. I hope they succeed.

I wish I had had time to fix all the problems with the book. The cornbread recipe is wrong. It says 2/3 of a cup of milk, and the actual figure is 1 1/2. Also, as I’ve said, there are some jokes that go over the top. Some people will think I’m a jerk, and it will be hard to blame them. Maybe I’ll eventually get an opportunity to make a few more edits.

Humor is like alcohol. When you’re a creative person and jokes are coming to you, it becomes intoxicating, and your judgment becomes impaired. If I were married, I could show my writing to my wife. Then if I found myself sleeping on the couch, I’d know I had to do some editing. But I’m on my own, so I make mistakes. That’s life.

One of the peculiar things about my sense of humor is that I often write things that don’t reflect my feelings at all. A lot of my jokes actually contradict what I feel. It’s hard to explain that to people who think every joke is based in real sentiment.

I want to thank Sondra. She always comes through for me. She’s putting up a free ad for my book.

Man, I need a cheesecake. That picture is killing me.

Get the Defibrillator

You know what season it is? CHEESECAKE SEASON. Blueberries are cheap right now, and I think it’s time for me to bake a blueberry cheesecake.

Here’s one I made last year. I wish I knew how to make them pretty.

I know you won’t believe me (except for Keith, who has had my recipe for a long time), but this is the best cheesecake imaginable. A big, heavy cheesecake with none of that bitter vegetable-grease aftertaste. You will weep with pleasure.

Assuming you buy my book. Otherwise, you’re screwed.

Works with any berry. Doesn’t have to be blueberry.

Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man – The World’s Unhealthiest Cookbook got a nice plug over at Dyspepsia Generation. Thanks for the help, Tim! Also, Emperor Misha sent me a ton of readers, even though I have neglected him shamefully. Thanks, Misha. Here’s Ellison’s take: PUTTING THE “DIE” IN “DIET.” Thanks, Ellison. And it goes without saying that Moxie gave me a free Blogad!

I don’t know who else is linking to me, but when I find out, I’ll mention it here.

The press release, oddly, seems to be having an effect. Ordinarily, you just assume it’s $80 down the toilet. But it’s bringing people to my other site, albeit in small numbers.

If any of you feel like putting up Amazon or Barnes & Noble reviews, I’ll be eternally grateful. Sparrow already put one up. Thank you, dear.

I can always use more links. People linked to me before the book was released, and that was very kind of them. But the links have a much bigger effect when folks know the book is already out.

And now it’s time for a break. Yesterday was Meat Day, and I completely ignored it. This is the day every week when I get my Winn-Dixie email ad.

Hmm…it’s pretty weak. They have ground chuck for $1.99 a pound, and turkey drumsticks at $1.39 a pound.

One of my favorite manly lunch items is a drumstick with stuffing. You salt and season a drumstick–poultry seasoning should be okay–and you pile stuffing next to it on some sort of baking pan. Then you roast it. The grease in the drumstick comes out and permeates the stuffing. I suppose there is no reason why you couldn’t use Stove Top if you were in a hurry. Turkey drumsticks are wonderful. When you hold one in your hand, you feel like Henry VIII.

They have whole chickens for 79¢ per pound. That’s a bright spot in a difficult meat week.

It Hurts to Sit on One

You truly will not believe this. It’s like something out of a Terry Gilliam movie. A major retail company has contacted me about selling my book. I can’t tell you what kind of company, but I can tell you that you will derive endless amusement from it, if it pans out. This is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me.

Details will follow, as I become aware of them.

More

Whoops. I may have my companies confused. This may be a different outfit with a similar name. Still, the potential for amusement is there.

Even More

I spoke too soon! I now think this is a scam. When you upload a press release on Prweb, which is what I used because I’m a low-budget operation, scammers will pick it up and offer you what they claim are amazing promotion deals.

Here’s what someone on a forum has to say about these people:

I received a call from someone at the ______ wanting to sell my product. They will develop marketing; the tv comercial and the internet ads to sell. But they want a substantial investment from me upfront for all of this and they will certianly make money as well on the mark up. Is this legit? Anyone out there heard of this Company?

When my press release went out, the first response I got was from some outfit claiming it could list my book on “THREE TOP LITERARY SITES.” Whatever that means. I have no idea what the pitch was. I deleted the emails immediately. I’m not stupid.

If you’re trying to get PR for a product or book or something, learn from my mistakes. PR people are not in the business of promotion. They are in the business of lining their pockets. That’s their primary goal. They’re in the business of ripping off gullible people who have dreams and need exposure. If they help you, great, but it’s incidental. Be extremely careful whom you trust. Big-time firms with proven reputations may do great work for you. And you’ll know they’re for real, because it will be hard to get them to accept you as a client. Other than that, steer clear.

The first and most important PR job a PR firm does is the job of selling itself to you. Think about that.

I’m virtually positive that the firm I hired last year shopped me around to a network of losers and cronies, for the purpose of helping them, not me. For example, they booked me on a podcast no one has ever heard of. They booked me on a show at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday, claiming the host sold a lot of books. Come on. Who turns on the radio at 7:30 on a Sunday? Nobody. I might as well have been interviewed on Mars.

I found that I was able to get better PR on my own, free of charge, than these “professionals” got for me. I got interviews they couldn’t–or at least didn’t–get me. Easily. They claim a lot of well-known pundits as clients. All I can say is, famous people are suckers, too.

There is a simple way to determine whether someone who expresses interest in promoting your product is for real. If they want even a penny from you, up front, and you’ve never heard of them, they’re crooks or losers. Period.

The world is cruel to dreamers. I’m sure a lot of people borrow and beg to pay for worthless promotion. There is a special place in hell for someone who takes advantage of a person who is just starting out and who is desperate for help from any quarter.

How to Pimp, Painlessly

If you want to help my book, here’s what you do. Don’t buy fifty copies and lose your home. Just mention the book to other people. Maybe send an email to friends who might enjoy it. You can link to the Amazon page or this press release: CLICK.

Unfortunately, the Amazon page stinks. We’re trying to fix it. And we’re trying to get rid of the old book’s page and move the reviews to the new page.

Rank was 2324 last time I looked. Thanks again.

Here’s a question. Let’s say Home Depot has a product you want, and you go to the local store, and it costs X. Then you go online, and the same product is 0.9 times X. With free shipping. So you save, gas, time, shipping charges, and aggravation.

How does Home Depot expect to get people into its stores if they do that?

Thanks to You

I want to thank all the people who are placing orders for the Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man – The World’s Unhealthiest Cookbook. You drove it from 400,000-something to 3330 on Amazon today. That doesn’t mean I’m getting rich, but it means people are buying. Thank you for supporting my work. I’m happy when people show up to read my work for nothing, so imagine how I feel when I see that people are willing to pay.

Even if the book does well, the rank will surely dip and rise a few times, so you can’t read too much into it.

I always feel like I haven’t done enough for my readers. There are things in the book I wish I had been able to rewrite. Always remember, I’m happy to clarify or correct anything you don’t understand.

I don’t know if I’ll get any support from bloggers on this book; they may feel like they already pushed it in 2004. Of course, that was a vastly inferior book. If enough people bug me, I’m willing to set up a PO box so you can send your copies to be signed. I did that last time, after being asked to, and only one person sent a book! I don’t care; I can blow another 68 bucks and see what happens.

The next month or so should tell the tale. If it sells, it sells. If not, I may have to quit writing and become a mediator. I don’t want to sue people any more; that’s the one thing I’m sure of. I have plenty of confidence in my product, but in this world, that’s not the only factor that determines whether writers succeed. Really bad writers do well, and good writers starve. You have to find a way to let enough people know about your book to create a groundswell.

I’ll try to make the next book cleaner and less mean. In the meantime, do me a favor and overlook the passages that bother you.

“What’s Your Hourly Rate on a Front-End Loader?”

Yesterday Sondra was saying mean things about her sister, who is supposedly enjoying the high life on welfare. I felt I had to comment. Here is the exchange:

Is your sister hot?

comment by Steve H. Graham on 06/24 at 04:29 PM

If you like your women 6’1” and 300 pounds.

comment by Headmistress Sondrak on 06/24 at 04:32 PM

Deuce…deuce and a quarter.

comment by Steve H. Graham on 06/24 at 04:37 PM

Hold on while I rent a pallet jack.

comment by Steve H. Graham on 06/24 at 04:45 PM

Anyway, Sondra apparently felt bad, because she put this recipe up for her sister to enjoy. CLICK.

Price Increase

Amazon noticed that people were buying my book, so they started jacking up the price. Sorry about that. I don’t know of a cheaper way to get it. You can get a discount by buying from the publisher, but that kills the cheap or free shipping. Thanks again for the support.

Kind of a busy day today. Back when time permits.

The Food Apocalypse Arrives

NOTE: CLICK “DEATH BY FORK” LINK IN LEFT SIDEBAR FOR MORE INFO.

It occurs to me that I have readers now who may not know much about my cookbook. So I thought I should tell you a little about it.

I can’t remember when I had the idea. It was probably in the Nineties. A little voice in my head told me to write the world’s unhealthiest cookbook and call it “Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man.” I coined that phrase, regardless of where you may have seen it since. I thought people were getting too damned self-righteous and contentious about food. People actually get angry when you talk about meat and lard and eggs and so on, and that’s insane. A person who can get angry about the food another person eats is a controlling person with no sense of boundaries. It’s nobody’s damn business what you eat.

Aside from that, the Food Nazis are attacking our culture. We accumulated a lot of food knowledge over the centuries, and these self-appointed dictators are erasing it from our memory. Want to know the real way to make a fried egg? You fry bacon in a cast iron skillet and fry the egg in the grease. Want to know what kind of shortening real biscuits are made with? Bacon grease. Or lard. The best pie crusts are made with lard. The best fries are cooked in beef fat. People have forgotten things like that, because of the damn Food Nazis. There are many dishes that simply can’t be made well without unhealthy ingredients. There is no such thing as a good, healthy cheesecake. There is no such thing as a good, healthy brownie. There is CRAP which people PRETEND is good. But it’s not.

I get sick of hearing people who don’t know what good food is, perpetuating the tired, transparent lie that you can cook just as well with healthy ingredients. And it irritates me that they’ve managed to get their awful vegetable grease and lowfat milk and so on into products like ice cream and cookies, which exist solely to taste good. It’s like putting a Prius engine in a Ferrari. It does not work.

Obviously, you shouldn’t eat fattening food every day. But what if you do? Isn’t that your right? Of course it is. You have a right to eat what you like. What you don’t have a right to do is to tell other people what they can put in their bodies. It’s a horrifying encroachment on a person’s most basic rights. Today they tell you you can’t drive an SUV or own a gun or eat a pizza. Tomorrow, they tell you which books you can read.

Once in a while, just for the experience, you should eat really good food, and sometimes that means food that’s loaded with fat or sugar or white flour or salt. And I can help you do that.

Even though all this is true, the food isn’t really the point of the book. The point was to have an excuse to write humor essays. I really let loose. I had a ball. I wrote a macaroni and cheese recipe in the voice of Hunter S. Thompson. I wrote doughnut recipes in the voices of Al Franken and Bill O’Reilly. I wrote a French fry recipe in the voice of Christopher Walken. Here’s a taste.

Soon we’re in Steve’s living room, and I’m sipping my Campari—which is a little strong, but I say nothing, because Christopher Walken is a gracious guest—while a couple of my boys hold Steve’s head under the water of his fifty-gallon fish tank.

Steve has tetras. Tetras and those other little—what do you call them?—dwarf cichlids. Little pansy fish that don’t even fight. I realize it is a matter of taste, but me, I always went for the heavy artillery. Oscars. Piranha. Small sharks. Some people feed their carnivorous fish goldfish. I fed mine Yorkies.

I cannot abide a small defiant dog that looks like a Slinky.

I give him a few minutes of that—in, out, gasp for breath, in, out, gasp for breath—while I check out his CD collection. I’m an LP man myself. Gotta have vinyl. Gotta. But he has some good stuff there. Hot Fives and Sevens, remastered. Sweet. Needs a little Bobby Vinton, of course, but maybe his tastes haven’t matured to the extent where he can fully appreciate the subtleties of “My Little Neon Rose.”

When the time is right, I have my boys pull his head out and sit him on the sofa and get him a towel and some Bosco. He has Bosco in his cupboard. I respect that. That bought him some points. I’m a Bosco man myself. Some guys like Ovaltine. That’s okay, I guess. I shot a guy in the face for drinking Ovaltine. Once. But I was young. Full of hormones. Exuberant. I would never do that now. Today I would be satisfied with slamming his head on the counter a couple times.

So I sit next to Steve and put my arm around him, and I ask if the Bosco is to his liking. And of course, it is. I showed my boys the right way to mix it. None of that business with the dark smear around the bottom of the glass, with spoon marks in it. The key to a good Bosco is thoroughness. The KEY, amigo.

I have a rule. If I see streaks of undissolved syrup in my Bosco, I got to snap somebody’s pinky toe. I don’t care whose. Finding the culpable toe is not my department. They can draw straws if they want. But somebody’s toe is going to snap. When they hear that snapping sound, it really drives the message home. Call it a mnemonic device. Snap two or three pinky toes at one shot, and you’ll be drinking well-mixed Bosco for a good five years before you have to snap another one.

“Steve,” I said, “it’s not that I don’t like your work. Truly, I am nothing if not a patron of the arts. Especially my first true love, which is the dance. I think you know my history.” And I got up and gave him my best Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. Lovely man, Bojangles. Got that monicker because he ate a lot of fried chicken. I prefer Popeye’s. But let’s not reopen that can of Pandora’s worms.

That’s the kind of thing I wrote. I’m thrilled with it. This is what I wanted to publish, back when I was only able to sell the Nigerian spam book and the caveman book. I wrote those books because I had to. I wrote this one because I wanted to.

If you bought the self-published version of this book, I thank you, but I have to tell you, you still need the big-time version. It’s longer. It has more recipes. The recipes are better. And the writing is better. The first version doesn’t compare.

I hope you’ll give it a try. I believe in this book more than I believed in anything I put on bookstore shelves in the past.

Just for reference purposes, I’ll close with a list of the chapters.

Chapter 1 – Ribs
Chapter 2 – How to Smoke Your [Boston] Butt
Chapter 3 – BBQ Beans, Texas Toast, & the Inevitable Blazing Saddles Reference
Chapter 4 – Breakfast as a Mind-Altering Drug
Chapter 5 – Chicken-Fried Rib Eye on a Huge Biscuit
Chapter 6 – Grease Burgers
Chapter 7 – Cornbread and Navy Beans
Chapter 8 – Turducken: Flight of the Hindenbird
Chapter 9 – Aged Prime Steak Cooked on a Propane Griddle
Chapter 10 – Champagne Chicken With Fettuccine in Cream Sauce
Chapter 11 – Smoked Pork and Andouille Jambalaya
Chapter 12 – Pizzeria-Style Baked Ziti With Sausage
Chapter 13 – Stuffed Hog With Apricot Glaze
Chapter 14 – Unauthentic White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Chili
Chapter 15 – Super-Giant Fried Patacon Tacos
Chapter 16 – Deep-Fried Chinese-Style Honey-Garlic Chicken
Chapter 17 – Rotis and Jamaican-Style Goat Curry
Chapter 18 – Doro Wat – Ethiopian Chicken Stew
Chapter 19 – Hash Brown Casserole with Cheddar and Sour Cream
Chapter 20 – Dreadfully Fattening Macaroni and Cheese
Chapter 21 – Twice-Fried Fries Cooked in Beef Fat
Chapter 22 – Perfect 10-Minute Street Pizza
Chapter 23 – Peach Cobbler
Chapter 24 – Yeast-Raised Fried Doughnuts With Coconut/Banana Sauce
Chapter 25 – Coconut Flan
Chapter 26 – 540-Calorie Brownies
Chapter 27 – Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Hot Fudge Dessert/PMS Remedy
Chapter 28 – Blueberry Butter Cheesecake
Chapter 29 – Baklava With Cheesecake Filling
Chapter 30 – Red Lager and Room-Temperature Brewed Ale
Chapter 31 – Five Greasy Pieces: Quick Recipes for the Hopeless

Bon appetit.

You Need Many Copies

I bought a new low-profile jack because my old one won’t fit under the car. I came home from Northern Tool, looked at my comments, and saw two people suggesting I put something under the tires to raise the car. Now I feel like a complete moron. But I can take that jack back.

In other news, THE COOKBOOK IS OFFICIALLY SHIPPING. So if you’ve been putting off buying it, the wait is over. I hope you enjoy it. It’s a thousand times better than the first one.

Back Off, Mortals

I’m still having emotional aftershocks from the prime rib. I just realized: I am now capable of cooking the finest meal in the universe. Prime rib, the perfect baked potato, homebrewed ale, and BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE. Four-thousand-dollar prostitutes have nothing on me. The pleasure I can create puts their sorry efforts in the shade. This qualifies me for superhero status. No human should have powers like these.

Blueberries are in season right now. So cheap. So close.

NO.

Someone stop me.

Mastered

Yes, I have mastered prime rib. Is it wrong to brag? Well, not really. When you consider how easy it is to cook a perfect rib roast. It’s like bragging that you mastered falling down. Which I am also good at.

You have to try this. You won’t believe how easy it is. Get a rib roast. The one I cooked was choice, and it was so good, I don’t know if I’d bother buying prime in the future. Dry-age it for as long as you dare. Then roast it in foil or a bag (on a broiling pan) at 250 until it gets to a point ten degrees below your desired internal temperature. At that point, jack the heat up to 500, remove the bag or foil, and cook until the roast hits the final destination. I went to about 133 today, but 125 might be better. One thing I learned from this experience: even if you use the “bake” setting, cooking at 550 may cause your broiler to turn on. On my oven, it happens at 550 but not 500, I think. I started with 550 and turned it down, and I tossed a piece of foil on top of the roast to keep it from charring.

You might want a second pan under the broiler pan, one rack down, to keep the bottom of the broiler pan from getting so hot the drippings burn. I had a pizza stone on the bottom rack.

The one thing I need to fool with is the salt. This time, I applied it one day before roasting, and it was very good, but it didn’t penetrate quite as well as I wanted. I think next time I’ll apply it three days before cooking. Don’t give me a lot of whining about drying the meat out. Three days won’t have a significant effect. One day had no effect at all.

This roast was extremely tender, and juice poured out of it. I could drink that stuff. I really could. The combination of wet aging and dry aging worked fine. The meat smelled a little rank before I cooked it, and it was perfect when it was done.

I can’t believe I got to be this old without knowing how easy prime rib was.

I think the salt-crusting tradition is probably incredibly stupid and counterproductive. But that’s up to you. I’m telling you how to get a tender and juicy roast that is perfectly browned. It should work regardless of how you season it.

I did not “rest” the roast. At least not on purpose. It was out of the oven for a few minutes before I could carve it; that’s inevitable. It was magnificent. Would resting have improved it? I take no position. For steak, it’s a stupid idea. But I haven’t experimented with bigger pieces of meat.

I still have two pounds of roast. I feel like taking off my shirt, climbing onto the table, and resting my bare belly on it.

The main side dish was a guilty pleasure. Microwaved red potatoes with butter and garlic. The microwave burns them a little and makes them slightly rubbery, which I actually like.

Your assignment is to pick up a rib roast the next time it’s on sale and try my method. It is guaranteed to work. Not “guaranteed” in the sense that I will in any way take responsibility if you fail. Just guaranteed in that I think you’ll have success. Which isn’t really a guarantee at all. Shut up. Just do it.

More

Would 225 be even better? Hmm…

Prime Rib Rematch

Who’s the better cook? Me or Bobby Flay? Let’s find out.

A while back, I got a rib roast, aged it for a week, and cooked it using instructions from the Food Network site. The site credited Bobby Flay. I didn’t use his seasoning ideas, but I did use the temperature he suggested, which was 350 degrees. And the roast was tougher than it should have been. That temperature sounded fishy to me, but this was my first rib roast, and I figured surely a professional chef knew how to cook roast beef. I should have known better. Professional cooks give bad advice day in and day out.

I just put a new roast in the oven. I salted it well, but not to the “crusting” point. I tried that before, and it was disgusting. This time, I salted it the day before and let the salt soak in overnight. Before I threw it in the oven, I smeared it with pressed garlic. I’m cooking it at 250, with a probe. I intended to cook it in a plastic bag, but I forgot to buy them, so I wrapped it in foil. When I get close to the target temperature of 135, I’ll remove the foil and raise the heat to 450 to get some browning. Hell, let’s make it 550. Git ‘r done.

If it was just me, I’d stop roasting at 120, but my old man will be partaking, so I have to compromise.

Mike says the Showtime Oven is the way to go. I called him before the last prime rib, figuring he would have better advice than any TV chef, but he couldn’t remember exactly what he did when he used the Showtime Oven. Since then he claims he has remembered. Cagey guy, that Mike.

I aged this one for several days, but only one day of that was dry-aging. I forgot about it during the septic tank debacle, so I inadvertently left it in the wrapper for a while.

Place your bets. Delicious, tender, juicy roast, or another disappointment? Call me cocky, but I think I can’t miss.

How could anyone who cooks for a living think 350 was a good cooking temperature for a roast?

Guess I Need a Bullwhip

I have a startling piece of news. Publisher’s Weekly gave my cookbook a review which was predictably obtuse yet more or less fair. This is a far cry from the dishonest review they gave the spam book. My guess? Someone over there has finally gotten some badly-needed fiber.

Rather than quote, I’ll print the entire review and let them threaten to sue me. Which is not too likely. They’ll probably be thrilled that someone has heard of Publisher’s Weekly and is willing to mention it.

Nostalgic for a time when kitchen counters had a container marked “grease” right next to “flour” and “sugar,” author and blogger Graham (Keep Chewing Till It Stops Kicking) offers up a rambling, tongue-in-cheek, plaque-in-artery collection of recipes and essays for those dedicated to the “Art of Lard.” Graham delights in slaughtering sacred cows with his acerbic, at times wildly inappropriate humor, but also gets a terrific amount of glee from simple bacon grease, a key ingredient in ribs, chicken fried steak, hash browns and even popcorn. Predictably dense takes on macaroni and cheese, burgers and fries dominate, though more exotic fare like Turducken and Rotis with Goat Curry are also detailed. Graham’s glib instructions can frustrate; for fatty (but incredibly flavorful) twice-baked fries, “you get your fat, and you put it in a big pot, and you put it in the oven at 250 for like a day. Then you throw out the lumps that remain,” before you add potatoes for frying. Most of his dishes, however, fall within the capabilities of kitchen novices, and he peppers sound advice throughout on everything from the proper use of ham hocks to the care of cast iron skillets. Unfortunately, his wildly uneven tone and pointless digressions kill any sense of momentum, making this a comedic smorgasbord best consumed in moderation.

Let’s see. “Wildly inappropriate humor.” Here is a question for liberals everywhere. And I warn liberals in advance: there is no answer that will not make you look stupid. Liberals always tell us that in the arts, anything goes. A Christ figurine soaking in urine is art. A photo of a man with a bullwhip in his rectum is art. And we are told that any criticism of art based on good taste is simply wrong. Okay. Humor is an art. That is beyond dispute. So why do liberals constantly tell us the things humorists and comedians joke about are “inappropriate”?

The only correct response is “hypocrisy.”

I wonder what they would have thought of the original version of the book, which I bowdlerized heavily for the big-time-publisher edition. It was mean to parody Hunter Thompson so soon after his death. Is that what they’re moaning about? I wanted to take that chapter out, but I made the decision too late. In any event, it’s nothing like as tasteless as Thompson’s own work. I wonder if they would refer to his humor as “wildly inappropriate.” Doubtful, since so much of it was directed at traditional liberal targets like decency, sobriety, chastity, and civility.

As for their complaint that the instructions for rendering fat are too hard to follow, my only response is “say what?” You put fat in a pot. You bake it at 250 degrees. You throw out the solids after the fat melts. What part of this is confusing? Seriously, readers of this blog, tell me where the difficulty is.

The truth is, there are some places in the book where the instructions are not really adequate. But this isn’t one of them. So why mention it in a review?

“Pointless digressions,” they say. Is absolutely everyone in publishing completely dense? The first time I showed this book to an agent, she said it would be great if only I removed the “off-topic banter.” Hello? The off-topic banter is the whole point of the book. If anything, it’s the recipes that are superfluous.

Whenever I remember the “off-topic banter” comment, I mention something it brings to mind, i.e., the Arab theater owner who showed The Sound of Music and, feeling it ran too long, edited out the songs. Without the songs, it’s just a B movie about a flat-chested babysitter who falls in love with her boss.

For a long time now, I have worried that a big percentage of the human race is simply too dumb to understand my writing. And reviews like this only reinforce my anxiety. I almost wish I could be like Dan Brown, who is–sorry to be blunt–fairly dumb. He’s dumb, therefore he has no problems writing for the dumb. It’s easy for him to figure out what the dumb will like, but for a bright person, it’s very hard. It’s like trying to guess which bad smell a dog would most like to roll in.

I don’t even understand the “momentum” comment. Why would momentum be desirable in a book of essays? The whole point of a book of essays is to present different topics one at a time. You may have noticed that I didn’t call it “The Story of Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man.” That’s because it’s not a story. The chapters are unrelated. Does The Joy of Cooking have momentum? I’ll have to check. It’s a really bad cookbook; maybe the momentum makes up for it.

Seriously, if you’re thinking of buying The Joy of Cooking, don’t. I mean, okay, do, but understand that you will have to correct a lot of the recipes. Their brownie recipe actually produces chocolate cake. If you’re a good cook, you can use The Joy of Cooking to get a general idea of how certain dishes work, but unless your experience is a lot different from mine, following their recipes to the letter will give you pretty lousy food.

Where is this reviewer’s brain? I parodied what, maybe ten writers and celebrities? How many humorists can do that? I did Al Franken, Bill O’Reilly, Christopher Walken, Frank McCourt…even William S. Burroughs. They didn’t even notice. You know what? Dave Barry can’t do that. P.J. O’Rourke can’t do it. Almost nobody can do it. Couldn’t they have said, “Wow, he’s a fat Republican with guns, but he sure knows his parody”?

You want to know the difference between the devil and a Republican in the arts? People give the devil his due.

I guess it doesn’t sound like I’m thrilled with the review, but compared to the last one, it’s a gem. They almost admitted I’m funny. Coming from people with no sense of humor whatsoever, that’s a real gift.