Yeah, it was snowing. But when Alton Brown personally entreated Schenectady to still come to his show, who could stay home?
Proctors was full when the star of the Food Network’s “Good Eats” took the stage. We were right where he wanted us.
“We know you’re not going to leave, because you’ll die if you go outside. I have a captive audience,” he proclaimed.
I did not know this man before the show. All I knew of him was his tweets begging Schenectady not to disappoint him.
My wife loves him, but all I knew was that he was on one of those cooking shows. I, like many spouses in the audience, had no idea what to expect.
The first 10 minutes were interminable, prerecorded fart and belch jokes about yeast. What had I gotten myself into?
But then he came on stage, and his infectious personality won me over. It didn’t hurt that his first song was an ode to caffeine.
I love caffeine so much, I was even willing to overlook his unlikely rhymes, including “like a rabid wolverine” and “milking my favorite Holstein.”
Then he launched into his philosophy of food — a mixture of sermonizing, storytelling and stand-up comedy. This is what we’d come for.
We cheered when he said chicken don’t have fingers.
“This is a problem because we have raised an entire generation of youth on a food that doesn’t exist,” he said, as we laughed.
He told us stories of cooking scenes so horrible they were cut from TV, including the making of trout ice cream ... with real trout.
“You can’t untaste that,” he said
My favorite part: when he unknowingly picked me over my wife on two of our food arguments:
No. 1: The best cook on Earth is your wife. I’m claiming that one.
No. 2: The whole point of cooking is connecting people through food, not making fancy things with $300 in ingredients, using special knives or buying a wood-fired brick oven.
I have been right all along. I wanted to go home and throw away our special knives.
Then he wheeled out a huge, stage-lamp-powered oven.
“The only question remaining for the rest of the evening is: Who wants to cook something?” he said to our shocked cheers.
He sang to us, made mouth-watering pizza in front of us and got us to sing about how simple it is to cook.
We were eating out of his hand — literally, in the case of two lucky volunteers.
And then he sent us away to make good food.
It’s 11 p.m., and I still have an entire driveway and sidewalk to clear of snow. Forget it. I’m making pizza first.