Flavortown Is Real And One Day I Will Find It Again (By Guy Fieri)
My name’s Guy Fieri and thanks for buying my new cookbook: The Search For Flavortown. Hidden in the pages of this crunchadelic new cook bible, we’ve got 76 recipes that’ll send your mouth on a one-way bus ride down to Flavortown. And how do I know so much about Flavortown? That’s an easy one, bromigo…
Flavortown is real and one day I will find it again.
Heck yes, bromigo! In this kick-ass cook book, we’ve got all your fave Fieri recipes including Guy’s world-famous Guy-talian Nachos (p. 48) as well as America’s favorite snackitizer, the slamma-jamma Mac-Daddi-Roni Salad (p. 80).
And speaking of the Mac-Daddi-Roni, here’s a fun story: on my 23rd birthday, I went on a funkalicious, one-man roadtrip down the Mississippi Delta. And sixty-seven miles due south of Hazlehurst, I took my hands off the wheel of my vintage 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle. And then, before my very eyes, my sicktastic Chevelle drove itself down an unmarked and totally spook-diculous dark country road. And I suddenly found myself in a small, silent, rinky-dink town that the real-as-heck locals called “Flavortown.”
And, let me tell you folks, this place was wall-to-wall bonkers! The air tasted just like sweet, All-American, bomb-dot-com tasty dry rub pork BBQ sauce (p. 55). And it stung my eyes. But, you know, in a good way! And the streets were paved with fresh-never-frozen bloomin’ onion rings (p. 11) that stripped all the rubber off my Chevelle’s vintage tires. And when I opened my glove box, it was suddenly, inexplicably, filled to the brim with America’s favetastic snackitizer… the Mac-Daddi-Roni Salad (p. 80)… Now that’s a winner winner, chicken dinner folks!
Bromigos, I’ve spent my whole life searching for Flavortown. And I will find it again. Because in Flavortown the locals only follow one, righteous, deep-fried rule:
Don’t forget the butter, muchacho!
And if you were worried that this cookbook was only about food, well don’t worry…we’ve got sauces too! Have you ever wanted to fill your face with Guy’s taste-bud-blasting Donkey Sauce-brand aioli? Well check out page 37 for the whole festival of funk!
Now that’s dynamite, brother!
And speaking of Donkey Sauce, back when I was in Flavortown, the first thing I noticed about the town was that the nearby Mississippi River had been filled to the gills with America’s favorite condiment: the red-hot, finger-lickin’ delish, Mississippi-style garlic gravy that I like to call “Donkey Sauce.”
And, well, I guess their Donkey Sauce must have been pretty darn yummy, because the town’s real-as-heck locals were all drinking straight from the river’s banks, on their knees, mouths wide open, like the world’s most ridonculous Clydesdales. And when they looked up from the river to stare at me, my blood suddenly got as cold as Guy’s World-Famous Chilly-Chili Gazpacho (p. 58) because, instead of pupils, their eyes were filled with onion rings. Miniature, two-dimensional, fresh-never-frozen, bloomin’ onion rings (p. 11) that stared sightlessly, wordlessly, in my direction.
Bromigos, I swear that I will find Flavortown again. I swear that it’s real.Now that’s bananas, and bananas is good!And speaking of bananas, we’ve got desserts in this book too! Lookin’ for a way to satisfy that sweet tooth? Well, look no further than page 137… Because that’s where the big-ass beignets are, bro!
And speaking of big-ass things, back when I was wandering through the empty, onion-ring-lined streets of a little rinky-dink joint called Flavortown, I was approached by a massive, 7-foot-tall giant with the brightest frosted tips I’d ever seen!
“I am the Mayor of Flavortown,” announced the goliath in a deep-as-heck monotone that rumbled through my bones like the bass line on a Best of Bob Seger compilation CD.
I tried to speak, but the Mayor cut me off. And he said: “Guy. I’m sorry. But your time in Flavortown is nearly at an end.”
And I replied “Is this heaven?”
And the Mayor said “No.“
And I frowned.
And then the Mayor said “It’s better than heaven, Guy.”
Then, suddenly, I closed my eyes to hold back a single, salty, hecka-poignant tear. And when I opened my eyes again, I was stunned to find myself back in the driver’s seat of my groovalicious 1970’s vintage Chevrolet Chevelle, parked on the third floor of a Walmart Supercenter in Jackson, Mississippi.
“Was it all a dream?” I asked myself, shivering silently despite the muy picante heat of the hot Mississippi summer sun.But the glove compartment to my car was still filled to the brim with America’s favetastic snackitizer: the Mac-Daddi-Roni Salad (p. 80).
And I knew then and there that Flavortown was real.
I swear I’ll find it again.
I will find it again.
In summary bros, thanks so much for buying my crunchadelic new cookbook. If you follow these 76 sick-diculous recipes, then you’ll be in for one heckuva frisbee of fun! Just open up the book, take out that spatula, and don’t forget the butter, muchacho. And, pretty soon, you’ll be on your way towards a rinky-dink little joint that the real-as-heck locals call by one name and one name only. A place called…