Sebastian Maniscalco - Stay Hungry

Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

For Lana and Serafina

W hen I started working on this book I thought, Who the hell are you to write a memoir? Youre not an economist, president, scientist, or pro wrestler.

True. Im none of those things. I dont even know how to speak right. But here I am, typing the words and some of them even have multiple syllables.

Im a comedian. My claim to authorship is my talent for making observations about people that come out in a funny way. My comedy is based on my own life, how I come from Chicago, that Im the son of an Italian immigrant father, that Im married to a woman who is out of my league, and that Im easily annoyed by people.

If youre a fan (or at the very least can pronounce my last name, which is exactly how its spelled, but still nobody can pronounce it: Man-is-cal-co), you probably knew all this about me already. And if you didnt and are just reading this on the toilet at your cousins house, well, now you do.

Another thing about me: Im constantly starving . My entire day is planned around food. Whats for breakfast? Should I scramble a couple eggs like a normal human, or wolf down the dozen my appetite is telling me to do? There are no leftovers with me. The only thing thats possibly left over is a spot on my shirt. My wife, Lana, and I go to every new restaurant in L.A., where we live, and travel to a variety of restaurants all over the world. I know a lot about food and keep current on the food scene, watch all the chef shows ( Top Chef is my favorite), and seek out phenomenal food. But I hate the word foodie as much as if not more than the word selfie.

I have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with multiple snacks in between. My wife will say, Babe, dont ruin your appetite. I dont even know what that means. My appetite is impenetrable. My father and I sit around, talk, eat, and justify the indulgence by reconfirming to each other how good the food is. In one sitting, we have Italian bread, meat, fruit, olives, olive oil, gelato. It just doesnt stop. We push ourselves to the limit, not dissimilar to the Nathans Famous hot dog eating contest. We just frame it a little more elegantly. Instead of using water to wash down just one more bite than we could swallow otherwise, we use Cabernet.

Tiger Woodss father, Earl, pushed him to become better at golf; my father pushed me to eat tripe. He said, Its a delicacy!

I would roll my eyes and say, Gross. No, its the lining of a cows stomach. My grandfather couldnt even speak English, so we communicated through pastarigatoni, cavatelli, pappardelle. As you read this book, youll see how cuisine always finds its way to the heart of my stories, even if theyre about something completely different.

Some food rules of mine: I dont eat around my computer. I dont want crumbs wedged between the Control and Escape keys. Some people say, I dont shit where I eat. Well, I dont eat where I work. A meal for me is a time to chew the fat, to digest the day while filling up on food, recap, stories. I dont do quick bites, drive-thrus, or eat at a stoplight. I need a proper setup. The dinner table is my informal stage where I work out material. There is nothing quick about my meals. The longer the better. We may even sit so long, one meal bleeds into the next.

Food relaxes me. Not eating gives me a nervous, wide-awake energy. The longer I can go without eating a full meal, the more I can get done. So I dont eat if I have things to do, like perform comedy. The day of a show, I have breakfast and a light lunch, but I skip dinner to get that hungry edge. If youve seen my standup or watched one of my Showtime specials, you know that Im constantly moving up there, working up an appetite like a bear just awoken from hibernation. As soon as the set is over, I must beeline into the dressing room, change into a dry shirt, and head to dinner before I can even talk about what went on in my show. Even if its one in the morning, I dont say, Nah, Im just going to go to bed. Some people just grab a drink post-set. Im ready for a full-blown spread: appetizers, entres, desserts, and everything in-between.

Problem is, I am also always trying to stay fit. My wife is like my coach, letting me know when Im allowed to have something or not. A funny game we play: We act like Im in trouble or sneaking food every time I eat, like shes catching me with my hand in the cookie jar. In my family, you dont open anything without finishing it. My wife will save one cookie, eating it little by little over the course of three weeks. Lana is so tuned in, she knows by my footsteps as I enter the house whether I stopped for lunch, and she can always guess what I had. Some guys come home and take a shower because theyre having an affair. I have to wash off the stench of the onions in my burrito.

There is one major aspect of my life where I dont over-indulge, fill up, or even let myself feel satisfied: my career.

My recipe for success is to stay hungry. I never let myself bask in any glory. My fathers voice is like a broken record constantly playing in my head, saying, Dont get too comfortable! Nothing comes easy for the Maniscalcos! Get back to work!

When I first came to L.A. at twenty-four to become a standup comedian, everything I owned fit in my car. I didnt know anything about making it in comedy or know anyone in that world. All I had was a dream, a hunger for success, and an insatiable work ethic that came from my father. I cant not work. Its like a sickness.

I didnt have a choice about staying hungrymetaphorically or even literallymy early years in L.A., working as a cocktail waitress at the Four Seasons Windows Lounge and surviving on tips and loose crumbs from the kitchen. I was thrown scraps of hope doing open mic nights and unpaid gigs at bowling alleys and boxing rings, but for the most part, I begged for stage time in exchange for bar snacks (if that).

Even when things did break for me, I didnt let small successes go to my head or fill up my stomach. A taste of success usually turned out to be just that. A sample. A few months after, say, opening for Andrew Dice Clay at the Stardust in Vegas, or touring the heartland on a bus with three other comics and Vince Vaughn, or getting the greenlight to write and star in a network sitcom, Id find myself right back in that Whats next? mindset of being between gigs and meals, feeling the hunger.

This insatiable feeling about standup comedy hasnt let up in twenty years, and it probably never will, even now that Im selling out theaters, touring the world, and writing a memoir. Heres the thing: Im just as hungry now as I ever was.

In fact, Im starving . Im going to pause for a sec. My dad just walked in and Im going to make an antipasti plate. I suggest you do the same!

I f you want to work in the stock market, you go to New York. If you want to grow corn, you go to Nebraska. And if you want to get into entertainment, you go to Los Angeles. So, as soon as Id saved what I considered a solid chunk$10,000I was going to move out there and become a standup comedian.

Before I headed west, I thought itd be wiseand considerateto alert Hollywood that I was on my way. It was a version of calling ahead, like when I was in high school and I called my mom to let her know Id be late for curfew. She always said, If youre going to be late just let me know. I would stop whatever I was doingdancing at the nightclub, having a bialy or clam chowder at the Greek dinermake up an excuse to my friends, and sneak off to a payphone to call her. I was the only one of my friends who had to call home to mommy. They had parents who could give a shit. But my mom was a worrier and still is. Hey, Mom, were at Omega, and it looks like were going to be running a little late tonight. Ill be home by 2 a.m. Dont wait up. She always said Be careful! and waited up anyway.