The Porkroll/Taylor Ham Argument Is For Losers

If you ever have been a third party to two New Jerseyans meeting outside of their state and one of them asks the other “do you call it pork roll or Taylor ham?”, you have my blessing to punch them both in the face. Little history for you, pork roll is a popular breakfast meat served on sandwiches almost exclusively in New Jersey. Like if you get a bacon, egg, and cheese in NJ you’re just wasting you’re time. It’s that delicious. Doesn’t matter that my college roommate called it “glorified bologna” when I brought it down to Alabama. He also deserved to be punched in the face. 

It doesn’t take a detective figure out where the correct name confusion comes from. Look at the picture above, it says both. I personally call it pork roll. But that’s not me taking a stance here, I just don’t want to write the rest of this blog writing out “pork roll/Taylor Ham” every time I reference it. 

But we’ve been led to believe you MUST take a stance on your classification preference. And tirelessly defend it. It’s awful, it’s cringey, and I’ve done it myself.

It’s a crutch really. People just don’t know how to talk to people anymore. So we’ve agreed upon these geographical inside jokes with people we’ve never met before. It’s done in hopes that we won’t stand there awkwardly sipping our drinks in deafening silence. A generation who can’t hold a conversation but squirm at the thought of silence. 

When I lived in Alabama, southerners loved introducing me to other people from New Jersey. It amazed them for some reason and they always thought I would wind up knowing the other NJ native somehow. There was a shocking amount of people from Jersey at Alabama, so this happened a lot. After exchanging the initial pleasantries and questions, someone (them or me) would go “Pork roll or Taylor Ham?”. Almost immediately the other person would die a little inside like “we’re really going to do this huh” and then answer with either pork roll or Taylor ham. 

If you call it the same thing you high five and it’s over. Figure out an exit strategy. But if you both call it something different? Jesus. You have to stand there and pretend to care about what another grown adult calls a piece of meat. Then you go back and forth with “no you say it wrong.....no you say it wrong...no YOU say it wrong....” and so on and so forth until you have to go home.

I want to repeatedly bang my head against the wall just thinking about how many times I’ve been in this situation. 

Well no more. I’m done with the charade. I don’t care what you call it. If it’s a delicious meat on a bagel with egg and cheese I’m going to eat it and shut the fuck up. I don’t think anybody actually wants to die on this hill. But if I’m wrong and you’re truly passionate this, kindly please jump in the Raritan Bay with concrete in your shoes. 

We’re better than this as a state, so I’m putting my foot down. I’ll lead the charge to stop pretending to care what other people call breakfast meat. Learn to talk about something else or be content saying nothing. 

Waging War On Italian Food

People find this blasphemous coming out of a native New Jerseyan’s mouth but Italian food is trash. It’s kids menu food. The Italians go-to, spaghetti and meatballs, is littered on every children’s menu in the nation because restaurants know that their undeveloped pallets will actually enjoy it. I’m Irish, sue me. 

Every Italian meal is the same exact thing repurposed to make you think you’re ordering something new. It’s whatever’s in the kitchen, drowned in marinara sauce. 70% of their meals have marinara sauce, the most overrated sauce going. Pasta, chicken parm, calamari, mozzarella sticks, mussels, eggplant, whatever ya got. Smother it in the same thing so everything tastes somewhat similar. Balotelli nailed it, the Italians have a serious diversity problem. 

But what about pasta? Fuck pasta. Anything that I could actually cook in college can’t be that good. Oh you don’t like spaghetti? Try rigatoni, penne, linguine, fusilli, or the bow tie one. It’s the same fucking thing! Changing the shape isn’t going to magically trick me into suddenly enjoying it. 

Right now you might be thinking, well maybe you just don’t like marinara. And you’d be right. So let’s go to the number two ranked Italian sauce and have a conversation about it that I’ll just make up:

“Why don’t you order vodka sauce then?”

“It’s just more crushed up tomatoes isn’t it.”

“Yeah pretty much. We just put a little booze in it.” 

I bet you think you have me with pizza. Don’t even. Everyone knows in their heart of hearts that pizza isn’t Italian food. Even if it once was, it’s been perverted with oil and toppings and extra cheese to fit our disgusting American pallets to the point of no return. Pizza is just as much Italian food as the corned beef egg rolls I had last night were Chinese food. Not to mention, trigger warning, plain pizza is the worst kind of pizza. Specialty slices are all the rage. Buffalo chicken, chicken bacon ranch, fucking taco slices! Does that sound Italian to you?
The best part of an Italian meal is the bread. Let that sink in. How basic does your food need to be that your biggest selling point is the base of literally every culture’s cuisine? Fucking Moses had access to the best part of your food in the middle of the desert. 
By this point there’s probably a lot of sweaty Italian-Americans mispronouncing Italian curses at me. Probably want to attack my hertiage’s food, because like I said, I’m Irish. Go ahead, Irish food isn’t anything to write home about. Yeah I go in on potatoes, but who doesn’t? 
My favorite food, Chinese. I love Chinese food so much that my mom tells random strangers that she ate a ton of Chinese food when she was pregnant with me. She has boundary issues. There’s so many options, so many different flavors on a Chinese menu that I just get lost in it. Chinese is so good that mean/ignorant people started rumors that there’s a good chance you’re eating cat and people were still like “yeah I don’t give a shit, I’ll roll the dice”. Italian could never.