Here’s How Jim Nantz Assures That His Bread Is Toasted To His Liking And Now I Kind Of Think He’s A Genius


Golf Digest: “I’m a breakfast guy: three eggs scrambled, with bacon and wheat toast, burnt. The problem is, it never came back burnt. For years it would arrive limp and tan, which brought breakfast to a standstill when I sent the toast back. It was costing me 10 minutes a day, which, multiplied by six days a week, is four hours a month. That’s 48 hours—two full days—per year. My friends, time is currency. My wife, Courtney, got tired of hearing me complain about it. She found a photograph on the Internet of a kitchen toaster ejecting two slices of burnt toast. She minimized it, printed it out and had it laminated. She insisted I put it in my wallet. When I order, I present the photo to my server. I get some strange looks, but I can assure you, the toast now arrives black and scary, just the way I like it.”

There are times in all of our lives where we are forced to take matters into our own hands.  Times where you can’t trust anybody but yourself.  Times where you know that if you don’t take control, you’ll be left disappointed.  Goes back to that old adage from Mark Twain, I think, “fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me”.  First read-through this is a weird story.  But once it sinks in, it’s ingenious.  Has Jim Nantz redefined the toast game?  I think he may have changed the entire game, flipped it right on its head.  It takes some pair of cajones to undertoast Jim Nantz’s wheat bread.  But evidently there are plenty of maniacs out there crazy enough to do just that, enough so that Jim Nantz won’t allow it to go on.  Nothing but respect for Jim Nantz.

I think we’ve all gone a little over the top with our requests at one point or another.  I remember when back in college when I started to rock a new haircut.  I didn’t know how to describe it to the barber, so I had a picture of some male model on my phone who had the exact cut I wanted.  True story.  I tried telling the barber what I wanted, it was diarrhea of the mouth, and eventually I was like “Ah fuck it.  Here.  I want this.”  Super embarrassing at first because what kind of jerkoff carries around a picture of a male model with a sweet haircut?  But I’ll tell you what.  The barber gave me a wonderful haircut.

If you want a good haircut, show the barber what you want.  If you want wheat bread toasted the perfect amount, tell the waitress exactly what you want and accept nothing less.  Good day.




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