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Esquire October 2019

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Esquire is a funny, informative, connected magazine that covers the interests of American men—all the interests of the American man: Politics, style, advice, women, health, eating and drinking, the most interesting people of our time. All that and it’s the most-honored monthly magazine in history.

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United States
9 Issues

in this issue

1 min.
this way in:

NOTHING WRONG WITH PASTA AT 10:00 P.M. You’ve got stale bread, cauliflower, rigatoni, and a lemon. Evan Funke of Felix Trattoria (our 2017 Best New Restaurant) says it’s all you need for a killer late-night eat. Cut the cauliflower to bits, toast it in a pan, and make a sauce using pasta water, olive oil, and wine. Cook the rigatoni and put it all together. Also: Crumble up the bread and squeeze the lemon on top. Hit page 57 for more dinner-party shortcuts—and another pasta recipe from Funke. THIS GUY, IN THREE WORDS… GO. While we had Bill Hader and Nick Kroll on the phone for “The Esquire Guide to Funny” (which you can find on page 76), a certain cover subject came to mind—who happens to have a long history with both comedians. Kroll…

4 min.
not just men in suits

This month, we’re doing a little comedy thing. To kick things off, I’ll tell you my favorite joke: A grasshopper walks into a bar and hops onto the stool. The bartender takes one look at him and says: “Hey, we’ve got a drink named after you.” The grasshopper says, “Me? Leonard?” Is that a dad joke? Yes. Am I a dad? I am! But I’ve been telling that one for fifteen years, which is eleven years longer than I’ve had children. I first heard it from my friend Brett. It was his go-to joke, and telling it always made him cackle. Brett tragically died fifteen years ago this September, at the age of twenty-three, a few weeks before the U.S. Marines were to deploy him to Iraq. I tell that joke in part…

4 min.
am i… a vette guy?

The existential question will come at some point in life: Am I a sports-car guy? For many, the answer is an unequivocal no. Got my crossover and I don’t need to compensate for nothin’. I get that. And I’ve heard of these Uber-only teens who don’t care about driving, let alone getting behind the wheel of anything with an ex-haust note. I’m a little sad about these developments, because the universal urge for fast freedom and instant independence that bubbles up when we’re teenagers, and again manifests itself in midlife—is that all there is?—is most viscerally fulfilled by a low slung, high-revving automobile. This form of therapy seems to be falling out of favor thanks to overly sensible autos and our mobility-app overlords. But if you have a genuine lust…

3 min.
twitter wants to see this guy naked

One night in 2017, William Jackson Harper found himself at a dance party with his Good Place costars. There he was with Kristen Bell, Jameela Jamil, and Ted Danson, who dances with “a lot of hands, a lot of faces,” as Harper describes. “It was one of those moments where I had to take stock of my life and just really appreciate that I’m on a set with this cast,” he says. “And I was getting paid to do it.” A few years earlier, before he was cast on the beloved NBC comedy, Harper, then a theater actor, had considered leaving the industry. He was getting work, but “I was still broke all the time, and I was tired of it,” he says. “It felt like I was going to always…

4 min.
chew on this

I have visited thousands of restaurants in my lifetime, but over the summer I got an early peek at the strangest one I’ve ever seen. This happened in Copenhagen. The Danish city has been a vortex of culinary innovation for about 15 years now, thanks to the ripple effect of chef René Redzepi’s Noma. But nothing could have prepared me for Alchemist. I met 28-year-old chef Rasmus Munk out-side what appeared to be a warehouse. We stepped inside and beheld a Roy Lichtenstein–style tableau of New York City street scenes from graffiti artist Lady Aiko. Then we moved into a wine cellar that looked like something out of The Matrix—8,000 bottles stacked three stories high in glass towers with transparent glass floors. Then we ambled into what resembled the interior of…

3 min.
in defense of the pickleback

The first pickle juice I ever drank straight was at a horrendous dive bar in the East Village called Continental—a place where crusty bartenders doled out five shots of anything for $12, the sting of which you could mask with $2 picklebacks. A bargain! Continental filed for bankruptcy (twice), then closed last year. The pickleback, usually a shot of Irish whiskey followed by a shot of sour brine, lived on. And not only is it still a shot-taking staple in New York, where it was christened more than a decade ago, but it has also improved its lot and become something you actually want to drink rather than something you begrudgingly accept as your punishment for trying to “go out” and “have fun.” The thing about the pickleback that sets it…