The Ecstasy and Anxiety of Dinner with Jacqueline Novak

A 5:30 p.m. seating may not be a prime reservation at this buzzing NoHo trattoria, especially for a comedian whose new Netflix special has been deemed “mind-blowing” by the Los Angeles Times , but it served our purpose: to enjoy the parade of prosciutto and wine that defines a fantastic restaurant experience as long as physically possible. As a frequent cook, I’m regularly dismayed by the ratio of time spent cookery to time spent eating. Thanksgiving is perhaps the most egregious example of this—a meal that takes three days to cook takes 20 minutes to consume.

Novak’s latest work, a Netflix comedy special titled Get on Your Knees , is not about restaurants—it’s a fast-paced, high-minded, 90-minute rumination on oral sex. Specifically, as she explained on Late Night with Seth Meyers , “the kind related to the cylindrical object.” Food is also not the sole subject of Poog.

But you are here reading about Novak’s brilliance in a food publication since this stand-up comedian with a special about blow jobs. A podcast largely about skincare is one of the most honest—and underrated—voices in food today. In her mind, there’s never enough pizza at a pizza party, no French fry can be spared. Nachos are best eaten in the sanctity of one’s own home (so that you can kick them into your mouth, “hacky-sack-style”).

She simply describes the nature of craving food in language that ranges from poetic to carnal. Over lightly fried sardines and berbere-spiced rabbit chops, Novak explains that she sees restaurants as interactive theater—food, fellow patrons, and presentation are all elements of the show. We will go down.” After apologetically requesting a margarita (not a classic pairing with Italian food, but the heart wants what it wants), she described a sense of ease, stating, “It’s almost like the brain is static electricity—you can kind of dampen it [with] food, dining, and a little bit of ritual.” Novak’s work is characteristically anxious and discursive.

To her, the theater of dining provides an easy way to be present with others. She elaborated, “It almost leaves just enough room for a reasonable amount of the mind.” Conversation can flow once cocktails are on the way.

In her mind, there’s never enough pizza at a pizza party, no French fry can be spared, and nachos are best eaten in the sanctity of one’s own home. Novak isn’t pretentious about what she cooks, often favoring takeout or prepared meals from a home delivery service (Factor75 is her go-to).

As an example, she detailed a defiant ritual she employs in moments of anxiety: “There’s something for me about grumpily, poutily grabbing a stack of, like, low-carb tortillas and maybe a piece of cheese crudely grabbed from the plastic. I march over to my couch, throw a blanket over myself heavily, and then under it, like a little squirrel, I munch on my stack of tortillas…for some reason, that feels like revenge.” To Novak, this primal approach to “intuitive eating” is a form of self-love, satisfying both emotional and bodily needs.

In the strictest sense, a foodie, now is perhaps the time to mention that, though Novak’s appreciation for restaurants borders on reverence, she is not. Make sure you’re behind on culture, and that way you can enjoy your life.” For a chronic overthinker, skipping the noise of the restaurant scene provides relief. In her view, “It’s just on the table, and it’s in his mind, and that is basically my work.

It’s certainly what I have to say about food.” Novak doesn’t aim to critique the dining experience. By ordering generously and chatting enthusiastically, we were able to savor our early dinner until we were (very politely) asked to make way for the next group at 9:30.