A Word From Our (Non-Existant) Sponsors…Bob Evans…by Robert Evans

It’s been a while since Braised Blue did a little outside promotion and after a breakfast at Bob Evans this weekend while on a cottage trip in Michigan I was approached by the Bob Evans people for me to do a write up on their chain of diners. They however wanted the ad copy to be written by someone who had a little bit more name recognition. Their first choice was Jeff Foxworthy but after some intense negotiations I convinced them that allowing women’s wear pioneer, actor, producer, ESPN spokesman and cocaine fuelled pussy hound Robert Evans to write the ad copy. Thus the Bob Evans/Robert Evans partnership was born. This is not something I normally do on my blog but I am a dirty whore for a life time supply of sausage gravy. Enjoy Folks!

I have done this kind of ad work for money many times in my life but for the first time I am behind a product that has a direct correlation and through-line to events in my life.

Today I am talking about the good people at one of America’s greatest restaurant chains, Bob Evans. Popular belief is that me Robert Evans is actually Bob Evans, but this is not the case.  I Robert Evans work in the pictures and Mr. Bob Evans was a farmer with a dream of feeding America.

You’re probably asking right now, what would the man who created such legendary films such as The Godfather, Love Story, Rosemary’s Baby, Chinatown and Jade, want to do with a chain of American diners? And I will tell you right now that when I was the head of Paramount Studios making a little film called True Grit, I was taken to a Bob Evans by none other than Mr. John Wayne. That was my first time, and that fat fucking Iowan knew his way around a breakfast table, I will tell you that for a dime. I may have done a mountain of blow in my day but Duke’s addiction to Bob Evans’ biscuits made me seem look like a teetotaller. That is how I know this place has the winning recipe.

When I purchased my mansion after Rosemary’s Baby went big, I installed a gravy tap system in the wet bar, that system exclusively poured Bob Evans Gravy. Roman Polanski came over, one evening,  for a party. Sharon Tate,  Allie McGraw and that little pollock tried to fill my goddamn hot tub with Bob Evan’s gravy. Was it was one of the best nights of my life? Absolutely. Was it a good idea to fill a fine cedar hot tub with sausage gravy? Of course not. Would I allow that sneaky little pollock to pull that kind of shit today? Probably not but I wouldn’t blame him for trying, it was a magic evening.

Jack Nicholson was one of my best friends and he also was a fan of the grey gold. Irish used to sit on an inflatable raft and dip his biscuits into a gravy filled belly button of a different starlet every night. Chinatown was one of my greatest successes and it was a great collaboration between Irish, the little pollock and myself. We’d all sit in a screening room watching the dailies, drinking chivas, and smoking reefer, while being fed gravy and biscuits by the pollock’s army of girls. Did I ever ask how old they were? Of course not. Should I have? Probably. If I was in Prague visiting the pollock and he offered me some gravy and a girl would I ask for Identification? I’d have to think long and hard about that.

In summation, I feel as though I have told the story of Bob Evans through the filter of me…Robert Evans. Keep reaching for the stars my friends.