The Banana Juice Theory is one of my favorite little creations, born outa strange mix of childhood trauma and comedy. If you remember Andrew Dice Clay back in the day (before he got canceled), he had a recording called Banana Girl. But everyone remembers it as a “Banana Juice” It was wild, over-the-top, and very sexually charged—basically just this woman repeating Banana Juice and moaning for 30 seconds.
Somewhere around the age of 12 or 13, I stumbled on an actual can of banana juice—Goya brand, I think. I don’t even really remember which one it was. What I do remember is this: it was absolutely terrible. Artificial, fake-tasting, and nothing like what I thought it would be. To this day, it’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever tried.
That experience stuck with me, and over time it turned into what I call the Banana Juice Theory. Here’s what it means:
Most of what you see online today—especially on Instagram—is banana juice. Influencers tell you this is the best, the absolute best, the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted, day after day. But the truth is, you can’t have the “best” every single time, in every single place. It’s impossible.
So why do they say it? Simple. Free meals. Marketing deals. Sponsored posts. If you notice that an influencer’s glowing praise looks identical to the restaurant’s own marketing posts, congratulations—you’ve just spotted the marketing team in action. If you see dozens of people posting the same “OMG BEST PLACE EVER” about a new restaurant, that’s not a coincidence. That’s a coordinated marketing push designed to flood your feed and get your attention.
But here’s the catch. Just like that banana juice, when you finally get there, odds are it’s going to be disappointing. Sometimes beyond disappointing.
That’s the Banana Juice Theory in a nutshell.
Now, do I ever take comped meals? Yes. Do I tell you about them? Also yes. But do I claim they’re the best food in the world? No. When I do say something is worth your time, it’s because I’ve gone, I’ve paid for it, and I genuinely think it’s good. That way, I can tell you exactly what I think—without the fake aftertaste.
As always, this is just the opinion of some Fat Guy from Brooklyn. What do I know? If you want to read more about my adventures in steakhouses or restaurants, click on the words.