Nate Bargatze wants to be the Walmart of comedy

Nate Bargatze loves fast food. He loves big-box stores and the suburbs and TNT marathons of Die Hard. He finds felicity in the familiar, comfort in the caloric, originality in the ordinary.

“I had McDonald’s last night,” he says while golfing on a chilly November morning at the Troubadour, an exclusive club and private community where he is building a house for his family. The man with pedestrian tastes has joked his way to a fancy station in life. His rider for arena gigs requires the venue to provide Titleist Pro V1 golf balls. He loves the pit stop around the Troubadour’s fifth hole: a cottage filled with every temptation you can imagine, such as jars of candy, a bar with top-shelf liquor, a drawer of fried chicken sandwiches with pimento cheese. He points to the soft-serve bar and seems slightly disappointed when no one makes a homemade version of a Blizzard, the Dairy Queen treat.