This is an I-Heart podcast.

What I told people, I was making a podcast about Benghazi.

Nine times out of ten, they called me a masochist, rolled their eyes, or just asked, why?

Benghazi, the truth became a web of lies.

From prologue projects and Pushkin Industries, this is Fiasco, Benghazi. What difference at this point does it make? Listen to Fiasco, Benghazi, in the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Thank you. And we continue here with our American stories.

And this next story comes from a listener in Los Angeles, Joe Garibati.

And before there was a kin, there was this man, and Greg Hangler is about to bring us the story of Chef Boyardee, whom Joe told us in his email, putting us on to this great story, that he last saw Chef Boyardee at his own grandmother's funeral back in Cleveland in the 1960s.

Here's Greg with the story of Chef Boyardee.

Chef Boyardee is one of the most familiar figures in the supermarket aisles.

But you may be surprised to know that the smiling mustache-yled character in the white apron and towering chef's hat

wasn't some corporate marketing concoction like Betty Crocker, Aunt Jemima, and Uncle Ben. The man who graces cans of

beef errone and spaghetti and meatballs, Hector Boyardy, was a real person, and yes, that's his real

pitcher. Here he is in a 1953 television commercial. Hello, may I come in?

I am Chef Boyardy.

Perhaps you have seen my picture on Shab Boyardy products at two grocers.

Born in 1897, in the northern Italian region of Piazienza,

Boiardi supposedly used a wire whisk for a rattle,

and by the age of 11 was working as an apprentice chef at a local hotel.

In 1914, 16-year-old Boiardi set sail for a new life, with better opportunities in America and arrived at Ellis Island.

He entered the kitchen at New York City's prestigious plaza hotel,

where his older brother, Paul, was a Mater D.

And within a year, at just 17 years of age,

...