ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF THE JAMIE FOXX SHOW

RAISING KIDS is sort of like driving a boat—at least that’s how Jamie Foxx thinks about it. “You see a wave coming, what’s the first thing you want to do? Throttle down, right? No. You can’t. You’ve got to throttle up,” he says between sips of bourbon on the rocks (specifically, BSB-Brown Sugar Bourbon, a company he acquired in March). “Your kids are going to test you. So you’ve got to drive through that shit.”

Ruminations on modern-day parenting from someone like Foxx—who’s spent the past 30 years entertaining us—are anecdotes about his children and friends’ kids (who call him “Uncle Jamie”) that come punctuated with impersonations and timing so sharp and effortless he’s got everyone in his immediate vicinity at West Hollywood’s scenester seafood eatery Catch hanging on the edge of their seat, waiting for the punchline.

And with Jamie Foxx, there’s almost always a punchline.

That’s what makes him so great at everything he brings to the screen or to the stage or to his music or as a bon vivant over plates of sushi and Wagyu. Foxx entrances simply by throwing all of himself into whatever he’s doing.

Foxx moves on to recounting another dad tale—this one involving his preteen nephew, a wayward basketball, and a window—that has me, two waiters, and several tables of strangers doubled over in laughter. When the window broke, I’m sitting in my bungalow trying to enjoy my shit, and some of the glass hit me in the motherfucking head! I went crazy,” he says, flailing his arms. “Like…goddamn, bro. Why’re y’all playing basketball inside the house? They’re dunking on each other and shit. I get it. I’m a kid, too, so I was like, ‘Did you at least dunk? Now, get out here and clean this shit the fuck up!’”