Category Archives: ice cream

On not snacking

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I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t even write about it. I shouldn’t watch cooking shows. I shouldn’t own cookbooks, go to grocery stores, check ads in the paper, watch commercials on television, or fantasize about the next cake or pie I’m going to bake. I have enough food at the two meals a day that I eat. (Breakfast is a mess for me because one, I’m not hungry in the morning, and two, eggs make me sick, so no breakfast.) My metabolism has slowed over the last decade and every snack that I eat goes to live on my waste. The sad truth is that when I get the munchies, I just have to endure otherwise I would be the size of the Goodyear blimp. Snacks are not, in and of themselves, evil, it is only snackers, those partaking of snacks who are evil or who have evil in their hearts. Whether it is pizza or cookies, cereal or chocolate cake, snacks are everywhere in our society, and at least three-quarters of the fast food industry is based on snacks–burgers, chicken, tacos, pasta, ribs, pizza–not a stand-up square meal. Fast food joints may offer salads and fruit, a fish sandwich, vegan dishes and the like, but people, most people, go for the snack food. What is so sinister about snacks is that they are, by their very nature, temptation unleashed. Juicy, salty, fatty, sweet, they appeal to our basest desires to sate our darkest desires even when we have no need–none whatsoever. We are, for the most part, a well-fed society. A good majority of us have more than enough food every day. The fact that our food supply is so overwhelmingly prevalent and accessible stands in dark contrast to how the rest of the world lives, or not. We overeat at every turn, and we still snack. Go to the movies and watch people buy their popcorn, candy, and soda just after they have had a meal. They probably just ate at home just before they came to the movie theater. At home, we stock the larder with all kinds of snacks–cookies, crackers, pretzels, pizza, nuggets, chocolate, cereal, pizza, ice cream, candy, and I haven’t even mentioned all the leftovers in the fridge upon which we might graze–hot dogs, hamburgers, meatballs, mashed potatoes, pork chops, steak, lasagna. Don’t get me wrong, I love to snack as much as the next guy, maybe more in fact. I love to stay up late and eat potato chips, really salty, really crunchy. Maybe the all-time best snack every, a little salty, sweet, crunchy, freshly made caramel corn. Not the stuff you buy in the store, but the stuff you pop yourself and mix with your own homemade caramel sauce. Temptation never had it so easy. I guess the problem with snacks is that it is food we just don’t need to eat, but we can’t either stop or help ourselves. Doughnuts, who needs a doughnut? A triple white mocha with whipped cream and sprinkles? Pound cake with frosting? Muffins. Did anyone ever need to eat a muffin, or it’s weird and creepy doppleganger, the frosted cupcake. As a society we are considering legislation to limit the sale of super-sized soft drinks of 64 or more ounces because obesity is such a problem in America. I imagine this begs the question: is our own success killing us because we cannot control, on a personal level, the amount of food that we eat?

On the munchies

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Everybody gets them, and always at the worst time. The munchies are rather irrational–eating when you don’t really need to. You had a big lunch or supper, but only a couple of hours have past and you already want a Twinky. You know that there is a fresh bag of chips in the cupboard, and you are planning your assault. The munchies show up at about midnight, maybe a little after. They also show up during sporting events, especially when you ensconced on your sofa drinking a refreshment. The munchies are an irrational craving that crawls into your brain like a Night Gallery earwig and gnaws at your cerebellum until you give in and make the popcorn, break open a new package of Ho-Ho’s, eat an entire row of Oreos, deep fry a few Twinkies, roll out a barrel of carmel corn, break out a box of chocolates, eat that Snickers that you hid away in the back of the freezer, go to White Castle for some sliders. Some people, skinny people mostly, can luxuriate in a profound attack of the munchies and suffer no ill effects from a night of gorging, but the rest of us feel nothing but bloat and guilt. Gluttony is a mortal sin, after all. But the munchies are amoral and know no bounds or ethical codes, are blind and unfeeling. The stomach growls, the saliva flows, and visions of sugar plums dance in your head. You start looking for your keys, the local gas station gas candy bars, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and potato chips. Maybe some soda too. Some Little Debbie snack cakes. You stare into the dim light of the refrigerator wondering where the leftover meatloaf went and wondering what might happen if you resuscitate the macaroni and cheese that was left over last week and is starting to look furry. In disdain, you push aside a Diet Coke, and wonder if you can super-size an order of burgers at the local fast food chain, you know, the one with the clown. It’s three a.m. and the pit in your stomach is deep and empty, so you head out to Wally World for crackers, gum drops, Pop Tarts, Cheerios, milk, and a couple of caramel apples. The munchies are why the big box stores never close. They are filled with people trying to solve their munchies habit, walking up and down the aisles trying to find that one perfect snack that will resolve their craving. The munchies bring out the worst in all of us, eating when we don’t need it, ruining our diets, putting on some extra weight, wrecking our teeth, pushing our blood sugar to record levels. We dream of cheese cake, doughnuts, and cotton candy, but we should be eating a small salad with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Olives are part of the munchies family, so one must stay away from them. We have met the enemy, as Pogo once said, and he is us.

On the munchies

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Everybody gets them, and always at the worst time. The munchies are rather irrational–eating when you don’t really need to. You had a big lunch or supper, but only a couple of hours have past and you already want a Twinky. You know that there is a fresh bag of chips in the cupboard, and you are planning your assault. The munchies show up at about midnight, maybe a little after. They also show up during sporting events, especially when you ensconced on your sofa drinking a refreshment. The munchies are an irrational craving that crawls into your brain like a Night Gallery earwig and gnaws at your cerebellum until you give in and make the popcorn, break open a new package of Ho-Ho’s, eat an entire row of Oreos, deep fry a few Twinkies, roll out a barrel of carmel corn, break out a box of chocolates, eat that Snickers that you hid away in the back of the freezer, go to White Castle for some sliders. Some people, skinny people mostly, can luxuriate in a profound attack of the munchies and suffer no ill effects from a night of gorging, but the rest of us feel nothing but bloat and guilt. Gluttony is a mortal sin, after all. But the munchies are amoral and know no bounds or ethical codes, are blind and unfeeling. The stomach growls, the saliva flows, and visions of sugar plums dance in your head. You start looking for your keys, the local gas station gas candy bars, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and potato chips. Maybe some soda too. Some Little Debbie snack cakes. You stare into the dim light of the refrigerator wondering where the leftover meatloaf went and wondering what might happen if you resuscitate the macaroni and cheese that was left over last week and is starting to look furry. In disdain, you push aside a Diet Coke, and wonder if you can super-size an order of burgers at the local fast food chain, you know, the one with the clown. It’s three a.m. and the pit in your stomach is deep and empty, so you head out to Wally World for crackers, gum drops, Pop Tarts, Cheerios, milk, and a couple of caramel apples. The munchies are why the big box stores never close. They are filled with people trying to solve their munchies habit, walking up and down the aisles trying to find that one perfect snack that will resolve their craving. The munchies bring out the worst in all of us, eating when we don’t need it, ruining our diets, putting on some extra weight, wrecking our teeth, pushing our blood sugar to record levels. We dream of cheese cake, doughnuts, and cotton candy, but we should be eating a small salad with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Olives are part of the munchies family, so one must stay away from them. We have met the enemy, as Pogo once said, and he is us.

On caprice

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It is summer, time for vacations and excursions, time for new experiences, getting away from home, meeting new people, trying new foods, exploring new landscapes, escaping the normal, the everyday, the humdrum, letting caprice carry you away. Yes, for all you rational empiricists, caprice is a naughty word associated with irrational and illogical behavior bordering on insanity. Caprice is about wanting things you shouldn’t want, doing things on the spur of the moment, letting go of the controlled life. For many people, caprice is childish and foolish. One should be able to live their whole life without being either spontaneous or unpredictable. All of life should be planned, logical, thought out, reasonable, predictable, and unsurprising. I know lots of people like this, and they are wonderful, if not a little boring. Caprice, on the other hand, can lead to all sorts of trouble: one might eat too much chocolate or ice cream, or heaven forbid, to much chocolate ice cream. No one needs chocolate ice cream for any reason whatsoever, so it is a caprice. Caprice might mean staying up too late to watch an old movie about good guys and bad guys, beautiful dangerous women, whiskey, big cars and palatial estates where some old guy grows orchids he hates. Nobody needs any of that. Caprice might mean eating that lobster as opposed to watching it swim in its aquarium. Nobody needs lobster, and besides, eating lobster usually leads to drinking white wine with someone you love, and of course, love only leads to rack and ruin, so lobster is a caprice. Life’s caprices will ruin your heavily structured, well-toned life of predictable and good behavior. Caprice is almost always about being bad, wanting something that is not good for you, getting something that is bad for you. Jetting off to Paris is a caprice because no one really needs to go to Paris when they have everything they really need in the United States, probably at the mall just down the street, or maybe even closer in that big box retailer on the corner near your house. And heaven forbid you should go to Madrid, which is full of caprices: lobster, flamenco, bull-fighting, the Prado, tapas, red wine, terraces, handsome people, wild night life, and chocolate ice cream. You might as well throw in the towel if you go there because you will be assaulted on all sides by unwelcome caprice of all kinds. You might lose control of your well-tailored life, of your managed respectability, of your over-sculpted identity. Caprice is a bad thing, no question about it. Stay at home and eat rice cakes. Drive a four-door, respectable, good-mileage sedan with an automatic transmission. Caprice can have nothing to do with your well-run life. Please stay away from other people, roses, fast cars, jazz, art museums (all sorts), bars, restaurants that offer lobster and/or chocolate ice cream, and airports, which only leads to flying and before you know it, you’re eating lobster on some beach where half-nude people are sipping drinks with little umbrellas in them. Don’t be tempted. Stay away from caprice and live your life.

On caprice

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It is summer, time for vacations and excursions, time for new experiences, getting away from home, meeting new people, trying new foods, exploring new landscapes, escaping the normal, the everyday, the humdrum, letting caprice carry you away. Yes, for all you rational empiricists, caprice is a naughty word associated with irrational and illogical behavior bordering on insanity. Caprice is about wanting things you shouldn’t want, doing things on the spur of the moment, letting go of the controlled life. For many people, caprice is childish and foolish. One should be able to live their whole life without being either spontaneous or unpredictable. All of life should be planned, logical, thought out, reasonable, predictable, and unsurprising. I know lots of people like this, and they are wonderful, if not a little boring. Caprice, on the other hand, can lead to all sorts of trouble: one might eat too much chocolate or ice cream, or heaven forbid, to much chocolate ice cream. No one needs chocolate ice cream for any reason whatsoever, so it is a caprice. Caprice might mean staying up too late to watch an old movie about good guys and bad guys, beautiful dangerous women, whiskey, big cars and palatial estates where some old guy grows orchids he hates. Nobody needs any of that. Caprice might mean eating that lobster as opposed to watching it swim in its aquarium. Nobody needs lobster, and besides, eating lobster usually leads to drinking white wine with someone you love, and of course, love only leads to rack and ruin, so lobster is a caprice. Life’s caprices will ruin your heavily structured, well-toned life of predictable and good behavior. Caprice is almost always about being bad, wanting something that is not good for you, getting something that is bad for you. Jetting off to Paris is a caprice because no one really needs to go to Paris when they have everything they really need in the United States, probably at the mall just down the street, or maybe even closer in that big box retailer on the corner near your house. And heaven forbid you should go to Madrid, which is full of caprices: lobster, flamenco, bull-fighting, the Prado, tapas, red wine, terraces, handsome people, wild night life, and chocolate ice cream. You might as well throw in the towel if you go there because you will be assaulted on all sides by unwelcome caprice of all kinds. You might lose control of your well-tailored life, of your managed respectability, of your over-sculpted identity. Caprice is a bad thing, no question about it. Stay at home and eat rice cakes. Drive a four-door, respectable, good-mileage sedan with an automatic transmission. Caprice can have nothing to do with your well-run life. Please stay away from other people, roses, fast cars, jazz, art museums (all sorts), bars, restaurants that offer lobster and/or chocolate ice cream, and airports, which only leads to flying and before you know it, you’re eating lobster on some beach where half-nude people are sipping drinks with little umbrellas in them. Don’t be tempted. Stay away from caprice and live your life.