All of this talk regarding Super Bowl commercials, namely for cars and lumber and whatnot… And yet not a lot of buzz for SPAM.
It was the commercials for this wonder meat (I have already Trademarked “WonderMeat” for an adult cartoon series, so don’t get any ideas) that got my brain working yesterday. It’s such an underrated cut, you’d become clinically depressed just considering that the following exchange would never take place in some Michelin star restaurant:
“Why, yes... I’d like the Spamderloin. In fact, how about the Filet Spamignon?”
“Would you like that bacon-wrapped?”
“Seems rather redundant, but certainly.”
You’d have to wonder, though, what sort of a meat genius you’d have to be in order to discern the individual cuts of SPAM.
“Dis ‘ere, uh, particular cut is dee, uh, leg of SPAM. Which is, as you know, is remarkably similar to da arm of SPAM, as well as da chuck, loin and flank. Da majestic SPAM, when raised free-range, develops a little more devoisity in its physical appearance, as noted ovah ‘ere, wit dese little caps of gelatin-like substance.”
Far be it for me to dump on a dream, but no matter how good the food or service or atmosphere, I’d imagine that the hardest part of opening your own artisanal grilled cheese sandwich restaurant would be realizing that you’d never really have any “regular” customers.
You know why Sun Chips come packaged in those opaque bags? I think it has a lot to do with that near baby-shit brown coloring of the chips themselves. Had they been packaged like normal snack foods, you’d see them behind that little window in the bag and think “Those look more Earthy than the name implies. Perhaps more like the contents of the colostomy bag found attached to a mummy. I am an American, and demand that MY Sun Chips look more yellow, as the sun itself,” and then Neil Degrasse Tyson could step in and reclassify the snack as something else, because that’s what astrophysicists do, obviously.
And don’t even get me started on the potential of a sixteen show series from Michio Kaku that would dig deeper into the mystery of the off-colored “red giant” chip, or the even more rare stellar collision, wherein two chips have merged into one unit (occasionally, there’s like five PLUS in some globular cluster, forming this nebula of not-quite Sun Chippy-goodness that you avoid because it’s more like the weird characters in Tod Browning’s 1932 film Freaks than some food, and you just can’t bring yourself to touch it, but can rest assured that some talent-less hack would have stolen the entire premise for a shitty cable series like some eighty years down the road).
That said, try a little fucking harder, Sun Chips. I demand accountability from my snacks. Now, about this “Milky Way” bar, and the obviously sloppy anatomical research by the “Butterfinger” people…
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!! Someone is trying to KILL ME!! Just HOW IN THE FUCK did THAT get in there?! What in the…”
“See how progressive we are?”
“I’m eating light. Do you have anything on the Vegan menu?”
“Perhaps you need to switch to a leaner brand.”
(I receive a cold, cold look as wife exits room)
If it’s true that your tastes change every ten years or so, it bears mentioning just how much I presently enjoy pizza-flavored snacks.
HOWEVER: I should note that if I were ever served a pizza that tasted like any of these snacks, I’d be one pissed-off motherfucker.