Chomp
From December 1997
Sometimes, fork food just won’t cut it. For big hungers, the only way to eat is hand to mouth.
No wonder pizza is such a beloved and perennial victim, changing here and there to reflect the evolution or devolution of tastes, but not altering its essence: a semitough shell of baked dough beneath or around soft but stringy protein, tender, fat-kissed lumps of crunchy stuff and oozy, red, dripping sauce. For full satisfaction, the jaws must open wide, then clamp down, and the teeth must wrestle and gnaw and gnash.
The chewing isn’t incidental. In “Beyond Prozac,” author Michael Norden, M.D., discusses the calming effects of certain types of muscle movement, which raise levels of the brain chemical serotonin; “The most effective motions are repetitive ones, especially chewing and licking.”
Norden notes the strong stress-reducing properties of gum chewing. It is a phenomenon I can well attest to — I once had an amazing proportion of the News-Leader’s newsroom completely in my thrall.
It started out innocently enough: One Halloween, I wandered in with a big bag of bloodshot-eyeball gum and left it out beside my work station for any and all takers. There were a lot of takers, so I repeated the exercise. Soon, I had to convert to Super Bubble, lip-distending logs of sugar-laden chewiness. No matter; suddenly, all these people liked ME. I had a growing circle of addicts. I would occasionally try to kick my habit and come in empty-bagged, but the wild-eyed desperation among panting, stressed-out newshounds wore me down — heck, what could I do? My popularity took a nose dive when I didn’t come across with the goods.
Thankfully, my colleagues’ dentists stepped in and saved us all.
But I digress. Consider how often crusty bread goes along for the ride when pasta is on the menu. That used to strike me as odd — why should one starchy food require another to give the diner a sense of satisfaction? But pasta, even al dente, doesn’t give the jaw enough of a workout; not enough can be crammed at once, at least in polite or semipolite company, to sate the savage mouth. Wanna check it out? Break out some microwave lasagna. Eat part of it with a fork. Then put another part between two slices of toasted or properly chewy bread. Bite in. See?
The hands are almost as essential as the chomping. Let’s try another experiment, this time with pizza. Consume one piece with the aid of a fork and knife, then slam a second slice shamelessly into the gaping maw. I rest my case.
But bite off more than you can chew, and you’ve killed the fine feral joy. An overstuffed sandwich means human shame, as globs of food pitch and spray and plop onto the plate (if you’re lucky). Worse, it probably means forks, to dispose of the evidence. Sheesh. Get a grip.
Sometimes, fork food just won’t cut it. For big hungers, the only way to eat is hand to mouth.
No wonder pizza is such a beloved and perennial victim, changing here and there to reflect the evolution or devolution of tastes, but not altering its essence: a semitough shell of baked dough beneath or around soft but stringy protein, tender, fat-kissed lumps of crunchy stuff and oozy, red, dripping sauce. For full satisfaction, the jaws must open wide, then clamp down, and the teeth must wrestle and gnaw and gnash.
The chewing isn’t incidental. In “Beyond Prozac,” author Michael Norden, M.D., discusses the calming effects of certain types of muscle movement, which raise levels of the brain chemical serotonin; “The most effective motions are repetitive ones, especially chewing and licking.”
Norden notes the strong stress-reducing properties of gum chewing. It is a phenomenon I can well attest to — I once had an amazing proportion of the News-Leader’s newsroom completely in my thrall.
It started out innocently enough: One Halloween, I wandered in with a big bag of bloodshot-eyeball gum and left it out beside my work station for any and all takers. There were a lot of takers, so I repeated the exercise. Soon, I had to convert to Super Bubble, lip-distending logs of sugar-laden chewiness. No matter; suddenly, all these people liked ME. I had a growing circle of addicts. I would occasionally try to kick my habit and come in empty-bagged, but the wild-eyed desperation among panting, stressed-out newshounds wore me down — heck, what could I do? My popularity took a nose dive when I didn’t come across with the goods.
Thankfully, my colleagues’ dentists stepped in and saved us all.
But I digress. Consider how often crusty bread goes along for the ride when pasta is on the menu. That used to strike me as odd — why should one starchy food require another to give the diner a sense of satisfaction? But pasta, even al dente, doesn’t give the jaw enough of a workout; not enough can be crammed at once, at least in polite or semipolite company, to sate the savage mouth. Wanna check it out? Break out some microwave lasagna. Eat part of it with a fork. Then put another part between two slices of toasted or properly chewy bread. Bite in. See?
The hands are almost as essential as the chomping. Let’s try another experiment, this time with pizza. Consume one piece with the aid of a fork and knife, then slam a second slice shamelessly into the gaping maw. I rest my case.
But bite off more than you can chew, and you’ve killed the fine feral joy. An overstuffed sandwich means human shame, as globs of food pitch and spray and plop onto the plate (if you’re lucky). Worse, it probably means forks, to dispose of the evidence. Sheesh. Get a grip.
posted by aparker54 at 11:30 PM
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