Food Love

I've always been a big fan of certain products - Butterfingers, Wheat Thins, etc. My life wouldn't be the same without them. But even though you should always pass along compliments, I could never bring myself to write the companies and let them know.

First, there's your reputation to consider. What if I wanted to become a labor leader like César Chávez? I would have to prove my independence from corporate interests and fawning letters to the Keebler Company would never do. Also, the free samples could create a conflict of interest. For example, Doritos. How could I champion the cause of Mexican agriculture on one hand while consuming American-produced corn chips on the other? My fingers would be stained orange with guilt.

There's also your sanity. What if I did write the letters, and began to take them a little too seriously? Sitting in a darkened room, day after day, inhaling nacho cheese Bugles and composing love letters to the customer service branches of major snack consortia. What if this replaced all human contact? Clearly, it's a pastime better left to the elderly and schizophrenic.

But some products are so wonderful they must be praised. Lavishly. I find myself often thinking I'd like to marry this or that. Following is a list of products, and the scary, intense feelings I have for them:

Trader Joe's Tuscan Wheat Bread.
I love it so much, I may never be able to have normal relations with a man again.

Nutella.
God may hate orphans in Africa, but He hasn't completely forgotten us.

Wheat Thins.
Bold, nutty, slightly wholesome - this must be the flavor of unicorn horns.

Butterfingers.
The number one choice of child molesters. (And molestees.)

Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch.
This, not jazz, is America's finest export. Sorry, black people.

Milk Duds.
I don't need my teeth anyway.