More Lunchables so soon??
Believe it.
Not because the ones from Tuesday were any better or different than the previous hundred – they were, of course, exactly EXACTLY the same – but because at this point they’re simply part of the process, and the process cares not about time elapsed since last execution of the process. So more cold pepperoni pizza it is.
That said, I don’t have many other things to say about Lunchables, other than that I didn’t learn anything from a couple days ago. Two isn’t enough. Or wasn’t, with that stubborn hardpack that never fully surrendered to the pointy end of the shovel. Stamina became an issue, muscle functionality suffered as a result, and the normal schedule was stretched almost till dawn. So I really should’ve bought three, but, instead, here’s to hoping the ground at this new spot is more cooperative.
Anyway, we’ll get back to saying things about food tomorrow. Today, let’s say things about camping.
For a word linked to a singular, universal image – teepee technique campfire, tent(s), trees on the sides framing some sort of scenic overlook – camping means many things. Maybe you hiked twelve miles so you could climb halfway up a vertical rock face and sleep in a tent suspended by, like, two ropes. Maybe you needed an hour away from the family and took a nap in the RV parked in your driveway. There’s a wide range, is what I’m saying. And each trip has a sort of tribulation quotient – a calculation of the circumstances. How far you are from any people, how far you are from any things, how hard it was to get to where you are, how long you’ve been away from society, how much it’s rained, how big of a bitch Todd is being.
Adversity is quantified and downloaded to the palate, functioning as a flavor modifier applied to every eatable that enters the system. I once went on a weeklong backpacking trip through some godforsaken canyon in Utah and ate canned tuna dusted with Top Ramen Shrimp seasoning in a tortilla (not pictured) and swore it was the best thing I’d ever had.
Looking back, it certainly was not that. Looking back, it was day four/mile thirty and my body was a shriveled, sunburnt raisin. High tribulation quotient – I could’ve eaten a urinal cake. Flavors are enhanced and amplified, and once you’re conscious of the effects, the urge to see just how high a taste can be elevated becomes more of a subconscious need. But it’s an imperfect science. I’ve eaten my fair share of regrettable things, often by conflating tribulation and boredom.
Or curiosity.
Now, I realize my situation is unique, with moments of opportunity that only a select few others are ever confronted with. But there’s nothing I’ve tried that anyone else in my position wouldn’t have. Because there’s an itch. A human itch. An itch that maybe you don’t notice because the idea is so taboo and impossible that you can’t even feel it until you’re given the chance to scratch it. Then it’s insufferable, and you quickly learn you can’t leave it unscratched. And why would you? It’s not an opportunity you stumble on (although I guess it could be), it’s found at the end of a very distinct path, a spiraling descent, with gates you can open and enter but not go back through. And it goes down – down well past the end of any lawful consequence, down past the death of any and all personal misgivings. So once you get there, to the bottom, what’s left to stop you? Once you’re there you’re past the point of distinction, all actions are flat, and meat is meat is meat.
And of course, after all this, you find it’s underwhelming. Scratch scratch scratch. A headrush like a grenade on the first bite – taboo impossible unacceptable bad basic archaic fictional wrong – then…very little. Chewy, stringy, unremarkable. Granted, those words apply to almost every haunch or hunk of meat I’ve prepared in my life so take this all with a grain of salt, which, speaking of, I didn’t use during either preparation or consumption. And it definitely could’ve used salt. Or anything. So it was bland, but in a different way than any meat I’ve had before. Sort of sour, almost, with a meaty musk that lingered long after swallowing – somehow more of a smell than a taste. Each bite was intriguing but ultimately disappointing, making the whole experience more of a bucket list checkbox than anything repeatable.
Anyway, got a little lost there. All I really wanted to say is that there’s a limit to how high the tribulation quotient can elevate a given dish. Which means there exists an optimal ratio of adversity and food quality that science just hasn’t been able to solve for yet, but I hope they will in my lifetime. Until then, Lunchables.
Burned and Bland 