I begin to ask myself what it could have been, this powerful taste that brought no proof, but the overwhelming experience of wretchedness, of the degradation of the human soul in this age of unreality, of the putrefaction of good sense and beauty and harmony.
And then I dip the pumpkin spice madeleine in the coffee again, and it all unfolds before me. The flavour, haunting in its stupid familiarity, calls into the recesses of my soul. It reeks of burnt beans and misspelled names and lascivious squirts of vanilla syrup from moldy tubs. Suddenly, just as a cup sleeve of corrugated cardboard that seems flat, given a tiny amount of pressure from the fingers, pops into a round window, an effigy of protection from a boiling beverage, the memory takes shape before my eyes.
I am a teenager, in a suburb with no identifying marks whatsoever, its relentless blandness a war against beauty or sensual experience. I do not really like coffee, but I fill a cup with six packets of sugar to make the bitter liquor somewhat palatable. Soon I discover a way to burn even the last trace of flavour away, a corporate solution for any stubborn flashes of creativity that may remain in our hearts, a final goodbye to subtlety and variation and natural goodness, a toddler-like piefication of the world, and the cheerios and the pasta sauce and the Oreos and the egg nog and the low fat yoghurt rise up from my cup of coffee.
(Thank you, Ben, for the photo.)
It’s almost Hallowe’en, and I am out of words. What cannot be pumpkin spiced? What has not been pumpkin spiced? Next October, I predict, supermarkets will replace all the food with one big vat of orange fluid flavoured with pumpkin spice. Customers will come by, take jugs of the stuff home to eat, or simply stick their faces right in it. The truly devoted will jump into the vat and stay there, orange and fragrant till their last breaths.
(Thanks to Sonja for this!)
Okay, this entry — submitted by the legitimately outraged Dianne – is so bad it’s almost good again. Eggnog is an eighteenth-century drink and seems to be descended from late medieval possets. And pumpkin spice is basically a medieval spice mixture, a culinary blast from the past as it were. In fact, possets were often spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon. Basically, in search of trendiness, the folks from the aptly-named “Old New England” recreated a medieval drink. This is food gone unwittingly right!
Ah yes. I remember this part of Dante’s Inferno. Not the third circle — gluttony — but the sixth, heresy. It’s a little known fact that Farinata degli Uberti was condemned to eternal, fiery punishment due to his perverse use of pumpkin flour. You’ve been warned.
Thanks to Elan, for documenting his purgatorial shopping trip.
I’m not sure what’s worst about this box of pumpkin spice Cheerios. Is it that all foods in America are adulterated with pumpkin spice starting in August these days? The Starbucksification of every meal of the day? Or is it the fact that it would be really easy to make your own pumpkin spice breakfast cereal by just sprinkling some cinnamon and nutmeg on it before pouring the milk?
Oh, the humanity.
(Thank you, Christopher, for the photo.)
You ever stand between two mirrors and look at all the reflections of yourself, just growing smaller and smaller into infinity?
Thanks to my favourite Elizavegan for sending this along!