I am an addict. A food addict. My relationship with food is an obsessive compulsive one. Salty snacks and sugary ice cream are placeless in my home. They don’t belong. If anywhere within my reach they are near gone. My life is a constant struggle to satisfy a craving insatiable. My addiction is a tiger. If I were only so lucky to being addicted to heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, methamphetamine, oxycodone, alcohol, cough syrup or any other superfluous necessity. Lucky fools addicted to such substance can simply lock their tiger in a cage. My tiger constantly torments. It has to be out of its age at least 2 or 3 times a day.
My weaknesses? Where do I start? The Christmas Season is a bittersweet one; the festivities and family gatherings are joyous but the cookies, candy canes, cranberry relish, pumpkin pie, turkey stuffing, eggnog and peanut brittle are inescapable entrapments. One my wonder whether Christians in America celebrate their savior’s birth, or salute calorie gorging and hefty credit card spending near the end of every calendar year.
Another vice is the homemade soft pretzel. By following an online recipe made available by the ever brilliant Alton Brown, this food addict has managed to perfectly craft a comfort food that has been a favorite since his time in the crib. The all day endeavor requires mixing the dough, letting is rise, shaping the glutinous balls in the familiar pretzel shape, dipping the tacky dough balls into a boiling hot water and baking soda filled cauldron, then laying the gummy pre-pretzel form on waxed parchment and wiping with egg before placing in a 450-degree oven. And all this effort is for a prize that is short-lived. The eight of so pretzels the recipe concocts are lucky to last eight hours before their gobbled down in an act of pure gluttony.
The strangest thing is the total lack of moderation. Moderation is a constant in other potential fault areas like social drinking, gambling, and household budgeting. But when it comes to French fries, Key lime pie and ice cream, “moderation” is a foreign and unknown concept. And therefore, the burnt orange and raven-striped appetite nervously snaps it tail while it paces back and forth within its cage. Its single-minded, hungry green eyes belong to a wild animal that cannot forever be locked away. I must at least make a humorous attempt to suppress the beast’s destructive instincts. Your correspondent realizes his appetite is a demonic animal must learn to trust. That is the only way the tiger can step away from the cage and behave itself during mealtime.
