One recurring theme in my life is the wincing looks that people give me when I express certain tastes. If said preferences were for sweetbreads, pickled beef tongue, bacon ice cream or any of the other gourmet offerings that are all the rage these days, I could chalk it up to being on the culinary cutting-edge. I have no such recourse. These are the unadulterated truths of my palate.
Met-Rx Big 100 Colossal Bar (Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Flavor): To answer your first question: No, I am not a bodybuilder, nor am I in training for a triathlon. In fact, there is probably no circumstance in which my body would need this much whey protein in one sitting. So why do I eat Met-Rx Big 100 bars? That's right: for the pleasure. It's grainy, sticky, chalky, and the "chips" taste like carob pellets. And I like it.
Soft-Serve Frozen Yogurt: At one point in my life, I was such a froyo fiend that I considered the now-scarce brands of TCBY and I Can't Believe It's Yogurt inferior to other fake ice cream, calling them TCBYDoesItSuck and I Can't Believe It Sucks. Now, since I no longer live in the nation's Frozen Yogurt Capital (NYC) and can no longer feast regularly on CremaLita, Tasti D-Lite and other deliciously faux treats (Only 8, Wow Cow, Alpha-1... hollaaaa), I am happy to have whatever soft-serve frozen dessert I can get. What began as an often warped attempt to conserve calories has now mellowed into an ingrained taste, to the point that I actually enjoy a cone of froyo more than real ice cream. My preferred vendor in San Francisco has what might be the most genius combination of inventory ever established: liquor in the front, fro machines and fountain sodas in the back -- in the Marina. Rich manicured blonds push past slick-looking guys in leather jackets eyeing the wine selection, all to get their fix of grasshopper or angel food cake dairy goodness. It's divine.
G.T.'s Organic Raw Kombucha: Technically, this is not a "food," unless you count the solid matter floating in the bottle. I have described previously my devil's bargain with this beverage, and it can't be left out here. Ironically, the Gingerade variety is hands-down the only thing that will reliably settle my stomach (I mean, look how I eat). I like the tingly way it goes down, even though it smells vaguely like urine. I pay $2.96 per bottle for the privilege of ingesting this mysterious beverage, and that's with a gym discount.
Assorted Holiday Candies: To all of you who have wrinkled your noses at my consumption of such holiday treats as candy corn (it tastes better if you bite off each color separately), Peeps (I prefer fresh), Brachs Christmas Nougats and other controversial items, I say that's more for me and bollocks to you. I also am not too proud to eat anything eggnog-flavored.
Yogurt Parfait from Cafe Beyond: When I worked on 18th Street at Sixth Avenue in New York, I would walk through the Bed, Bath and Beyond, into the adjacent cafe, and buy a huge cup full of vanilla yogurt layered with granola and strawberries. Now, there's nothing inherently shameful about a yogurt parfait (in my opinion), and no one ever gave me a hard time about it. But I include it here for a few reasons. First of all, buying your breakfast at the same place you can buy plastic hangers and candles just feels weird. Secondly, it cost nearly $5, which according to my calculations is like a 500-percent markup. Thirdly, this breakfast made me feel nauseous every single day, without exception. And I ate it anyway, because I couldn't get enough of the sickly sweetness of the fruit and granola soaked in vanilla yogurt almost to the point of fermentation. This was before I discovered G.T.'s Kombucha, too.
Utz Party Mix: This is NOT to be confused with Chex Mix, bitches. Whole other ballgame. Despite the fact that I am no longer using on a daily basis, this probably goes down as one of the best salty snacks I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting.
I'm not done yet, just thinking. In the meantime feel free to confess your own disgusting food preferences.