Josh took me to the Asian grocery store. I walked around wide-eyed and ignorant, and tried to imagine the reasons for these packages. Somehow I think that buying fresh-cut bamboo hearts out of buckets of water at the front counter should be indulgent and refreshing, but for the life of me I wouldn’t know what to do after I bought it? Should I just eat it? Should I cook it? Should I have a nice conversation with it so it doesn’t feel used?
I would like to know.
So I picked out a frozen watermelon thing from Korea whose package really was a plastic brass knuckle with a suck-hole. De-lish. It really was just frozen watermelon, not frozen artificial color and flavor. And who doesn’t want to suck watermelon slushie out of imitation brass knuckles? Seriously.
Josh picked out for me a tiny little glass of Aloe Juice, which I thought was poisonous. Apparently not. Also delish. I wish I’d gotten the big bottle.
And finally, I got Artificial Stewed Chicken Flavor Instant Sweet Potato Thread, which is a lunch ordeal like cup o’soup. Except this came with a packet of dried peas, a packet of anonymous powder, and a packet of disgusting goop that I swear is chicken entrails, and a miniature fork with a message printed on it. I bet it’s a very friendly message.
I boiled water and poured everything in. It’s supposed to be eaten exactly six minutes after the water is added. Except those noodles are completely see-through and remind me of the time my cat had worms. Plus, that chicken goop really weirded me out. So me and this bowl of instant Stewed Potato Thread and kinda just staring each other down.
I may be able to destroy you in my belly, Mister Artificial Thread, but you could also make my life vomitariffic. And that’s the power of intimidation.