A Critical Theorist’s Review Of Flavor Blasted Goldfish
Let us begin with this presupposition: The rich know nothing of flavor blasted food.
The ruling class does not have the palette for explosive cuisine. It has no place in their world. The wealthy do not “blast” any meal with anything. I challenge you to name one dish. Flavor basted Steak au Poivre? Flavor blasted confit?
No, their foods are “prepared.” They eat foods which have been “seasoned.”
It is our foods alone which are blasted. This crude detonation of piquancy is entirely within the realm of the proletariat. We alone are willingly consuming foods which have been subjected to forceful gales of pure unadulterated flavor.
In a bag of Flavor Blasted Cheddar Goldfish, we can find exactly the ungodly profusion of taste I am talking about.
To understand the Flavor Blasted Goldfish, you must first imagine cheese. Simple cheese. In some quaint, pastoral setting. Perhaps upon the table of an old Dutch dairy farmer. His name is Hans. The cow who produced the milk which would become this cheese? Her name is Grishilde. They have names. They have lives. The sun rises and sets on Hans, Grishilde, their humble farm, and their block of cheese.
Now strip all this bucolic warmth away.
Place the cheese in a cold, chrome laboratory. Process it with incomprehensible stainless steel machinery. Discorporate the notes of oak, grass, and sunshine which once recalled the any trace of the natural world and reduce it to it’s meanest chemical base. Incinerate this dairy-based exudate in an industrial oven until it becomes a dry granular dust akin to ash.
Amass this desecration in a vat. Imagine literal tons of indistinct cheese remains, blasted onto an assembly line of bleach-flour crackers. One after another. Millions of of facsimile fish. All of them smiling blankly, unknowingly, at the cold display of capitalistic excess surrounding them. The machinery whirs and churns loudly and continually for 24 hours a day. No human hand ever touches what is produced in this lifeless place.
Cheese that is not cheese. Wheat that is not wheat. Fish that is not fish. This post-modern Frankenstein monster of a snack will be sectioned out into millions of unnaturally orange packages which will one day, having served their purpose, doubtlessly float out to the open sea and suffocate a Sea turtle. The last thing that turtle will ever see will be a 3D rendered goldfish in sunglasses, and it will be smiling at him.
But before the makers of Goldfish snack crackers are ever responsible for the death of an endangered animal, the contents of that polypropylene bag will first be thoughtlessly and joylessly consumed by some poor, deprived child who has long since deadened his taste buds to anything less than a literal BLAST of flavor.
The packaging will be discarded, and the “meal” forgotten in an instant.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we not demand better? Even our ancestors, for all their struggles, ate real, natural, vitamin rich food. And we deign to eat synthesized experiments in lieu of the nutrition which is greedily hoarded by our betters? This is the untold tyranny of Flavor Blasted Cheddar Goldfish.
And by “flavor” they of course mean “salt.” I hope that goes without saying.
We can do better. We must do better. We have lost all sense of culinary balance. We have stepped intractably away from the natural food chain. We are headed straight for evolutionary collapse with no conceivable hope of return.
Having said that, they are pretty good.
3 out of 5 stars.
