how to eat like a bird: goodbye Chicken in a Biskit!

What's trashier than a cracker that bills itself a "biskit," the main selling point of which is that it tastes like a chicken bouillon cube and has a mascot devoted to NASCAR? Well, a lot of things, actually. Cheese from a can, for one. (I at least ate these with real English farmhouse Cheddar, people!)

This box I had to toss because the crackers tasted like cardboard. I usually eat these "chicken biskits" (why not go all the way and call it "chiken in a biskit"? --it's not like any real chicken is involved) only when I'm at my parents' house in Virginia, partly out of nostalgia and partly because I spot them at Target, where everything seems so spanking new and cheap and American. There the turnover for these babies is so quick that the MSG in them really pops.

But here in my local supermarket in New York, it was one of three remaining boxes. It was covered with a thin film of dust and the expiration date looked to be October of this year. In non-perishable food years, that could mean this particular box had been sitting around for a year or two. But I was on a quest. After a conversation with some friends about trashy foods (Doritos has really diversified in the last ten years), I had decided I should have these sooner rather than later, as I didn't want to revert to bad form after my upcoming detox fast. Unfortunately they turned out to be leaden and kind of stale. Not at all the happy, savory chicken-powder conveyors of my youth.

Oh, and they were $3.89. For the same four dollars, I could have gotten two pounds of farmers' market tomatoes, ripe and bursting, ready to be made into a lush gazpacho or this. Instead I find myself eating things not because I genuinely want them at the moment, but because I project I'll want them later once I can't have them. I even made a small ham cooked in Coke, but it turned out dry because I boiled it too long in my overzealousness to really saturate the thing in Coke flavor. All this rather defeats the whole purpose of a fast--filling yourself up with junk first, that is.

There was going to be a banana pudding run to Sugar Sweet Sunshine that I felt I must fit in and an arepas dash to Caracas Arepa Bar, but I will have all those things later, in moderation. Maybe not a day or two or even a week after my fast, but I know I will have them again. I needn't worry about trying to pack it all in at the eleventh hour. And, as for the Chicken in a Biskit, I trash them now, but perhaps I'll revisit that food group next time I'm in Virginia. . . although I do suspect the mystique is over.