Conversation with 7-year-old nephew, thrice-removed:
— What grade are you in?
— I wish I could answer that question.
— … What?
— I’m finished with school.
— Oh, does that mean you’re a grown-up?
— … Yes… yeah… yes.
Behold — the Flamin’ Hot Cheeto. The scourge of public schools everywhere (spicy foods cause a high!), this extreme snack reigns supreme over other Frito-Lay titans. As a young sixth-grader with newfound access to a middle-school Student Store, I ate one bag of these heartattacks every day for a semester until I developed a double chin. The following summer, cut off from the sybaritic indulgences of scheduled lunches, I inadvertently lost the weight by replacing one piquant addiction with another — the relatively calorie-free bibimnaengmun.
When I was a kid, the best way to eat the Flamin’ Hots was to use only your thumb and forefinger on one specific hand so that the crimson crust of spiciness, layered over your chosen digits through repeated usage, could be licked off after the bag was done, leaving a telltale pinkish dye for about 24 hours. Nowadays, it’s no good to have twentysomething-old fingers stained in such childish ways. Use a wet napkin, and wipe after each bite. That’s what being an adult means. Unfortunately.
(mouthfeel returns with more entries for this Very Special U.S.A. Edition! Update your bookmarks!)
