Small Shelly Fauna

Gum and Nuts: Together At Last!

Incredibly self-centered creatures as we are, we humans have long sought to distinguish ourselves from the beasts of the field. Certain popular religions have stated, “Well, we’re the only ones made in God’s own image,” but this is a difficult theory to test. Philosophers and scientists have also tried their hand at solving this problem, but with, in my opinion, extremely limited success. Traditional distinctions, like tool use and language, are right out. “Lower” primates and birds be talkin’ and tool makin’ all up in this piece. The ability to weasel out of things holds up pretty well—except for the weasel. Quasi-abstract concepts like “rational thought” and “consciousness” are too vague for effective delimitation. I have my own idea, however. I would posit that humans are the only organisms that combine foods to improve taste. In all other animals, food combinations are only accidental: a dog will never make the decision to rub a dead squirrel in honey, even if that is what it ends up consuming whilst raiding the garbage, and it is unlikely that it derives any special pleasure from the then-enhoneyed corpse. Critics of my idea might say that food combination is simply an expression of rational thought. Perhaps, but even if so, it at least represents a tangible cue for this historically inscrutable concept. Furthermore, my idea is testable, although I doubt anyone would take the time and effort to prove it. It would require testing neurological response to mixed foodstuffs in various animals and humans, as well as behavioral studies presenting subjects with separate ingredients of a more delicious whole. (If anyone ever sees some anthropologist or neurologist actually doing this, please note that they ripped the idea off of me. Unless, of course, I have unconsciously ripped this idea off of Steve Allen, which is very possible.)

Assuming that my food-combinatory assessment of humanity is valid, the question then becomes: when did this practice begin? And what were the first foods so combined? Some savory herb applied to reindeer shank, perhaps? Or maybe just your traditional mixed greens? Unfortunately, I lack the archeological acumen to address this. What is known is that once it started, humans started mixing flavors like gangbusters. The origins of some of this combinations, and foods in general, continue to perplex me, however. Calvin’s puzzlement on the origins of drinking cow’s milk (“I think I’ll drink whatever comes out of these things when I squeeze them”) is relatively minor in this regard—it probably didn’t require a huge mental leap to link human lactation with that of other mammals. But who would have ever thought that powdered grain, ground legumes, and mashed, gelatinized berries could combine to form such an amazing taste sensation as the PB&J? Admittedly, this is not a fair example, as this sandwich is of recent vintage. It’s a bit much to ask for tribal origin stories for a food that was invented in the late 1890s. (Remarkably, peanut butter was apparently not invented by George Washington Carver, but by a St. Louis doctor who prescribed the nutty paste as a protein supplement for weak-jawed or toothless people. The subsequent mechanization of the butter-making process by food manufacturer George A. Bayle, Jr. brought the item into the mainstream. Carver did refine the recipe, however.) Furthermore, now that I think about it, no foods involving peanuts can be considered that surprising—they go well with just about anything (I think the Japanese have taken this a little too far, though, with their dried “squid and peanut” snacks. To each his own, I guess. Personally, I’m a big fan of the peanut butter/honey/sweet pickle sandwich combo, while others, like Elvis, prefer peanut butter and bananas or the venerable FlufferNutter.) But the consumption of other nuts truly is mysterious. Take cashews, which are extremely toxic until roasted. (By the way, I’m aware that neither the peanut or the cashew is, technically, a nut. See my earlier post on revisionist etymologies.) How many Amazonians kicked the bucket noshing on uncooked cashews before someone decided to toss it in the fire? The cashew proper is surrounded by a sweet, edible pseudofruit, and it is likely that various preparation styles of this latter structure lead to the discovery of cashew edibility. But what of rhubarb, whose leaves are filled with poisonous oxalates and whose stem, once cooked, is the only edible part? Maybe this is just me, but general laws of salad lead me to believe that one would always eat leaves first, then try the less appealing parts of the plant. And if all of my tribesmen had died eating rhubarb leaves, I certainly wouldn’t be the one to try the stem. I’m really going to bust out with the wild, completely unfounded speculation here (I’m dabbling in anthropology here—it’s what they do!*), but maybe the consumption of the aforementioned toxic vegetables started out as shamanistic practice, that is, seeking out chemical-laden plants for their reality-altering properties. This is the only way I can reconcile people ever figuring out which mushrooms are good to eat.

Like language, food seems to have limitless potential for novel combinations. With that in mind, I challenge you to take two completely unassociated ingredients and throw them together tonight. In all probability, the results will be disgusting. But there’s always the chance that you may stumble upon pinnacles of deliciosity formerly undreamed of by mankind. One time, inspired by the TV show Doug, I decided to mix bananas and pizza sauce. Two great tastes that taste great together! Also, a word of advice in your mixings: you can’t go wrong with bacon. You just can’t. There is no known food that isn’t improved by the addition of bacon. I say this as a man who has, to test this statement, covered bacon bits in melted chocolate and then frozen the results to produce a baco-candy bar, sprinkled bacon on vanilla ice cream, and deep fried a Suzy-Q wrapped in bacon. All right, I admit that these combos may not be for everyone, but it should at least indicate that there may be unrealized melanges to please your own personal palate. Bon apetit!

* Don’t hit!