What is the Best Snack?
We’ve been going big here lately, grappling with heavy topics like emotions, cults, and 𝓪𝓻𝓽. Let’s take it down a notch and think about something fun, something that we all enjoy—from Omar and his Honey-Nut Cheerios to Pooh and his honey, what’s the best snack?
Solo Snacks
People don’t make reservations to go get snacks together. It’s more rewarding to snack in private, feral and free. We all have our little secrets.
The most iconic solo snacker is the breakup victim, inhaling ice cream on the couch. This is a tradition that’s never made sense to me. You’re hurting; don’t punish yourself further by curling up with a comfortless, freezing carton. Doesn’t the ice cream headache remind you of how even the sweetest love inevitably hurts? Doesn’t the melting bring to mind the fleeting nature of relationships? I feel so sorry for everyone who lacks the snack imagination to really put together a feast for one’s feelings. I like to prepare a spread of parmesan Goldfish crackers with chocolate chips, barbecue baked Lays on the side, and a few blueberries for a refreshing final course. While I stuff my face, I read, watch TV, or just think deeply about something that’s been nagging at me since 2002: Carrie Bradshaw claims that she likes to eat Saltines with grape jelly.
There are a lot of unrealistic aspects to Sex and the City, but this is one of the most egregious, and it mysteriously has gone unaddressed in the recent cultural discourse surrounding And Just Like That. That is not a legitimate snack. The jelly would soak into the bone-dry Saltine (the absolute worst carb option on earth) and, just like that, create a soggy mess. At least add peanut butter for waterproofing.
If this is a real snack, it’s a warped and self-loathing choice. A smoker, shopaholic, and co-dependent adulterer, Carrie exerts grim self-control in just one area of her life: food. Famously, when she was broke, she would buy Vogue instead of dinner because “I felt it fed me more.” Vom. (Also: go to Barnes & Noble and just read it there, dumbass.)
It’s almost as if our second-favorite columnist heard that people like to eat something called ‘snacks,’ and lied about her own habits in an attempt to fit in with her more down-to-earth friends. “What’s your favorite snack?” Miranda might have asked, at which point Carrie panicked and named two random foods that were left behind in her pantry by the previous tenant. It’s the equivalent of my nerd-ass teenage neighbor I overheard lying to his bros about how wasted he got the previous weekend. (“I drank four bottles of vodka! I’m so hungover, dude.” I bet.)
The worst part about this whole scam is that Carrie specified she likes to snack while standing up in the kitchen. Love yourself, Carrie. Take a load off. Sit in that ugly chair Aidan made you.
If this is a real snack, it’s a warped and self-loathing choice. A smoker, shopaholic, and co-dependent adulterer, Carrie exerts grim self-control in just one area of her life: food. Famously, when she was broke, she would buy Vogue instead of dinner because “I felt it fed me more.” Vom. (Also: go to Barnes & Noble and just read it there, dumbass.)
I strive to provide such a fulfilling erotic experience that my partner hungers for nothing but me. 💋 But if I had to choose a sexy food, I’d say a Popsicle (cherry ONLY) would be your best bet. Nothing is getting stuck in your teeth, you don’t have to chew, and it makes your lips a nice pink color. Don’t be fooled by the propaganda that paints chocolate-covered strawberries as erotic. How does no one have a problem with the fact that you’re left holding a saliva-y stem after eating one…has the world gone mad?
Seductive Snacks
In a health-obsessed society, to eat for mere pleasure (dessert) or between meals (snacks) is transgressive. Maybe that’s why when people do snack together, it can quickly spiral out of control. The authorities over at Men’s Health have an alarming take on eating dessert—namely, that it’s a sexual act.
In my research, I’ve never known a woman to sleep with a man who didn’t first feed her…[?!]
When you offer her a bite, look her in the eyes and move the fork slowly toward her mouth. That way she can refuse gracefully if she’s not ready to be fed. [What a bone-chilling phrase!]
- …Does she close her eyes and moan softly, savoring the velvety texture? This means she appreciates the sensual, hedonistic side of life.
A ‘moan’ can also indicate that someone is suffering. This circa 2015 advice seems much older, maybe from the mid-nineties magazine era that was obsessed with day-to-night looks and Clinique Black Honey. And eating is a disgusting-looking process that shouldn’t be part of anyone’s seduction routine.
I strive to provide such a fulfilling erotic experience that my partner hungers for nothing but me. 💋 But if I had to choose a sexy food, I’d say a Popsicle (cherry ONLY) would be your best bet. Nothing is getting stuck in your teeth, you don’t have to chew, and it makes your lips a nice pink color. Don’t be fooled by the propaganda that paints chocolate-covered strawberries as erotic. How does no one have a problem with the fact that you’re left holding a saliva-y stem after eating one…has the world gone mad?
For decades, I’ve retained the palate of a Midwestern kindergartner, but when I do manage to acquire a taste for something (sashimi, Mounds bars), I experience a profound shiver of maturity and sophistication, a high that makes eating raw fish and desiccated coconut well worth it.
Other People’s Snacks
Food choice lies at the intersection of primal instinct, cultural practice, and class signifier. Seeing what other people eat is thrilling. Do you remember when the New York Times made people guess which fridges belonged to Trump or Biden supporters? I hate articles that promote the scam that we’re all the same deep down ❤️🇺🇸, but in this case, it did turn out that everyone, no matter the political affiliation, is weird and gross.
In junior high, I loved visiting my friend Alex’s house. I was both fascinated and frightened by his glam new stepmother Paloma, who reminded me of The Parent Trap’s elegantly evil Meredith Blake. Apathetic about step-parenthood, she let us do things like try her cigarettes, jump off the roof onto an air mattress, and watch Basic Instinct while she stood in the doorway and moved her lips along with the dialogue.
According to Alex, Paloma was a gold digger of trailer-park origins. I sometimes noticed a slight Southern accent when she was drinking wine, but otherwise, the only hint of her past was the time that, in a freak outburst of giddy domesticity, she offered us a snack. I was wary since historically their fridge was a gourmet minefield. Chocolate frosting? Sorry—red bean curd. Is that a muffin back there? No, it’s a raw Portobello mushroom. But Paloma’s proposed snack was a pleasant surprise: a sugar sandwich, which apparently consisted of sugar and margarine on bread. Paloma tenderly arranged three paper plates, got out the margarine, sugar, and a butter knife, and then, practically rubbing her palms together in anticipation, went looking for the bread. She checked every cabinet, rooted around under the sink, and then, slightly hysterical, barked at Alex to check the freezer, just in case. Unfortunately, the only bread in the house was the wrong kind—a baguette instead of Wonder Bread.
“Jesus christ. This isn’t going to work. It’s full of fucking holes!” Paloma pointed at Alex. “Your father can’t read a fucking grocery list.” Devastated, she collapsed into a chair, took a few deep breaths, and then, very quietly, asked us: “Have you ever heard about the homesick concubine?” We drew in close to listen while she shared a haunting anecdote about a kidnapped woman in ancient China who was so homesick she couldn’t bear to eat until a special kind of dumpling was invented to cheer her up.
“I really see myself in her,” Paloma said, staring into space, cradling the baguette. Even though I privately thought the sugar sandwiches would still be pretty good on the baguette, I was deeply moved by Paloma’s story and felt terrible that she was homesick. I hadn’t realized beautiful people could suffer too.
The next weekend, I pulled out a Chinese takeout menu from a drawer in their kitchen and noticed the legend of Xiang Fei, homesick Uyghur concubine, printed on the back.
This is a great opportunity to expand your snack repertoire beyond the first page of Google results for “healthy easy snacks good.” I’m inspired by the Japanese monkeys who taught each other that their sweet potato snacks could be jazzed up with a quick saltwater rinse. And I once saw an old man in my grandpa’s nursing home use chopsticks to eat Cheetos. Our elders have so much wisdom for us!
To-go Snacks
I’m not big on leaving the house, but snacks can bring us joy in all kinds of difficult exterior situations—travel, the office, a crowded movie theater. And while snacking out in the world, we’re able to learn from each other and advance snack culture together.
I used to pack my own snacks while gearing up to go somewhere, but it was always an exercise in futility. Initially, packing snacks to-go can feel like a gift for your later self. How promising, tenderly placing some cute baby carrots in a shiny Ziploc while the day is still young! But if it’s a gift, it’s the kind you gave your mom when you were little; a terrible faux coupon for chores she’ll never redeem. You aren’t going to want those carrots in six hours when they’re room temperature and rolling around in a puddle of their own waste. My packed-snacks wake-up call came when I brought raw almonds to work (in an office that will remain anonymous), then left them on the floor in a backpack when I went home for the night. The next day, I picked up the backpack and almonds rained down. Rats had chewed through the bag, taken a nibble of a few nuts, then lost interest. With a tongue six times larger than a rat’s, how can a human expect to be stimulated by a snack that won’t even hold a rat’s attention?
This is a great opportunity to expand your snack repertoire beyond the first page of Google results for “healthy easy snacks good.” I’m inspired by the Japanese monkeys who taught each other that their sweet potato snacks could be jazzed up with a quick saltwater rinse. And I once saw an old man in my grandpa’s nursing home use chopsticks to eat Cheetos. Our elders have so much wisdom for us!
Snack in private—feral and free Snack in private—feral and free
Leave your carrots and almonds for the rats, if they’ll have them, and hit the vending machine. Each one is curated differently, and while most feature uninspired lineups of pretzel-heavy generic ChexMix and basic candy bars, I encountered a beautiful outlier at a suburban ‘business plaza’ I worked at for a summer. Artfully programmed by a regional distributor, it was loaded up with hefty Franz hand pies, Entenmann’s donuts, Kate Bush-approved Fruitopia pink lemonade, and rare Hostess delights like the Chocodile. That office was a mess, with every employee consumed by fender benders, Lyme disease diagnoses, and affairs with people who seemed, to me, to be just as unattractive as their spouses, but I’d go back in a heartbeat.
These aren’t as good as mini-donuts, IMHO, but were still a worthwhile purchase during a painful period spent in a fashion-industry office that austerely served one Baked by Melissa cupcake per person for staff birthdays. Baked by Melissa’s concept is simply cupcakes, but tiny. I actually love the bite-size cupcake idea since full-size cupcakes are annoying to eat, but I certainly don’t want to stop at one. It’s a sick tease.
A few jobs later, I had access to a corporate card, and I indulged in $12 toast at Intelligentsia, yogurt cups at the Chobani flagship in Soho (lol), and slices of cake at Lady M. Once a year, on a star-crossed day, it was possible to obtain some zeppole at the Feast of St. Gennaro street festival to enjoy as an appetizer while en route to Arcade Bakery (RIP).
Unfortunately, obtaining these exotic snacks generally requires having a job, participating in crowded fairs on humid days, or, bare minimum, leaving one’s house. Not the best.
These aren’t as good as mini-donuts, IMHO, but were still a worthwhile purchase during a painful period spent in a fashion-industry office that austerely served one Baked by Melissa cupcake per person for staff birthdays. Baked by Melissa’s concept is simply cupcakes, but tiny. I actually love the bite-size cupcake idea since full-size cupcakes are annoying to eat, but I certainly don’t want to stop at one. It’s a sick tease.
🥇 The Best: After-School Snacks
Perhaps this sounds underwhelming. An after-school snack, scrounged from one’s own boring cupboard? But, like fine art, the context is more important than the content. Imagine that it’s 3:30 on a Tuesday afternoon. The only thing you have to look forward to is Dawson’s Creek at 8/7 Central, then bursting into tears when your dad tries to help you with your geometry homework. But for now, the sun is shining, TRL is starting after the next commercial break, and your parents are at work. Pull out a Fruit by the Foot, some slices of Colby cheese, a peanut butter cookie, and the leftover spaghetti. Maybe that combination sounds gross, but it says something sweet: you’re free.
