A natural neural food network

If I’ve learned one thing about myself over the years, it’s that I love to eat. I eat like I can’t live without food, and I have zero interest in ending this habit.

I don't think it’s just a complete lack of strong will and good character. It feels like a biological impulse for self-preservation, and I am going to continue eating every day, several times a day. Don’t judge me poorly for being happy in this comfort zone.

I will admit to one thing that is causing a problem. I recently have been forced to plan meals ahead of time because of the whole no water to wash dishes thing, so I can see that this habit of daily food intake has become an obsession with food.

Apparently, when you mix a mildly obsessive-compulsive nature with a plan-ahead requirement, you get a brain hooked on food thoughts.

It’s like when a hyper-focused dog gets fixated on chasing light reflections and figures out the things that cause the shiny lights to appear. After that, every time someone moves an arm they look for light reflecting off a watch, or doors, windows or medicine cabinets get opened and shut and they look for reflection off the glass and metal. The dogs are constantly on edge and jumpy.

I once heard of a dog that tore up a living room twice before the owners figured out the metal wind chime hanging off the roof eave was the cause. I’m not quite there, yet, but I’m close.

It’s just food, all day, every day, in my brain, even when reading the news.

I recently read that some Hooters restaurants are going to hire men. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about Hooters. And I know if I do, I should be excited about the possibility of a little beefcake drawing me in for a first Hooters espereince. At the very least, I could have a feminist pride moment for the female patrons who will now have the equal opportunity for viewing pleasure. Maybe I could feel a bit of remorse for the male customers. Nope, none of that.

I’m trying to calculate how much more food a beefcake guy could carry to my table than a chick. Data shows that the average male is stronger than the average female, and we all know they’re not going to hire a wiry desk-monkey of a dude. These guys will have those symbols of male virility, muscles. More muscles bring more food.

On a completely unrelated note, I read that pig byproducts are used in at least 186 different ways — besides the 187th meat production way. Like fine bone china is really made of bone, some of it pig bone.

Also, pig bone gelatin is sometimes used in the manufacture of bullets to transport gunpowder, or cordite, into the casing — an upgrade from the old days when lard was used to load the lead ball into a blackpowder pistol or rifle.

Gelatin and fatty acids can be used in all kinds of stuff from corks to juices, even wine, and foods to face cream and crayons. I’m quite certain there’s a lot more I don’t want to know about, that’s why I read the article in the online Daily Mail and not the entire book, “Pig 05049” by Christen Meindertsma. I didn’t want it to turn into another issue like the time I read all the details of how hotdogs are made. If you love hotdogs, don’t read that. Just don’t.

But on a lighter note, UPI.com reports that Virgina-based Veil Brewing Co. has made an Oreo cookies and milk beer. I don’t know how to feel about that.

The same news organization also reported that a “group of pie enthusiasts” in Wigan, England, sent a meat and potato pie into space as a promotional gig/science project before the annual World Pie Eating Championship. This story can't get anymore British, can it?

Apparently, they sent it up, unwrapped with a camera trained on it, and the pie made it safely to 100,000 feet elevation and extreme freezing temperatures then back to earth intact.

Preliminary poking and prodding showed that it had gone through some structural changes that would make it easier to consume, but the pie was not actually eaten because it was to undergo further testing, and it landed in a sheep field after re-entry.

Maybe it’s just me, but the video clearly shows that no part of the pie actually touched the field, so I would've been OK with eating it. I mean, who would want to be so wasteful, and the pan would’ve needed washing anyway.

——

(Food, glorious food, at pam@viewfromthenorth40.com.)