Daring Food
by Anne Loucks
I have a theory. Most food preservation techniques were originated as dares. Fermented meat, pickled fruit, curdled milk, all of these things have sat around a little too long. They might be the only food you have, but nobody really wants to eat them. They smell bad and taste worse. I can envision people sitting around, all hungry, daring each other to eat stinky meat which has been sitting in its pot too long.
Sometimes these traditions continue into the modern day. In Iceland, you can still get Rotten Shark, which is carefully decomposed under the sand and then hung for months. Traditionally, Rotten Shark is eaten with a drink of schnapps nicknamed Black Death. Supposedly, all visiting foreigners should try it. The locals dare you to eat the preserved meat, but it is disgusting.
America seems to have abandoned such horrors, or so I thought. Recently, I found microwavable pork rinds at the grocery store. There they sat on the shelf, next to the popcorn. I am no stranger to odd food, having eaten fish eggs, lungs, tentacles, viscera, and bugs to name a few. Yet for some reason, these microwaveable snacks disturb me. One should not microwave pork rinds. They ought to come pre-cooked in a bag, like potato chips. Pork rinds are already highly processed and somewhat questionable as food, so is there any reason to give the illusion of freshness by providing a way to cook them at home? The logical side of me is fascinated that such a thing could exist, but my emotions tell me these things are freakish, inedible, and scary. Naturally, I buy a box and take it home.
Upon opening the package, I find it contains several small flat bags almost identical to those used for microwave popcorn. The cooking instructions are also roughly equivalent. I turn the bag over, staring at it, wondering how it might produce pork rinds. I try to feel the little rinds through their enclosing paper, but fail.
After a few more seconds of uncertainty, I toss the whole thing in the microwave. A couple button presses later, the bag is lit up, rotating like something on display. Admittedly, I see it as more of a science experiment than a meal at this point. Eventually, the bag starts to inflate, making crackling noises. A smell, resembling that of sausage, wafts from the microwave, but the scent seems more chemical than spice. I do not like it.
When the pork rinds are finished cooking, I take them out and open the bag, being careful not to burn myself. Steam puffs into the air, intensifying the smell. My stomach rebels at the idea of eating anything, let alone that which is causing the stench. I need a test taster. I call the dog over to try some microwaved pork rinds and he refuses them, giving me the same look I receive when offering him broccoli or cabbage. It is a look which says I have tried to feed him something other than food. I agree with my dog, but just to be sure, I try a small one. The taste is about like the smell, and the texture is unpleasant, far too dry. My tongue is instantly dessicated, which is probably for the best since it could therefore not taste as well. The rest of the bag goes in my trash.
I do have an evil plan for the remainder of the box though. It travels to work with me the next day, where I leave it in the break room. Many people I have worked with over the years will eat almost anything, provided it is free. I want to see who dares to eat the rinds and what they think of them. Later that day, I am rewarded when one of my coworkers comes upstairs carrying a freshly microwaved bag.
He pops a pork rind into his mouth and then holds one out to me saying, "These are disgusting. Want one?" I do not even need to query him. Maybe he noticed me looking at the bag.
"No thanks." I say, "I don't want something sold as disgusting." This is a lie. I had wanted them precisely because they were disgusting. I just wanted other people to eat them, me watching in horrified fascination. The rest of the pork rinds disappeared without my witnessing their demise.
As food, I feel they deserve no praise. I have eaten far better tripe and tendon. As entertainment however, they were priceless. For the most part, we in America lack properly bizarre and terrible tasting food, with which to torture each other. Still, if any traveling foreigners come over to my house, I might just try to sell microwavable pork rinds as a local delicacy, which every traveler should try. I would offer them a freshly cooked bag, holding it to their faces, daring them to eat just one.
