Yes, you read that right. No, I didn’t mean to write schadenfreude, the shameful pleasure that one might feel at another’s misfortune. Schadenfüde (pronounced shah-den-foodah) is a term that I just made up to describe foods that one secretly loves or craves but is embarrassed to admit because they are thought to be unhealthy, beneath one’s social class, or just plain distasteful (figuratively) in polite company.
Do you have schadenfüde? Here are some signs:
· You have items that you push to the back of the cabinet where your significant other won’t see them.
· You go through self-checkout at the store with your items so the cashier won’t judge you.
· You move the items to the basement when you have houseguests so they won’t think badly of you.
So in the interests of helping you get over your schadenfüde and raise you head proudly when you take a bite of your lieblingsessen (favorite food), I am coming clean with mine. Five came to mind with little effort.
Ok, I tried. I wanted to love the organic, trans fat free, stir before you serve, salt and sugar free peanut butter but, forgive me, it’s disgusting. Give me the Skippy Peanut Butter my mom sent me to school with nearly every day, spread on white bread, wrapped in wax paper, and flattened to nearly paper thin with a text book or pounded with my fist. (I don’t know why, I just thought a flat sandwich tasted better.) Why did my mom give me Skippy? For the same reason that Emily’s mom gave it to her.
What? Ketchup isn’t shameful you say. Why it’s in every refrigerator. Sure, but I love ketchup on everything. I love it on steak, on grilled cheese, on nachos, tuna fish sandwiches, and even (gasp) latkes! Ketchup is the perfect condiment. It has all the tastes: salt, sweet, sour, bitter, and umami. Well, ok, not much bitter, but all the others for sure. Ketchup is magical. Ketchup is perfect. Ketchup is the only food worth waiting for. Sadly, you don’t have to anymore. I wish they’d bring back those glass bottles.
Let’s face it American Cheese is just gross. It comes in a yellow (or worse, white) square block. Its main flavor is salt and grease. It is processed food at its finest (which is to say at its worst): You don’t want to see it being made! BUT there is simply nothing that melts better, nothing that is smoother, nothing that works more perfectly in a grilled cheese. One slice in a pan of scrambled eggs is a kind of music. I don’t recall a time in my childhood when there was not a package of American in the fridge. It’s not really cheese and not at all American. I love it.
There was once a statement on the package that made me laugh. It warned, “Pastry Filling May Be Hot When Heated.” To be honest, I haven’t eaten a Pop-Tart in decades. They not only don’t have kosher certification, rumor has it they contain some nasty stuff that is explicitly NOT kosher. But as someone who remembers Pop-Tarts when they hit the market in 1964, the IDEA of the Pop-Tart still fills me with longing. My favorite as a child were the unfrosted brown sugar and cinnamon. The bland, dry, and flavorless ‘pastry’ contrasted perfectly with the sweet, spicy filling. I preferred mine cold from the package. Toaster be damned and don’t even talk to me about frosting! It was hard like plastic and ruined the perfect blandness of the pastry envelope for that sugary goodness! I don’t know if I would like a Pop-Tart if I ate one today. But I am terribly afraid that I would. It is for the best that I don’t find out!
I don’t know if I ever had a Dorito before I met my once and future roommate Steve during my freshman year in college. I met Steve a month or two after I started at Guilford College. I had already established a small group of friends with whom I sat at meals and had inane conversations about all manner of banality. Steve occupied a room a few doors down. I don’t know how we started talking but he invited me into his room and we became instant friends over a large bag of Doritos dipped into the Lipton onion soup mix and sour cream that defined the pinnacle of snack cuisine circa 1979. Over the course of a few hours, I realized that my other so-called friends were idiots, that people like Steve were really smart and much more interesting and damn, Doritos were good. Today, I understand that MSG was a really important part of both revelations. Still, Steve and I are friends to this day and though I rarely eat them, I feel my pulse quicken when I see that warm red bag at the grocery store or in a 7-11. I have to stop myself from reaching every time. And if you haven’t had sour cream and onion soup mix dip, you simply haven’t lived.
Thank you for letting me come clean with you about this. I feel much better now. Now it’s your turn. Are there foods you love that you are somewhat shy about admitting? Let me know in the comments on the website or by email. I may mention them in a future blog, without your name, of course. Tell me your shadenfüde. You’ll feel better and though I can’t promise, you may live longer.
B’tayavon! Bon Appetit!