Perhaps you are reading this and wondering, possibly aloud to the bemusement of your fellow Starbucks patrons, “What are hushpuppies?” Maybe you are asking, if you have to scroll for more than a few seconds to get to your birth year on a dropdown website menu, “Why would I want to eat a sensible, comfortable shoe?” Or you’ve possibly taken great umbrage at this edict, indignantly declaring your great affinity for these delectably deep-fried gastrointestinal SCUD missiles. BTW, how’s that for a timely, relevant reference? Before taking to the streets with pitchforks and torches to demand my ouster from whatever it is I do, allow me to defend this position.
Harken back with me, if you will, to the days of yore. Well, at least to 1980 or so. There was a restaurant chain in Maryland called the Chesapeake Seafood House (I think). Their claim to fame, and contribution to morbid obesity, was its All You Can Eat Alaska King Crab Legs. Who doesn’t love those things? And the cost was reasonable, so long as you ate your fill of them and other comparably priced menu items. As such, many diners ordered them. On paper (table cloths and napkins), this seems like a failed business model. Au contraire, mon ami! Enter the aforementioned hushpuppies, nuggets of diabolically ingenious cornmeal economic collusion. Put on your tinfoil hats and consider the following.
While awaiting the strategically timed arrival of your crab legs, the server, waitstaff, culinary liaison or whatever we call them these days, plied our appetites and taste buds with hushpuppies. Remember, we had prepared ourselves for this meal by essentially starving, wanting to get our money’s worth. So when the hushpuppies arrived at the table, looking and smelling irresistible, we couldn’t help but eating “just a few”. Seven bowls later, we’d basically quenched our hunger pangs before the good stuff was placed before us! Struggling to consume even the first plate of the desired crab legs, we nonetheless soldiered on, until cramping and bloating prevented another bite from being taken. After anticipating a culinary feast, we instead settled on filler, foregoing the finer things for the lesser. We gorged on junk food, quashing our longing for the savory entree. If a meal is ruined, we are no worse off. But if we are not intentional, our lives can also suffer the malaise of mediocre “filler”, spiritually speaking.
(Click “Stand on Firmer Ground” for deeper look into Don’t Eat The Hushpuppies!)