It had been a tough week – lot`s accomplished, lots to do and little time in between.
I came home with a bag of `groceries` (and a bag of wine). Hot Dogs, White Buns (joking that they were 100-mile since the manufacturing plant that makes them is less than 2 kilometers from here) and potato chips. Ruffled potato chips.
I wistfully BBQ`d them though I secretly desired a pot of boiling water (it was too hot to cook inside).
The first `weiner`hit the bun was bathed in ketchup, mustard, S hot sauce and potato chips. Only 4 condiments but the quantity of each was intended to bury any trace of flavor from the grill. The same way I ate them at 5 (minus potato chip and Siracha).
I haven`t bought a package of hot dogs (you know the ones – encased in plastic wrap, promising to be 100% pure something until you read the ingredients) in years. I`ve had the odd one and am not above them – it`s just that last night these were exactly what was prescribed. I wondered how something I so rarely eat or desire have such a connection to comfort. After all, I do like to be comfortable and I do eat certain comfort foods way more than I should (poutine as an example) but there are others that may appear once every number of years.
I believe the reason is tied to the condiments – that there is some form of connection to this tubed meat that brings me back to a time and place that has great security and comfort. Is it possible to find new comfort foods later in life? Does flavor play a role at all or is it simply some form of neural connection to emotion and the food we are eating at the time?
And why can`t salad by my comfort food?
More questions than answers today. I`m pretty fascinated by them – and the last pack of hot dogs I`ll likely buy for years has to be consumed.