A Beverage with a hearty Thums-Up...

...is called "Thums-Up." And, oh man, is it amazing. Okay, the (soda) pop itself is fine--the smooth bite of a cola with a crisp, citrusy finish. But it's the bottle that makes me rate it eponymously. The glass container is thin and tall, like a slimmed-down Coca-Cola bottle with better posture. And near the top, the logo displaying its absent-mindedly spelled name: a red silhouette of a hand, its thumb extended, blocky knuckles clenched together, all outlined in a chunky white. When you thought it couldn't get any better, that this was the finest use of heated up, compressed sand ever in the universe of mass-marketed sugar water, you notice a message stamped on the bottle itself: "Contains No Fruit." Yes, this Coke cousin, as freshly squeezed as it looks, contains none of the real stuff. For all you healthophiles, take heed: it's caffiene-free, as well.

So why haven't we been inundated with the next best thing since Fresca? "Thums-Up," itself a product of the Coca-Cola Company, is produced in India. I procured my own at an Indian market near my residence in *********, USA. All you Bombay citizens reading this (psfght... sorry, I just choked on the final swig of the cola-y citrus-y goodness), go out and drink up. When I brought the bottle to the counter, the Indian cashier told me, without prompting: "The greatest soda in the world." After experiencing the caramel-colored brew while doing laundry on a lazy, overcast Sunday, I might just have to agree.

I'm about to have a bowl of ice cream...

... but I don't have a sufficient foundation. I just ran out of Chewy Chips Ahoy TM cookies. I do have a box of Fudge Brownie mix, but here I am, all by my lonesome, and I'd prefer to preheat the oven with some company to entertain me in the interim. What I do have, are some Cinnamon graham crackers. So here's what I'm thinking: Take one half of the graham, spread some peanut butter (natural) on it, take the other half, spread some frosting (vanilla rainbow chip) over that, and put 'em together. Instant graham cookie sandwich. Hopefully the double layer of cracker will provide enough sustinence to hold up to the ice cream, while the porous nature of the crackers at the same time allows the melted ice cream to seep in a bit, mix with the vanilla of the frosting and peanutty goodness of the PB. Here's the risky part--I'm working with Cookies 'n Cream. Will the sharpness of the cinnamon override the creamy smoothness of the cookies 'n cream? I'm hoping no. But, at this juncture, I just can't tell for sure.
I'll be sure to let you (me) know how it goes. Wish me luck.

Books I've Read (and you should too) About, or Involving, Food

This just came off the top of my head, y'all (apologies to M. Black):

Fast Food Nation, by Eric Schlosser
As They Were, by M. F. K. Fisher
Between Meals, by A. J. Liebling
The Raw and the Cooked, by Jim Harrison
A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole
The Edible Woman, by Margaret Atwood
Candy Freak, by Steve Almond
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl
Eating Mammals, by John Barlow
Neither Here Nor There, by Bill Bryson
Heat, by Bill Buford
Kitche Confidential, by Anthony Bourdain
The Outlaw Chef, by John Thorne
V., by Thomas Pynchon

Oh, there's plenty more. Good reading on good eating is like one of those cartoon drumsticks: The animated dog takes a bite, chews, and takes another, the turkey leg reconstituting itself like a starfish... point is, it'll never run out.

And if you're thinking, "V.? How is Pynchon's debut novel in here? It's not exactly filled with the edible stuff (hard as the story is to chew, notwithstanding)." But remember, Profane and the boys do drink and eat throughout the tale... and look at that title: It's a wishbone! ('boo' goes the chorus)

Dig in.

An Old Debate Gets New Evidence: Please Rise for this Unnecessary Post

There is a small piece (an excerpt from a blog, I believe) in the Boston Globe "Ideas" section of their Sunday paper about the historical accuracy of the phrase "Freedom Fry," that most tragic and ill-founded of American buffoon-isms. Apparently, the fried potato fingers were brought over by an Englishman during a British raid against some incoming intruders (redundant?) onto French soil. Forgive me my lack-of-eloquence at explaining political/military events; my background in History extends to yesterday's dinner [burger, 90% lean, cooked medium-well, served on whole wheat toast, with american cheese, fried egg, ketchup, brown mustard, and a side of baked beans]. The point was, of course, that perhaps the change to Freedom Fries after France's refusal to support the American war effort in Iraq (what a bullheaded, cowardly decision that was... tsk, tsk, Chiraq) wasn't even fresh coinage: The fry was already, somewhat, an emblem of freedom. What does this mean to me?
The phrase still makes me cringe and shake my head slowly, so slowly, for those who decided to take the French out of the fry.

In other news... I changed my blog title. I know, I know... that one person (me) who ever read this is going to be thrust into a world of unknowables and frustration. And believe you me, I vow to make this transition as painless as possible. So Goodbye, "My Name is an Apple...." Hello, "Edible Wrecks."

See, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?