New Food!

As I mentioned yesterday, different communities are identified by their foodways, as the anthropologists would call habits and rituals of consumption.  So I did make it up to Peabody and World Class Billiards last night, and it was jam-packed.  I waited for over an hour for a table, listening to a conversation between a young couple also waiting at the table behind me.  The world is full of stories...

Anyway, the two guys at the closest table were both in their mid-20s, probably high school or college athletes.  Tall, broad-shouldered, good looking.  Terrible pool players, but the blessings of life are not all given to the same person.  So I'm talking with John, the owner, listening to his litany of problems about the business.  He's a really sweet guy, friendly to everyone, but I think he's related to Job.  While we're talking, the handsomer of the two guys at the first table comes up for a beer.  John remembers without being reminded that the guy is drinking Coors Light (as I say, the blessings of life are not all given to the same person) and uncaps a fresh bottle.  The kid also reviews the very slim snack offerings -- two or three different kinds of chips, two candy bars (KitKat and Snickers, which I later heard a Latino woman ask for as "Sneakers," which baffled both John and I for a few seconds), just a miscellany.  "Gimme some Swedish fish," the kid says.

So picture this.  You've got a strapping young Abercrombie and Fitch model, drinking Coors Light in a dingy pool room, and he's asking for... what?  A tin of sardines?  Kippers?  Do they come with crackers?

Given that John and I were having a conversation, I have a reason to be hanging out at a pool room counter, and therefore I must be trustworthy.  I spend some of my social capital.  "What the hell are Swedish fish?" I ask.

"They're like gummy bears, but hot," John says. Now nothing makes sense at all.  "Give him one," he suggests to the kid, who tears open the package and drops a few into my hand.

"Thanks."  I look at my hand, which is filled with ovals of toxic, transparent red rubber.

Our bag only had the red ones.  And yes, the fish does have the word Swedish molded into its side.

Well, when in Rome... I pop one into my mouth and chew.  And two things hit me at once.  First, the texture.  John didn't say they were "hot," he said they were "hard" in a Boston accent.  Hahd.  Well, they weren't really hard, they were stiff.  And sticky.  It's probably the stuff dental molds are made from.  You crush it with your molars, and it just smashes sideways and sticks to every tooth surface it comes into contact with.

The second thing I noticed was the flavor.  It was red-flavored.  Every American kid knows exactly that flavor. It's no identifiable fruit, even though it might be called "strawberry" or "cherry."  It's just red, the flavor of red Kool-Aid and red Jell-O and Faygo Red Pop.

So I'm left with many questions for further anthropological study.

1. Who would make a gummy bear shaped like a fish, and market it BASED ON its fish-ness?  It's not cute like a gummy bear, or gross-out-the-grownups like a gummy worm.  Why not Swedish bears?
2. And why Swedish Fish?  What the hell kind of brand name is that?  You don't order a St. Louis Cylinder, you order a Budweiser. Okay, so Swedish Fish were originally made in Sweden (and you can, it seems, buy them at Ikea).  Who cares?  Now they're made in Hamilton, Ontario, so they're Hamilton Fish.  I mean, call them Fruit Flounders or Wrigglers or something... 
3. In the midst of a rack of Doritos and Snickers, what kind of snack-bar owner has a box of Swedish Fish?? Is there a big demand for those among the misguided youth of Boston's northern suburbs?
4. How does a 25-year old develop a taste for red-flavored dental mold?