8 nasty fast-food ingredients and how you can avoid them

My Fellow Inebriates,

‘Tis the season for resolutions. (Nope…no announcements here.) Whether our body-obsessed culture rubricates them, or whether they simply represent a failure of imagination, most resolutions fall under the health-and-fitness banner. You can’t swing a cat in the gym after January 1, unless of course you go early (that the Resolute go at all is a triumph; don’t ask them to show up at 5:00 a.m.) nor can you switch on any media channel without receiving advice on achieving svelteness, buffness, hotness, or whateverthehellyouwantness. Yes, New Year’s resolutions combine all the frenzy of want-it-now binge/purge behavior PLUS a dose of moralizing condescension. Fuck up your resolution in the first week and people will laugh forgivingly. Fuck it up in February and they’ll pat you on the back for trying, all the while happily welcoming your failure as proof your goal was too epic and that an intelligent person wouldn’t have bothered in the first place, except to garner attention, you douche.

cats on treadmill

Yeah, so I bloody love New Year. It’s sort of like being in a global room with a bunch of bulimics trying figuratively to barf up the entire last year while praying to Jesus or whoever wrote The Secret. Advice comes fast and fastidious (ha!)—no more wheat, no more bacon, no more eating after 7:00 pm…if it was fun, say good-bye to it, at least until next week (or February, douchebags).

None of which I have any right to say. The only thing I ever gave up was Bejeweled, because it was hurting my paw. Truly, more power to anyone who decides to ring in a life change with the New Year—you’re stronger than the average bear. (And yes! You can do it. If you put up with reading about LBHQ, you can do anything.)

The LBHQ resolutions…

No one in the house had any intention of making a resolution, so my mum assigned us all one:

  • P: Stop putting/leaving things on the floor.
  • V: Go to the bathroom alone; really, there is nothing scary in there, unless you count the toilet. (OMG, my fellow inebriates, I definitely count the toilet.)
  • Dad: Be on time. (Meaning: be early.)
  • LB: Stop coming up with reasons to drink.
  • Herself: Stop wasting time typing for that bear. (OMG!!)

Those resolutions all suck.

  • Putting things on the floor is the best way to thwart a vacuuming effort. If Mum has to move a whole bunch of toys and clothes, she’ll consider her work done and not make the additional effort of vacuuming. None of us wants to hear that machine. Miss P is smart.
  • The toilet is legitimately terrifying. Who knows—maybe Glen Bear went down the toilet, which would explain its reluctance to swallow big things lately.
  • My dad lives for the adrenalin rush of making a 35-minute drive in 25 minutes. Take that away and there’ll be nothing left but porn.
  • Yeah, right. My parents love my justifications for drinking.
  • OMG!!

Those resolutions make me want to reflect on some typical ones. For instance: “Eat better.” Marvelously vague, not to mention qualified in relation to whatever gluttony 2012 featured, “eat better” is nevertheless one of the most popular goals for January. But “eat better” than what? What the hell does it mean?

cat resolution*

You should see the stuff my mother cooks. You’d count me fortunate to be a bear and therefore banned from the dinner table. Broccoli, corn chowder, zucchini, stew—you’d wish you could have some astronaut pellets instead, or even some rabbit pellets. Nobody at LBHQ needs to worry about pushing away from a table laden with delicious foods. Mum’s got that covered without even trying.

But what about fast food?

P and V would love some fast food. Like any kid who’s been to McDonald’s once, their blood forever courses with its secret addictive ingredient. They can spot the Golden Arches from an inhuman distance, even while claiming they can’t spell because the blackboard is too far away. They don’t get fast food very often, but when they do, they pine for it long after the fact. What freaky things are in fast food? And should we resolve to cut them out for 2013?

1. Duck feathers and human hair

l-cysteineYum! That’s where food scientists get L-cysteine, a semi-essential amino acid used in bread products to make the dough more workable. Although it can be synthesized, most is obtained from duck feathers and a small percentage comes from Chinese women who sell their hair to chemical-processing plants—you won’t find that on any product label. McDonald’s hot apple pie? Duck feathers. Mmmmmm. L-cysteine is actually pretty normal and non-scary, and it can even fight hangovers by counteracting the aldehydes produced during alcohol metabolism—you just might want to know the source.

2. Sand

This doesn’t freak me out too much, people. Food chains like Wendy’s and Taco Bell use it as an anti-clumping agent. But I mean…it’s just sand. If my parents would only save up and take us on a tropical vacation, we’d accidentally consume a ton of sand—in our margaritas, etc. All good.

3. Wood

Plant-derived cellulose thickens, stabilizes, and otherwise bolsters the texture of all kinds of fast food. Not scary at all. Aren’t we supposed to eat a plant-based diet?

4. Dimethylpolysiloxane

Eight little syllables and you’ve got a silicone that prevents fry-cook oil from foaming. Good, right?

 

5. Tertiary butylhydroquinone

mcnuggetNot to be confused with LBHQ, TBHQ is a petroleum-derived preservative found in 18 McDonald’s products. The FDA limit is 0.02 percent of a food’s oil and fat content. Be careful not to eat more than 5 kg of McNuggets, though—you’ll hit the threshold for symptoms such as delirium, nausea, vomiting, and suffocation. Eat a 25-kg McNuggets serving and you’ll die (well, presumably you would anyway).

6. Ammonium sulfate

It’s a soil fertilizer and a yeast feeder…without this additive, those yummy fast-food breads would cost a fraction of a penny more. Mmmmm!

7. Insect-derived dyes and shellacs

Just when you thought fast food couldn’t get any more appealing, consider the special beetle secretions and excretions that give candy and baked goods their high shine and vivid colors. Crushed female cochineal insects impart a ravishing red to meats, sausages, marinades, dressings, jams, pie fillings—you name it. Not that eating bugs is such a big deal—we ingest bugs all the time. Think of all the aphids that come in a bag of frozen broccoli. Think of bugs so small you can’t see them. No biggie, right? Right!

8. Pink slime

Mechanically separated meat paste—which McDonald’s disavowed in 2011—is a meat-and-bone slurry treated with ammonium hydroxide to kill bacteria, then loaded with artificial flavor to mask the additive’s taste. Salami, bologna, hotdogs usually feature a generous pumping of pink gloop. Who wouldn’t want that? And it’s GRAS (generally recognized as safe).

As impossibly yummy as all this sounds, it hasn’t inspired a new resolution to start eating solid food, my fellow inebriates. Clearly, the best way to avoid (at least mostly avoid) these eight weird food additives is to eschew solids and stick to alcohol.

*Resolve to include more pictures of cats?

The year in review—late, disorganized, and inconclusive

I missed the boat on New Year’s Resolutions (as with every year). But this year there wasn’t even a reminder; the family (humans) went out, and we bears did what we do best. We had a staring contest—which Fluffy won. Whether he knew he was a contestant is another story.

So, instead of fragile resolutions, an LBHQ retrospective for 2012.

THE GOOD THE UGLY
Dad went to work for the Man. He took a corporate job, which left me to my own devices during the day. Dad collapsed his 10-year-old business. We are still sorting everything out. (Which calls for alcohol.)
I met tons of great bloggers. At first WordPress suggested I follow bloggers and make comments, and so I did, but little did I know how many I would come to follow diligently…for the sheer awesomeness of the writing. What an amazing community we’ve got here, my fellow inebriates. I can’t keep up. There is such a lot of good writing out there. Plus I’m jealous of a lot of you.
I got to review 119 types of booze in 2012.

DSCN2986

I drank them, and now they’re gone. And we might all be alcoholics now.

"Bearly had a chance," said my dad.

 

I retired my Facebook wrestler, LB the Alcoholic Bear. This felt like the right thing to do. Wrestler is a total waste of time, and I felt guilty every second I was playing. A sudden urge came over me, and he’s playing again.
Dad bought a BMW. At last! He has always wanted one. I didn’t get to ride in it until December. We bears were jonesing to ride in the Bimmer. Instead the movers seized us and stuck us in the back of the truck.
We changed headquarters. New (old) house, more space, closer to school, better for…well, drinking. The new LBHQ is awesome. Our move was so f#cked-up and unorganized that we actually left stuff behind. Not small stuff like toilet brushes (although we did leave one of those—doesn’t everybody?). We left big stuff, like a bed—a king-size bed. Mazel tov, new owners, enjoy your bed.
Paranormal events calmed down at LBHQ. For a while it was crazy around here, with Granny’s ghost haunting Fluffy. All kinds of things were bashing around in the night. Either Granny has adjusted to being dead, or she got lost on the way to the new house. Fluffy is now on his own. Totally blank.Fluffy possessed copy
Miss V started kindergarten. For the first time in seven years, the house is quiet between 8:00 and 3:00. Yeah, and I thought I’d have opposably thumbed typists at my beck and call. They went to work instead.
We Work Out Every Day. OMG! The insanity of it. But we have to process that booze somehow. OMG! The insanity of it. Steve Nash, are you out of money? You should fix the toilets at that gym of yours.
With both kids in school, you can actually read books without interruption. Finally, being able to sink into books. More books were read at LBHQ this year than in the last ten years. Did one of those kids take Glen Bear to school? He disappeared and never turned up. 😦

Glen as a baby, 2006

Freshly Pressed! It happened, it happened! Or maybe it was all a dream. Hell, I don’t know. Okay, so I took on 40% more followers, and yet maintained the same daily hits. Hmmmm. Oh well, what the hell—math is for the sober.
LBHQ got its first booze sample. Yes!! It was beer: a six-pack that disappeared in a flash. Apparently it’s not legal to courier booze in Canada, even across town. Naively, I wrote a post enthusing about the delivery, only to learn I’d implicated my benefactor in a crime. The $64,000 question: Will they ever send us beer again?
The world didn’t end in 2012. Sometimes I thought Scarybear wanted it to, but it didn’t. It still might. As Scary says, now we have “indefinite” time to contemplate how.

asteroid hit

FREIXENET CARTA NEVADA BRUT—Questionable choice to ring in the New Year

I love New Year and the sparkling wine that comes with it, but OMG, my fellow inebriates, I can’t get my nose into those narrow little flutes.

Thankfully, Miss P had a solution. She used an empty apple-sauce container as a trough for yours truly so I could enjoy New Year as well.DSCN2998

“Isn’t that a bit humiliating?” someone asked.

Well, you tell me. Is it more humiliating than trying to stuff your head into a 1.5-inch hole?

Ahhhh, but that’s how you enjoy the bubbly experience. Flute-shaped stemware helps retain carbonation with its reduced surface area at the opening. The whole idea is to reduce nucleation so the bubbles keep sparkling as long as possible.

But does it matter? With a champagne flute, I get nothing. With P’s trough, I get some of the cheap-ass bubbly (my parents went all out: $4.72 for a 200-mL bottle of FREIXENT CARTA NEVADA BRUT). Thing is, once it’s been poured into my trough, the bubbles are gone.DSCN2997

But how does it taste?

I’ve had it with bubbles and I’ve had it without. And it definitely needs bubbles. It needs them as a distraction from its tangy-sour-bitter nastiness. While Freixenet has some reasonable bubbly out there, this is not among those offerings. Imagine drinking something at the stroke of midnight that reminded you of dissolved Aspirin—persistent screaming high notes, a medicinal chord, and little else. All it has, my fellow inebriates, is fizz.

So do not drink it out of a trough, friends, even if a helpful little seven-year-old offers her apple-sauce cup for that purpose. This stuff is difficult to drink—it needs all the help that effervescence can give it. If the New Year’s ritual were important to you, maybe you could slug back one flute, but more would be masochistic.

My dad, however, went over the line. He threw his FREIXENET out without finishing it. Like no one would have helped him with it.