I must’ve been duct taped to an examining table and drugged when I picked out this box. Love with Food? LOVE? Why are there no boxes called “Hate with Food” or at least, “Generalized misanthropy and disgust with Food?”
I suspect Paul, our resident water hoarder, managed to hack into our retinal scanners again in order to acquire access to my currency files. There’s no other explination for someone buying such a strangely tasty dehydration themed box.
Inside, I found tomatoes sucked as dry as a Fremen’s corpse, a biscotti engineered to only become moist when dunked in coffee, two cruelly decaffeinated candies that use your own saliva to simulate the experience of drinking coffee, and hot, dry seasoning powders. Even the ostensibly juicy preserves are made by subtracting moisture from fruit so it can be transported as a solid with no fear of spoiling.
Give it up, Paul. This box is not a message confirming you’re a messiah. If it is, you have a lot of competition from the thousands of other subscribers.
Love With Food included a couple of well disguised protein supplements this month. The vegan sweet potato “wellness cookie” was proudly labeled as “fully functional.” Reports from the lair suggested it did an above average job of functioning as a sweet tooth satisfaction device, but since they don’t define how it functions, I’m intrigued by what else the manufacturers intended. So far, no one who consumed pieces of the cookie have showed signs of nanobot infestation, zombie virus, or even a baseline ability to upload their consciousness into a computer. Experiments continue.
The equally vegan coconut and almond “snack” started out both crunchy and sweet but ended with the same off putting metallic flavor I associate with dramatically chewing bullets fired at me by my enemies. No one finished the small bag. Perhaps they were worried it really was made from Mrs. May’s natural remains. No one likes haunted almonds.
The Snapz fascinated me, but I’m a sucker for implied umlauts. (No Hëïnrëïch. Just no.) If you dislike lettuce and loathe moisture, these dehydrated tomatoes are apparently a good way to provide a tasty crunch on your burgers. I think they’re a better fit as substitute bacon bits on a salad. The minions agreed, but possibly only because some of my staff got drunk while reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe and now have a pig/bovine/human blend named Greg that assures us his ribs are delicious.
Sane people might have eaten the wonderfully almondy biscotti dipped in the tiny pot of strawberry preserves, but instead, the minions opted to brew the single teabag filled with coffee grounds and take turns ritually dunking the biscotti into the black murky depths. It brought tears to their eyes. Or perhaps that was the experimental fungus sporating in the same room. Either way, the biscotti was flavored with their own tears.
Instead of mixing the biscotti and jam, the minions opted to coat a lean, pale pink slab of meat vat protein with the Slap Ya Mama spices. When the meat was almost ready to come off the grill, they finished it with the strawberry preserves. I have to admit, the smell was almost delicious enough to make me steal a chunk of meat, but after seven years of subsisting on pure reprocessed Soylent(TM), I’m not entirely sure my stomach can process solids.
As a modern overlord on a budget, I have to say the Love With Food box was an excellent value for only $10. I can’t wait to see what they ship me next month. While these are supposed to be “snacks” for the minions, I’m tempted to crush their will by keeping the next box entirely for myself. If you disagree with this change in policy (or just want to ensure the minions keep fighting in our basement Thunderdomes) compose a Haiku in the comments extolling the virtue of food, minions, or world domination.