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The Economics of Hot Sauce
Aug. 23rd, 2004 08:17 amOn the day the price of oil first threatened to hit fifty bucks a barrel, my husband and I stood on a forty foot post office line discussing the economics of hot sauce.
“It’s the new gelati,” I said. “The next big thing in culinary trends. I give it five years.”
“Oh, longer than that,” said Ben. “People get addicted.”
“A small subset of users.”
“Like the 90% of the world’s population that prefers spicy food?”
“What are you implying? That our standard of living is going to take such a roller coaster dive in the near future that refrigeration itself is in peril, and Americans are going to have to resort to berries to preserve their food? Upward mobility is all about the fast track towards bland.”
“Bland and legal highs,” said Ben. “You can get high off the stuff.”
“Well, then they’ll start to regulate it,” I said. “The FDA will step in. No, I’m telling you it’s a finite life cycle. We have to get in and out within four years.”
“Four years,” said Ben. By this point the line had snaked up to the big glass cabinets showcasing the hottest new stamps. Ben pawed the glass absently. “Is it wrong of me to think that Henry Mancini really doesn’t deserve his own stamp?”
“Moon River, baby,” I said. “Wider than a mile. We’re crossing it in style some day.”
“With a bottle of Dave’s Insanity in one hand and Blair’s Death Sauce in the other,” said Ben.
“It’s the new gelati,” I said. “The next big thing in culinary trends. I give it five years.”
“Oh, longer than that,” said Ben. “People get addicted.”
“A small subset of users.”
“Like the 90% of the world’s population that prefers spicy food?”
“What are you implying? That our standard of living is going to take such a roller coaster dive in the near future that refrigeration itself is in peril, and Americans are going to have to resort to berries to preserve their food? Upward mobility is all about the fast track towards bland.”
“Bland and legal highs,” said Ben. “You can get high off the stuff.”
“Well, then they’ll start to regulate it,” I said. “The FDA will step in. No, I’m telling you it’s a finite life cycle. We have to get in and out within four years.”
“Four years,” said Ben. By this point the line had snaked up to the big glass cabinets showcasing the hottest new stamps. Ben pawed the glass absently. “Is it wrong of me to think that Henry Mancini really doesn’t deserve his own stamp?”
“Moon River, baby,” I said. “Wider than a mile. We’re crossing it in style some day.”
“With a bottle of Dave’s Insanity in one hand and Blair’s Death Sauce in the other,” said Ben.
