The Twinkie Project

I can't remember the last time I ate a Twinkie, but I'm pretty sure it was somewhere around the mid 80s, when Twinkies were like the holy grail of lunchbox confections, a near-mythical, individually wrapped delicacy that other kids often got, but not me. Oh, I stumbled upon a Twinkie or two in my youth, but my mother was very conscientious of our diets when we were growing up. Sure, this is the same lady who once packed a hotdog in my thermos, but aside from the occasional slip, she made sure our meals were well-balanced and nutritious. I cursed her then for her tyranny and our kitchen's dearth of sugary cereals, soda pop and candy bars, but I applaud her now for having not raised a rolling, gelatinous pack of butterballs with symptoms of early hypertension.

So, Twinkies were out, and they never have become a part of my daily regimen, even though I'm old enough now to eat whatever I want. And since learning what actually goes into a Twinkie, any remote, lingering temptation has dwindled into nothing.

And just what does go into a Twinkie? Well, a lot of stuff. Take a look, McBoners. I've reproduced here a word-for-word list of ingredients:

Enriched bleached wheat flour [flour, reduced iron, "B" vitamins (niacin, thiamine mononitrate (B1), riboflavin (B2), folic acid)], sugar, water, corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, partially hydrgenated vegetable and/or animal shortening (soybean, cottonseed and/or canola oil, beef fat), whole eggs, dextrose, contains 2% or less of: modified corn starch, glucose, leavenings (sodium and pyrophosphate, baking soda, monocalcium phosphate), sweet dairy whey, soy protein, isolate, calcium and sodium caseinate, soy flour, salt, mono and diglycerides, polysorbate 60, soy lecithin, cornstarch, cellulose gum, sodium stearoyl lactylate, natural and artificial flavors, sorbic acid (to retain freshness), yellow 5, red 40. Contains wheat, egg, milk and soybeans.

All that crammed into one little Twinkie? That alone is enough to earn a spot on the McBone List of Boycotted Substances. And it would appear that, aside from ethanol, a Twinkie contains just about every corn-based product known to modern science. While I applaud Hostess for not bullshitting us with some business about how a Twinkie, 'contains 8 essential vitamins and minerals,' this list of ingredients is scarier than any Oregonian bogeyman. Hell, a Twinkie isn't even vegetarian, not that I mind a little beef tallow in my desserts from time to time.

Anyway, all this is getting away from the most important point, and that is what a Twinkie actually tastes like. As I've done in the past, I was willing to lay my health on the line for the sake of McBoners everywhere. So I slapped $3.99 down at Kroger and came away with a ten pack of the iconic snack treat.

Let's start with the smell, and, folks, a Twinkie does not smell good. This ain't a fresh-baked French eclair we're dealing with. Nope, all those corn sweeteners and other unfathomable components combine to release an ultra sweet chemical corruption. I feel my digestive tract recoil. My salivary glands shrivel. My body wants nothing to do with this 'golden sponge cake with creamy filling,' and yet, duty calls.

Part of my brain tries to reason against this reaction. It's cake. Cake can't hurt you. I remove the vaguely phallic treat from its superfluous wrapping (did you see Wall-E? No Twinkie will ever get stale), and the first thing I notice is how flaccid a snack this is. It sags and seems to want to die in my hand, as though all food life has been processed into oblivion. It's also moister than is quite natural and leaves some sort of sticky/greasy secretion on my fingers that I'm sure is leaching right into my bloodstream.

I'm sickened to the point of delirium already. I know I shouldn't, but I take a bite, and a decidedly undelicious chemical explosion detonates inside my mouth. The 'cream' gushes and instantly sets to work on the enamel of my teeth. The flavor of the cake itself is not difficult to pinpoint: artificiality and awfulness are the overriding flavors, with undertones of corn syrup, plastic wrapper and preservatives. I stop chewing, but know I must swallow, lest the experiment fail.

The masticated blob fights its way down my esophagus and plops into my stomach. I can feel the acids and the sugars in epic combat. I've ingested a weak poison, and my instincts have me searching for the epicack. Ultimately, the stomach acids prevail. Though most of the Twinkie will be jettisoned as fast as my intestines can manage, at least part of this science project of a snack cake gets digested. My liver, kidneys, my entire internal filtration system have suddenly been put on orange alert. Already I have the beginning of a headache and the barrage of sugars is giving me a bizarre urge to put on one of Alex's dresses and roll around in the snow. I suffer depression, hysteria and mild schizophrenia all at once. Through it all my mind clings to one thread, one single, calming thought that is like a lifeline to my sanity: never again.*

Truly, the Twinkie is a terrible tasting food, and I say shame on the parent who puts one in their child's lunch and expects them to perform well at school while this seemingly innocent dessert is running riot inside them. The Twinkie can beget nothing good, only cavities, obesity, hyperactivity, borderline insanity, and therefore I feel it necessary to add the Twinkie to the McBone List of Boycotted Substances. Do not be fooled by the mystique surrounding a Twinkie, nor its firm, fond place in American lore, and should anyone offer you a dubious delight known as the deep-fried Twinkie, for goodness' sake just say no!

nwb

*I ate not one but three Twinkies for the sake of this experiment.