Will Eat For Work

When I first sat down to write this column, I wanted to rant against the rise of cake pops. Clearly, they’re a colossal step backward in dessert
evolution.

But as I grew more and more enraged by the photos of rainbow- and sheep-decorated varieties blowing up Pinterest, Twitter and the foodie sites I haunt, I noticed the wooden stick underneath.

Far too many foods are mounted on pointless sticks these days, and the trend is only getting worse.

The original culprit was the corndog, as I’m convinced it was invented solely for horrible elementary school lunches.

Corndogs aren’t messy, and kids would rather eat with their hands anyway.
Wrap a hot dog in a pancake and call it good.

Sticks are practical in certain applications. Popsicles are painfully cold and melt easily, so a handle of some sort is necessary. Grilling kebabs or small animals, such as shrimp or scallops or scorpions, calls for a skewer to keep it all intact.

But in what world does pepperoni pizza deserve to be baked onto and eaten off a wooden paddle? Since when is it better to buy mini cinnamon rolls on a spear?

Yes, we’re becoming a much more mobile and fast-paced society, always hitting the pavement. State fairs and amusement parks are ideal for meandering and munching at the same time.

But those locales offer the worst excuse for using a stick I’ve ever seen and the best excuse to deep-fry everything from cheeseburgers and manicotti to Dr. Pepper, Snickers bars and brownies.

I wept for humanity the day I learned of fried butter.

I would try fried mashed-potato balls, but why are they served on a stick?
Are we such mess-fearing multitaskers that we can’t spare two fingers to toss down a few bites?

If my empty wallet and I ever make it to a cinema again, I’m afraid I’ll see kids wielding toothpicks topped with individual, butter-dripping popcorn kernels.

I appreciate the demand for sustenance on the go — this is the birth of the ever-charming food truck system.

Homemade tacos in cardboard boats or a simple pretzel with mustard in a sheet of wax paper bring something to the mobile table you can’t feel when lugging a bucket of KFC under your arm.

But I’m struggling to understand the cake pop’s sudden mass appeal.

I’ve already professed my deep love of cake. I can’t imagine what’s so novel about a ball of it coated in icing and sprinkles, sometimes frozen and shoved onto a stick.

And have you ever noticed the woody, bitter aftertaste of an ice cream bar once you’ve licked it down to the quick?

Thanks, but if I want forest flavor, I’ll set up a wood chip smoker or a few cedar planks on the grill.

I love juggling a plate with a towering cake wedge and a fork while walking through a busy street. Give me a slice of pizza, too, and a glass of lemonade. I’ll take it all together with dignity.

I’ve been known to pile cheesecake on collard greens to get my kicks on one plate.

I won’t be caught dead clutching eight different fried-food-covered sticks. That image only brings Edward Skewerhands to mind.