Nutrition Facts

It's hard to imagine an era where food products were packaged sans the now ubiquitous nutrition facts label. But it occurred. I can't recall much about that time in history, but it occurred alright. I can only assume that before nutrition facts graced the grocery aisles everyone was happily wrapping all foods with bacon before deep frying every morsel.

But, oh, those nutrition facts changed everything. Now it's all about the calories. Those stupid little calories. And fat grams. Gotta watch the fat grams. But eat more protein. Yes, can't forget about the protein. But watch your calories with that protein -- and, for God's sake, easy on the fat grams!

I think we all try to act like we know more about the nutrition facts label than we honestly do, dissecting its percentaged contents with a meticulous eye. But what do we really know? Well, that the meat lovers' pizza we assumed was terrible for us is actually lethally terrible for us, and that the salad topped with dressing we decided to eat instead was only about two shreds of lettuce and a baby tomato less lethal than that pizza.

For all the additional detail and helpful insight that little nutrition facts white box has provided, it sure has generated an equal amount of gastronomic paranoia. I'm internally sweating over the saturated fat content of every spoonful of ice cream I shove in my mouth simply because I've seen the insanely large percentage per serving in the nutrition facts (even though I'm not completely clear on what saturated fat is, but the combination of "saturated" and "fat" together makes me think of Kirstie Alley in a wet T-shirt contest, so I know it can’t be good for me), and I know I, like all other persons in human history, have never limited myself to the suggested serving size since, you know, we eat ice cream out of bowls and not shot glasses. And in my frantic, unsettled state of mind and feeble attempt to counterbalance the self-administered physiological destruction wrought by ingestion of cocoa and cream, I convince myself how strong my bones beneath all that saturated fat will be thanks to the phenomenal amount of calcium I'm consuming in that pint of double chocolate Moose Tracks. This is how I "enjoy" a cold, refreshing dessert courtesy of the nutrition facts.

I am entirely obsessed with this white label with black stripes, vague food words, and generic percentages. I get really pumped when the food I'm consuming contains a lot of vitamin C, even though when comparing a day of high vitamin C intake against a day of low vitamin C intake, I detect zero difference in how I feel or behave. Regardless, I know vitamins are essential for life -- probably in part because "vitamins" sounds like "vital" (essential) and "vitality" (life) -- so I look to the nutrition facts. I live and breathe by the nutrition facts.

Not always a good thing, though. Example: there's a lot of hoopla suddenly around antioxidants and something called omega-3, as if enough of either one creates a force field of immunity from cancer and heart disease; thing is, neither can be found in the nutrition facts. And I'm so programmed now to look at nutrition facts that if a nutrient isn't listed somewhere within that rectangular label of dietary greatest hits, I just don’t worry about it. I mean, I figure if something in the food is important enough to brag about, it would find its way into the confines of that precious nutrition facts block. So instead I focus my attention on stuffing my face with foods high in magnesium, a nutritional element of which I know diddley-poo but can only assume is imperative to sustaining immaculate health since, when present, it's listed alongside the nutrition facts' "good guys" like iron and riboflavin -- you know, just below the bastardized fat and cholesterol grams section.

Sure, the nutrition facts take out almost all the fun in eating, but without it, we'd probably continue to naively eat deep-fried bacon. ...Well, wait -- deep-fried bacon has a lot of protein, right?