Extreme is the new regular

You cannot deny that food is extreme now. Extreme is the rule, nearly passé. Juice boxes, pizza crusts, nachos, chocolate beverages. All deliver – according to their packaging and marketing – a maximum explosion of mouth-blasting chow downness with every cheese-filled, bacon-packed, mega-sized mouthful. Today’s edibles are commonly ladled with illusory flavors like Taco Bell’s Volcano Double Beef Burrito and Burger King’s Angry Whopper with Angry Sauce. I have no point of reference for Angry Sauce. Is it extracted from the frothy fat rolls of an outraged Bariatric patient? We’ve become so imbued with flavor extremeness that today’s packaged food must top yesterday’s bombastic caricatures of sustenance in order to be noticed by a bored and spoiled populace of overeaters.

This uniquely American affliction has spread to chewing gum. Spearmint, peppermint and cinnamon are cast aside like outdated analogs to make room for Rain, Cobalt and Flare. I had to read the packaging carefully before buying a pack of Wrigley’s uber-hip 5 Gum. Because of the satin black packaging, I wasn’t sure if it was gum or a pack of French cigarettes. The closest thing to flavor copy, “Experience the warm and cool winter sensation of 5 gum.” A bold, if not nebulous, claim. Except it tastes like chemically engineered, mint-like putty. That’s what happens when they “extreme” a classic product like peppermint chewing gum. It’s already perfect.

Are we so over-stimulated and so easily bored that gum makers must resort to reformulating, renaming and repackaging a product as perfect as spearmint gum? What will our grandchildren eat/drink/chew? I don’t want to know the answer. We need to slow down, eat simple, and just chill the fuck out.