Men don’t have a passion for sweet treats the way women do. If given a choice between a sugary confection and something savory, men will choose the latter. This is not some kind of random, sweeping gender generalization I just made up. I have scientific proof. Like many big cities, New York has seen the arrival over the past few years of novelty food trucks. These trucks sell everything from waffles and tacos to schnitzel and BBQ. Yesterday I walked by two such trucks. One sold cupcakes, the other Asian dumplings. Women stood eagerly in line for cupcakes, but I made a beeline for the dumplings. They were delicious, meat-stuffed globules of delight. Dumplings are my anti-cupcake.
Women love cupcakes, men not so much. I am not morally opposed to cupcakes. I won’t be protesting them anytime soon. They’re just tiny cakes. I get that. I love cocktail weenies because they’re tiny hot dogs, and then I can pretend I’m sexy Godzilla. But let’s all be bluntly honest here: cupcakes are overrated. I’ve been to Magnolia Bakery. I’ve seen women anxiously waiting in line, and then watched them levitate with ecstasy afterwards. Some of these women seem to open their bellies like furnace grates and shovel in the cupcakes. The cupcakes themselves are ridiculous too. Cupcakes with so much frosting that diabetics should avoid even looking at them. Cupcakes made out of Rainbow Brite. Cupcakes with smaller cupcakes on top, and even smaller cupcakes on top of that. I’m sure I could attract 50 percent of all web traffic by launching a site that’s just pictures of kittens tentatively licking cupcakes. I will probably receive a death tweet from someone named @cupcakefairypants. But I speak the truth and will suffer the consequences of all prophets. Women need to chill out on their cupcake lust. Might I suggest a nice macaroon or praline? Might I also suggest that the word “dumpling” is more adorable than “cupcake.” It sounds like a baby poo! Awww …
I will be fair, though. While I will always choose nacho cheese or beef jerky or a turkey drumstick over cakes or candies, the cupcake mania is almost as obnoxious as what I call bacon madness. I love bacon. I love it with eggs, on burgers, and it makes a delicious meatloaf moisturizer. But my gender has taken that too far. There’s a limit to the amount a man can eat of those salty ribbons of taste bud-smashing pig flesh. There is a fundamentalist Church of Pig out there, and its priests have faith in only one thing: bacon.
Bacon isn’t even the best cut of savory meat out there. I’d rather nosh on sliced brisket, or fatty marrow, or eat lobster, the cockroach of the ocean. Sometimes I think our modern penchant to obsess over a single thing to the point of absurdity is a sign of a society so overwhelmed with a confusing world they can’t control they’d crawl into their own bellybutton if they could.
So this is simple: men like savory foods and women like sweet foods. I am right, you are wrong. Ha, ha, ha. I am drunk on power. But let’s talk about the most powerful food of all. Chocolate. Chocolate is more than a sweet. To men, chocolate is just a flavor. Something that you eat and you think, Hey, this is pretty good. But to women, chocolate is equal parts mood-stabilizer and catnip. There is nothing men love as much as women love chocolate. Have you ever watched a chocolate commercial on television? They don’t market chocolate to men. They sell it to women and in each and every advertisement, chocolate is sold as some magical peyote button that either brings you to the point of orgasm or transports you to a world made out of chocolate and you are a god.
Chocolate is sold as an escape, a sexual experience, and an emotional coping mechanism. I don’t remember being conditioned to buy my girlfriend chocolates for every holiday, or to use them to negotiate truces. I just do it. As if it’s hardwired into my DNA. It can’t all be a conspiracy by the Chocolate-Nougat Industrial Complex to force us to spend thirty dollars on fancy bricks of 110 percent pure cocoa. Maybe chocolate was God’s way of apologizing for the pain of childbirth and men in general? All I know is that when I eat a Hershey Kiss, I’m eating a Hersey Kiss. I’d rather be eating a pork and chive dumpling.