The Day I Ate A Whole Mess Of Taquitos

The other day I ate a whole mess of Taquitos.

I went to the freezer and opened a large blue box of El Monterey Steak and Cheese Flour Taquitos. The box said 24 count, but I didn't intend to eat all of them. I put the box in the kitchen by the microwave, tore open the sealable plastic inner packaging and laid a handful of frozen Taquitos on a microwavable plate.

I wasn't hungry, it was just the time to eat. There were healthier foods in the house, even more convenient faire, had I looked for it, but Taquitos were a comfort food. Just watching them rotate slowly on the turntable reminded me of their salty aftertaste and rich flavor. The microwave's gentle hum had a prozaic effect and the morning's stress seemed temporarily repulsed by the thought of Americanized-Mexican finger food.

When the microwave beeped, my appetite had improved and I tore into the first Taquito quickly. It was still a little cold in the middle, but that didn't bother me. It tasted just the way I rememberd it and my stomach was ignited to the possibility of more Taquitos. I finished the plate quickly and, before anyone saw what I was doing or my voice of reason could interrupt my decision-making, I grabbed another handful of Taquitos and started the microwave again.

As the next batch heated, my stomach sent a message to my brain saying that it was pretty close to full and that no more food was really needed to satisfy the hunger requirement. My brain treated the message the way the CIA treats urgent FBI bulletins.

The next batch seemed to have less flavor than the first, but I wolfed it down as well and started on a third.

I ate the third plate of Taquitos while touching up my Philosophy term paper. In one greasy hand I shoved morsel after morsel toward my gullet while the digits on my other appendage helped explain Descartes' Cogito.

I wondered briefly if the Taquito has feelings and mental formations we might call thoughts. But I didn't wonder for long.

My plate again depleted, I returned to the kitchen for more. This trip wasn't out of hunger or even desire for more, it was just habit. One eats at lunchtime and Taquitos are food. The eating doesn't stop until the food is gone and, since none of my brothers were there to join me in devouring the box, I was alone in fulfilling the Taquito task.

The fourth plate emptied the box, and it felt strange to throw away the now vacant packaging which had been so full of calories a few moments before.

It was kind of hard to eat the fourth plate. My stomach was now sending urgent bullitens to my brain to stop the incoming nutrients and now and again my mouth had to fight against the gag impulse. But I got them down.

I felt heavy. Five minutes after the last Taquito it hurt to stand up. Ten minutes afterward, my stomach felt bloated and tight. I had to loosen my belt by three notches. Twenty minutes later I got really thirsty. But the crazy thing about the thirst was that I didn't want to drink anything. My stomach was too stuffed for fluids. Thirty minutes later I decided to write this post.

I dug the box out of the trash and looked at the Nutrition Facts. The serving size was Two Taquitos (230 calories, 12g of fat, 490 miligrams of sodium); I had eaten 24. After a quick visit with my computer's calculator (I was too stiff to get up and get my own), I found that in the last fifteen minutes, I had consumed 2,760 calories, 144 grams of fat and 5,880 miligrams of sodium or over 240% of my daily value of salt. No wonder I was thirsty.

That evening I tried to eat a normal meal and, to my surprise, was successful. Five hours after the Taquito binge, I was ready to approach the dinner table again. My Gastrointestinal tract was unphrased by the barage of calories and my body was ready and willing to take additional punishment.

I don't suggest the Mess of Taquitos as a daily meal plan -- the activity is not without side effects -- but it was a good experience and one I may repeat if habit and hunger permit.