Image via WikipediaAs I get close my entry into Boston University, I begin to think about the steps that got me here. One such step was my essay. Boston University was a reach school for me, my SAT scores and GPA were on the lower end of their average acceptances, so I believe this essay is what helped me recieve the "fat" envelope back in April. Enjoy!
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A lot of people would argue that it is silly to learn from our food. It is something that sustains our existence but we can learn lessons from any source no matter how trivial. Consider what I learned from a corn dog one night in the woods.
As many know, corn dogs are very bad for health. The "meat" of a hot dog itself comes from a variety of bodily locations of a variety of animals, none of which you would find on the menu of any self-respecting eatery. Still, a corn dog is my favorite food. Who can deny the juicy sensation of a moist cornbread bun and the delectable hot dog inside? I can’t, and most certainly didn’t when my dorm wing was planning what we would eat on our one-night camping trip two weeks from then. “We must have corn dogs!” I cried out.
Two weeks later we found ourselves at our campsite opening an 8-pack of corn dogs. Roasting wienies has been a campfire tradition for me, though, for all my love of corn dogs, I had only ever done so with the corn dog’s naked brethren, the corn-less, bun-less hot dog. I assumed corn dogs would work just as well when stuck carefully on a stick and held steadily above the fire.
What we found in this unintentional scientific inquiry was that the specific heat capacity of the outer cornbread was significantly lower than that of the hot dog inside. In effect, this meant that while it didn’t take long for the bread to get burn-your-mouth hot, the meat inside remained dead cold. To get the meat warm enough for enjoyment, the breading would be burnt to a crisp. If a prime corn dog was desired, it seemed an impossible task. This got me wondering.
If every resident of this planet was a meat-stuffed sausage than we each might be either a corn dog or a hot dog (let’s disregard the other options). As a corn dog, we have a false layer and try to create a fake image of ourselves in attempt to add appeal but we end up ruined or incomplete when pressed to the campfire of reality. We can try to protect this false imagine by trying to step away but we will find our true selves left feeling empty and cold. Or we can choose to press on into the fire in hope of still blossoming inside but if we still wish to remain masked to the world our breading of falsehood will end up burned and leave us a total wreck.
Not wanting to waste eight perfectly good corn dogs, my dorm mates and I came upon a solution. If we immediately ate away the cornbread we could then roast the hot dog to juicy perfection. We too must remove our external layers and masks if we are to become the best people we can be.
As many know, corn dogs are very bad for health. The "meat" of a hot dog itself comes from a variety of bodily locations of a variety of animals, none of which you would find on the menu of any self-respecting eatery. Still, a corn dog is my favorite food. Who can deny the juicy sensation of a moist cornbread bun and the delectable hot dog inside? I can’t, and most certainly didn’t when my dorm wing was planning what we would eat on our one-night camping trip two weeks from then. “We must have corn dogs!” I cried out.
Two weeks later we found ourselves at our campsite opening an 8-pack of corn dogs. Roasting wienies has been a campfire tradition for me, though, for all my love of corn dogs, I had only ever done so with the corn dog’s naked brethren, the corn-less, bun-less hot dog. I assumed corn dogs would work just as well when stuck carefully on a stick and held steadily above the fire.
What we found in this unintentional scientific inquiry was that the specific heat capacity of the outer cornbread was significantly lower than that of the hot dog inside. In effect, this meant that while it didn’t take long for the bread to get burn-your-mouth hot, the meat inside remained dead cold. To get the meat warm enough for enjoyment, the breading would be burnt to a crisp. If a prime corn dog was desired, it seemed an impossible task. This got me wondering.
If every resident of this planet was a meat-stuffed sausage than we each might be either a corn dog or a hot dog (let’s disregard the other options). As a corn dog, we have a false layer and try to create a fake image of ourselves in attempt to add appeal but we end up ruined or incomplete when pressed to the campfire of reality. We can try to protect this false imagine by trying to step away but we will find our true selves left feeling empty and cold. Or we can choose to press on into the fire in hope of still blossoming inside but if we still wish to remain masked to the world our breading of falsehood will end up burned and leave us a total wreck.
Not wanting to waste eight perfectly good corn dogs, my dorm mates and I came upon a solution. If we immediately ate away the cornbread we could then roast the hot dog to juicy perfection. We too must remove our external layers and masks if we are to become the best people we can be.
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3 comments:
Wow!?! That's a really AMAZING awesome creative way to look at a corn dog... This is a great essay. Haha I love how you got this really deep profound message out of a corn dog experience.
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
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Thank you for reading!
that was really good stevhen nice essay
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