I have to admit, those look delicious.
thats it. they’re Slim James’ from here on out.
Slim James made me for real LOL. As in the literal, not the internet only kind. 
I saw the word “hipsterchow” and immediately pictured bags of Purina.
I think the old-school Purina bags would work really well as hipster packaging.
Damn, I kinda want these now, just for the goofy novelty. Also just about any cereal but in a Purina Monkey Chow sack to feed to my kids. Monkey Chow for a full year, til they are flinging poo.
Looks like Trader Joe’s packaging…
The interesting thing is some of those boxes would be worth saving. The Twinkies and Slim James packages especially would be good for storing keepsakes–if you could get the smell out.
They missed a trick with Twinkies. It should be “Twin Quays”, with a sepia image of two wharves.
I prefer to think of it as more of an artisinal version of soylent green. The “hipsterchow”, not the Purina, of course.
Once MacDonalds rebranded their coffee to resemble “artisanal” coffee, I figured it was over. But it just goes on.
Hey, Captain Crunch isn’t fast food! You have to pour it yourself, then open and pour the milk - and after all that, you have to wash the bowl!
And THEN you have to put the milk back in the fridge! The whole day is nearly gone.
He pours the milk with one hand while jamming the spoon in with the other, not wanting to waste a single moment of the magical, golden time when cold milk and Cap’n Crunch are together but have not yet begun to pollute each other’s essential natures: two Platonic ideals separated by a boundary a molecule wide. Where the flume of milk splashes over the spoon-handle, the polished stainless steel fogs with condensation. Randy of course uses whole milk, because otherwise why bother? Anything less is indistinguishable from water, and besides he thinks that the fat in whole milk acts as some kind of a buffer that retards the dissolution-into-slime process. The giant spoon goes into his mouth before the milk in the bowl has even had time to seek its own level. A few drips come off the bottom and are caught by his freshly washed goatee (still trying to find the right balance between beardedness and vulnerability, Randy has allowed one of these to grow). Randy sets the milk-pod down, grabs a fluffy napkin, lifts it to his chin, and uses a pinching motion to sort of lift the drops of milk from his whiskers rather than smashing and smearing them down into the beard. Meanwhile all his concentration is fixed on the interior of his mouth, which naturally he cannot
see, but which he can imagine in three dimensions as if zooming through it in a virtual reality display. Here is where a novice would lose his cool and simply chomp down. A few of the nuggets would explode between his molars, but then his jaw would snap shut and drive all of the unshattered nuggets straight up into his palate where their armor of razor-sharp dextrose crystals would inflict massive collateral damage, turning the rest of the meal into a sort of pain-hazed death march and rendering him Novocain mute for three days. But Randy has, over time, worked out a really fiendish Cap’n Crunch eating strategy that revolves around playing the nuggets’ most deadly features against each other.
The nuggets themselves are pillow-shaped and vaguely striated to echo piratical treasure chests. Now, with a flake-type of cereal, Randy’s strategy would never work. But then, Cap’n Crunch in a flake form would be suicidal madness; it would last about as long, when immersed in milk, as snowflakes sifting down into a deep fryer. No, the cereal engineers at General Mills had to find a shape that would minimize surface area, and, as some sort of compromise between the sphere that is dictated by Euclidean geometry and whatever sunken-treasure-related shapes that the cereal-aestheticians were probably clamoring for, they came up with this hard-to-pin-down striated pillow formation. The important thing, for Randy’s purposes, is that the individual pieces of Cap’n Crunch are, to a very rough approximation, shaped kind of like molars. The strategy, then, is to make the Cap’n Crunch chew itself by grinding the nuggets together in the center of the oral cavity, like stones in a lapidary tumbler. Like advanced ballroom dancing, verbal explanations (or for that matter watching videotapes) only goes so far and then your body just has to learn the moves.
- Neal Stephenson, Cryptonomicon
I like food, and interesting design. But I really don’t understand the point of this work. If it’s intended to be “ironic”, then I’m not sure if it’s a funny, interesting, or thought-provoking “ironic”. Or, it could well be that I am simply missing the point.
Captain Crunch? Pfffft. It’s CAP’N, dammit.
or you could be the point.
