The second installment of auditory food programming concerns seltzer. I'll leave the cultural history to someone else. I'm more interested in the poetics of detail. Below you will find an admittedly middling-quality photograph of seltzer. Ignore my background attempts to understand phyllotaxy. Keep your eyes on the seltzer:
Now, keep your ears on the seltzer:
The very discerning listener will notice, somewhere after the initial seltzer eruption, an edit in the sound file. This is because the seltzer, which had been handled with tremendous care, nevertheless exploded all over my laptop when I opened it, necessitating a break in the recording process. Putting my computer in jeopardy has emerged as a main component of cosmic auditory blog programming. Perhaps someday I'll get around to purchasing a portable digital recorder.
Okay, listen to the seltzer again. Pretty fucking nice seltzer, huh? Just like crickets, seltzer offers a soothing staccato lightness that, I think, encourages contemplation. Why? Because it replaces unpredictability with singular consistency. One might also call it "an object of concentration," or a "summary-object," terms used when discussing meditation. But the sound of seltzer isn't exactly singular, because of the countless individual expressions of carbon dioxide rushing to the surface. I'd argue, though, that the polyphony of bubbles gives the mind even more room for contemplation because it establishes a narrow yet dynamic field of focus. Distractions are reduced, yet the mind is invited to get involved. Come, mind.
The narrative of seltzer is also worth consideration. There is the promise and danger of the opening. Have you ever held your hand firm on a seltzer cap against a rush of oncoming fizz? This is a nice feeling. And since seltzer is free of sticky sugars, crossing a line and getting wet isn't much of a problem. In fact, it could even be the point.
Closely following the expansive reverie of newly-broached seltzer is that long, steady stretch of time when the seltzer is manifestly seltzer. Just like when summer is manifestly summer. Some readers may be familiar with how I visualize summer -- and the rest of the year -- in my head. Imagine a slice of pie. The pointy tip of the pie represents December. The long line out to the crust is winter and spring. The long line back to the tip on the other side is the fall. But the crust, the crust is summer. It is also the steadiness of seltzer. It is a slow, settled arc. During it, one can often forget the possibility of it ending.
Which brings us to the decline of seltzer. Such is the effervescence of seltzer, one is likely to have consumed it all before it loses any of its verve, which is not a bad way to do things. If, however, it is left unconsumed, seltzer will eventually no longer be seltzer. Or, more positively: seltzer is seltzer until it isn't. Probably no one is qualified to say exactly when seltzer becomes not-seltzer. Probably I am over-using the word "seltzer." Probably we should simply drink it.
Look at the seltzer above. Listen to the seltzer. Arrange the tips of your fingers as if around a glass. There is a tendency to hold seltzer precisely. Seltzer somehow requests this of us. It is the ballet of the beverage. Dip your head back and send in the seltzer. The seltzer will find the spots it needs to find. Allow yourself to be overcome. Feel it, dear reader. Feel it.
Okay, listen to the seltzer again. Pretty fucking nice seltzer, huh? Just like crickets, seltzer offers a soothing staccato lightness that, I think, encourages contemplation. Why? Because it replaces unpredictability with singular consistency. One might also call it "an object of concentration," or a "summary-object," terms used when discussing meditation. But the sound of seltzer isn't exactly singular, because of the countless individual expressions of carbon dioxide rushing to the surface. I'd argue, though, that the polyphony of bubbles gives the mind even more room for contemplation because it establishes a narrow yet dynamic field of focus. Distractions are reduced, yet the mind is invited to get involved. Come, mind.
The narrative of seltzer is also worth consideration. There is the promise and danger of the opening. Have you ever held your hand firm on a seltzer cap against a rush of oncoming fizz? This is a nice feeling. And since seltzer is free of sticky sugars, crossing a line and getting wet isn't much of a problem. In fact, it could even be the point.
Closely following the expansive reverie of newly-broached seltzer is that long, steady stretch of time when the seltzer is manifestly seltzer. Just like when summer is manifestly summer. Some readers may be familiar with how I visualize summer -- and the rest of the year -- in my head. Imagine a slice of pie. The pointy tip of the pie represents December. The long line out to the crust is winter and spring. The long line back to the tip on the other side is the fall. But the crust, the crust is summer. It is also the steadiness of seltzer. It is a slow, settled arc. During it, one can often forget the possibility of it ending.
Which brings us to the decline of seltzer. Such is the effervescence of seltzer, one is likely to have consumed it all before it loses any of its verve, which is not a bad way to do things. If, however, it is left unconsumed, seltzer will eventually no longer be seltzer. Or, more positively: seltzer is seltzer until it isn't. Probably no one is qualified to say exactly when seltzer becomes not-seltzer. Probably I am over-using the word "seltzer." Probably we should simply drink it.
Look at the seltzer above. Listen to the seltzer. Arrange the tips of your fingers as if around a glass. There is a tendency to hold seltzer precisely. Seltzer somehow requests this of us. It is the ballet of the beverage. Dip your head back and send in the seltzer. The seltzer will find the spots it needs to find. Allow yourself to be overcome. Feel it, dear reader. Feel it.