The Ratio of Vanilla Pudding to Confetti Cake

I have an announcement.

Recently, I made a scientific breakthrough that will have lasting impact on the entire world. Its reach will be epic, its effect, legendary. My breakthrough will spark new research and revolutionize culinary experimentation. It will change the face of food and science as we know it!!!

This is it:

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All food is not created equal.




I know, I know what you're saying! Many are screeching, "Oh course not! I'd rather eat strawberries than ludefisk any day!" Some are arguing, "All food serves a common purpose in the end, so what's the difference?!" Others of you are yelling, "What the heck IS ludefisk?"

Let me explain.

I realize that some food tastes better than other food (of course), and that some food is more palatable than other food (duh), and that no one really knows what ludefisk is (even the Norwegians). The realization that I, erm, realized, is that there are RIDICULOUS, scientifically-proven inequalities between some foods.

For instance, pudding and confetti cake.

For just a moment (and for the sake of my grade), let me attempt to persuade you with ethos. I am a registered, dyed-in-the-blue expert on the ratio of pudding to cake, because I am also a registered, diagnosed celiac. I have had field experience, hands-on practice, and personal encounters with this most specialized of subjects--I live with five wheat-lovin' girls.

You're still not convinced? Logos uses facts, so let me share with you the statistics that have been gathered from field research:

In one test alone, the subject consumed nearly five billion packages of vanilla pudding when faced with one gilamogram of frosted confetti cake.

In a closely related test in which the subject was denied a mere tablespoon of Cap'n Crunch, she decimated about eight hundred Yoplait yogurt containers--plastic, and all.

In a final test, which is now under close review by the Board of Ethical Experimentation, the subject was denied one slice of pizza, and consequently devoured six bowls of grits, twelve cold baked potatoes, eight gallons of milk, seventeen entire blocks of mozzarella cheese, half of New York and--dare we print it?-- one slice of Spam.

The facts are undeniable, but if you still do not believe, let me continue with the most powerful "toolbox" of all--pathos.

The green, rectangular container on the counter seemed to be calling to me.

"Dia," it said, "I'm delicious."

It was 11:36 on a Sunday night, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, alone.

Staring.

The confetti cake sat there, unapologetically, in all its glory. It had been placed on the "off limits" contertop (the one from which the toaster crumbs mock me every morning), but its teasing, tempting smell filled the entire apartment. The lid of the container was ajar, and through the crack, one could glimpse gooey frosting, delicately browned edges and golden flecks of fluffy cake in places where the decadent dessert had already been sliced. It had called all day long, unceasingly, unrepentantly, in those radiant, heavenly tones, and sleep was no respite--even my dreams were filled with that delectable, fobidden creation. Now, it had called me from bed, and there I sat, late at night, at the kitchen table.

Alone.

Staring.

There was only one chance for me.

I began the familiar ritual (this would be the fourth time in two hours). Container. Spoon. 2 cups of cold milk. 1 packet of instant vanilla pudding.

About 15 seconds...

Perfect. Well, not quite perfect, because of my breakthrough--all food is not created equal.
Though my vanilla pudding is gluten-free, delicious, fast, and creamy, it lacks one thing...

It's not confetti cake.

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