Glory and gore go hand in hand

I just saw a TikTok that stopped me in my tracks. The TLDR is that it was a girl saying that she would never eat “evidence foods” on a date. When asked, in the comments, what the hell she was talking about she then explained that an “evidence food” is something like a chicken wing bone, a shrimp tail, or the stem of a shishito pepper. It is a food that leaves evidence of it’s existence.

Immediate chills down my spine.

I damn near fell out of my chair. Please do not piss me off like that.

To hide evidence of pleasure is the most outrageous concept, second only to hiding evidence of function. Food has always been at a fascinating intersection of function and pleasure: it satiates an anatomical need that no human is above. To hide evidence of feeding oneself is to remove your own humanity. Great. Now your date is out to dinner with a robot. Just what we needed.

Examining “evidence food” as a way to signal a functional human body is tablestakes. There’s been many a’ debate about nutrition, access, and equity when it comes to feeding yourself. I would rather talk about food as a way to signal pleasure, and how arresting it was to consider someone would want to be on a date and not signal pleasure.

I am a ten-fingers eater. I am constantly scolded by my parents, even at my big age, about my eating habits. I often end a meal and look down to see what some would consider a culinary battle zone, with clear evidence of a violent border war (the border being my plate and the surrounding table). “We didn’t raise you to eat like this…we taught you table manners!” my parents will say to me, not infrequently.

Their biggest feedback is, “please tell me you do not eat like this around others” and listen, I understand. I understand that a child is largely a reflection of a parent, and of a childhood - ideally one where they are taught rules. But I respond to them with something to the tune of “well - I do!”

Me in 1995 but also me in 2025

I do eat this way around my friends, or on a date. I obviously have discernment, manners, and common sense. But I am not willing to sacrifice my own pleasure for anyone else or, god forbid, for a stranger that I am going on a first date with. Take me to the public square and put me in the fucking pillory for all to throw tomatoes at if I ever turn down a chicken wing for fear of the “evidence” it leaves.

Graphic design is my passion.

I am writing this in real-time, Thursday afternoon, after I just saw that TikTok. I am eating a burrito I made with leftover french fries that I cut up into little pieces, crisped in the toaster oven, and added to a bean and cheese burrito. My fingers are transferring grease onto the keys of my laptop, and whatever leftover grease is on the fingers goes, frankly, onto my sweatpants. But I am doing my laundry after this, where my sweatpants will get clean. I have alcohol prep pads that I clean my glasses with, that happen to work great for a sweep of my keyboard keys to remove extra grease. As a wise prophet once said, glory and gore go hand in hand. If you remove the gore, you do not get the privilege of the glory.

I don’t know the motivations of a random woman on the internet. I don’t know why she doesn’t want to eat “evidence food” on a date. I don’t know what her routines are, what she does for fun, or what she talks about with her friends. I do know that I, Hayley, want evidence of my food. In my perfect world greasy fingers are a norm, going up a waistband size is celebrated, and around-the-mouth residue is applauded. Evidence of pleasure is evidence of existence!