Let’s not panic. We all know that Twinkies, Ding Dongs, Wonder bread and the rest of Hostess Brands’ oddly everlasting foods aren’t going away any time soon, even if the food culture that created them is gasping its last.
Yes, Hostess is shutting down. And odds seem to favor the roughly century-old company disappearing from our corporate landscape. But before you rush out to stockpile a strategic Twinkie reserve, consider a few things. Namely, that Twinkies never die. You know full well that the snack cakes down at your corner 7-Eleven are going to outlive us all. Probably even after they’ve been consumed.
And then there’s the acquisition-happy nature of the business world, an environment that increasingly prizes intellectual property above all. It’s hard to imagine the fading away of brands as storied and valuable as Ho Hos, Ring Dings and Yodels. Within hours of announcing the closure Friday, the company already had put out word that Zingers, Fruit Pies and all the other brands were up for grabs.
Even if production really did stop, how long do you think it would take for some enterprising investor intoxicated by a cocktail of nostalgia and irony for the treats Mom used to pack in his G.I. Joe lunch box to find a way to roll out commemorative Twinkies? Special edition holiday Ho Hos? It’s just the nature of our product-centered world. Brands don’t die, even when perhaps they should.
But let’s pretend for a moment they did. What would we lose if Twinkies fell off the culinary cliff?
Certainly few obesity-minded nutritionists would bemoan the loss. With some 500 million Twinkies produced a year, each packing 150 calories. Well, let’s just leave it by saying that shaving 75 billion calories from the American diet sure could add up to a whole lot of skinny jeans.
Except that Twinkies aren’t merely a snack cake, nor just junk food. They are iconic in ways that transcend how Americans typically fetishize food. But ultimately, they fell victim to the very fervor that created them.
They started out back in 1930, an era when people actually paid attention to seasonality in foods. James A. Dewar, who worked at Hostess predecessor Continental Baking Co. in Schiller, Ill., wanted to find a way to use the bakery’s shortbread pans year round. You see, the shortbread was filled with strawberries, but strawberries were only available for a few weeks a year.
So he used the oblong pans to bake spongecakes, which he then filled with banana cream. Bananas were a more regular crop.
Let’s pause so you can wrap your mind around that for a moment. Twinkies once contained real fruit. Twinkies were created because of seasonality.
It was around World War II that American food culture did an about face. It was an era when the industrialization and processing of cheap food wasn’t just desired, it was glorified. Cans and chemicals could set you free. And they certainly set Twinkies free of the nuisance of a short shelf life. It’s not formaldehyde that keeps these snack cakes feeling fresh, it’s the lack of any dairy products in the so-called “cream.”
“Something about it just absolutely grabbed the popular culture imagination,” says Marion Nestle, a New York University professor of nutrition and food studies — and no fan of junk food.
Then something happened. Suddenly, Americans who for decades had been tone deaf to how food was produced suddenly started paying attention, seeking out organic goat cheeses made from the milk of an unoppressed herd raised on a fence-free collective within a 20-mile radius of home.
Suddenly products that had so prospered by their artificiality lost their allure. Even Hostess, which blamed last week’s shutdown mostly on a labor dispute that hobbled its facilities, has acknowledged that consumer concern about health and food quality changed the game. People just weren’t buying snack cakes like they used to.
So what would we lose if Twinkies really did go away? From a culinary standpoint and from a nutritional standpoint, it’s hard to love the Twinkie (or pretty much any Hostess product). It’s hard not to wonder how the American diet, the American palate, would be different if the parents of the ’50s hadn’t begun a cycle of turning to processed packages as the de facto snack of childhood.
And does nostalgia alone justify the continuation of something so patently bad for us?
Of course nostalgia tastes awfully good.