I just woke from one of those delirous morning-time dreams that fill you with excitement. I was nestled in a Fritos Scoop Chip, floating around a pool where some friends and family were playing. Some co-workers were playing funny tricks on one another, and my young cousins were splashing around with their floaties on.
Why a Frito’s Scoop, you ask? They’re made in Michigan, and we used to pass the Fritos factory on I-94 when we went to visit my Grandfather in Dearborn. They’re corn chips, but unusually large. I don’t eat them anymore because I want to retain the memory of how good they were- now when I eat them, I find them to be too greasy and they leave me feeling flat.
When I was young the only food my father consistantly made was hummos, and he’d put it in a big blue bowl and bring it to the table with a bag of Fritos Scoops. I loved it. Because I knew he never used a recipe, I’d always consider what the most dominant flavor was in each batch: did he add more lemon this time? or tahini? Sometimes the garlic would tingle and linger. And those Fritos Scoops- big and roomy, crunchy, salty and delicous. Somehow they planted themselves in my subconscious as a comfortable spot, serving as a ‘flying rug’ of sorts.
In the dream I remember commenting to someone on how much I enjoyed sailing around in my scoop, and I recall the excited stomach feeling of swaying freely from side to side, up and down. Everything but the scoop and I had a bluish hue. I don’t recall the place, but there was a pool surrounded by a building with a balcony, and the air was comfortably cool like in California.