A Support Group for Former Trendy Foods | The New Yorker

GRAPEFRUIT: Welcome, all. For those who don’t know me, I was a fad breakfast back in the day, and, briefly, I was on top of the world. Then my popularity waned, and I didn’t take it well. I got so deep into gambling debt, my kids didn’t talk to me for years. It can feel like no one understands what you’re going through. But everyone here knows what it’s like to have been an It Food. It’s tough, but we can get through this. Now, who wants to share first?

FROZEN YOGURT: I can. It’s been a rough week. My dessert friends aren’t doing well. Cake Pop is on life support, Strawberry Kiwi got 5150’d, and I haven’t heard from Cronut in months. I’m worried about them—and scared that I could be next.

BURRATA (in an Italian accent): Allora, you still have a loyal following. But it’s a scary time for us dairy folks. I can feel my power fading, like I’m starting to bore people.

SUN-DRIED TOMATOES (New Jersey accent): Nothing you can do about it, kid. In the nineties, it felt like I was in everyone’s mouths. But people got sick of me. Bada-bing, bada-boom—it happens. The hot new thing comes along. Fuckin’ Broccolini or some shit.

BRUSSELS SPROUTS: First, the farm-to-table restaurants stop calling. Then the small-plates spots. The phone barely rings anymore.

AIOLI runs in.

AIOLI: Sorry I’m late—I almost got separated on the way here.

GRAPEFRUIT: That’s O.K. Brussels Sprouts was just telling us how he’s feeling a bit steamed. Go on.

BRUSSELS SPROUTS: Thanks. Being trendy was such a quick high, you know? Before, I was hated. Then some twenty-two-year-old at BuzzFeed puts you in a listicle, and the world opens up. Now, I’m just . . . normal. It’s awful. I wish I’d never met a balsamic glaze.

BRUSSELS SPROUTS starts to cry. KALE pats him on the leaf.

KALE: I’m only in salads now. Remember when I was chips?!

FROZEN YOGURT: I had Ice Cream quaking in his boots!

GRAPEFRUIT: Let’s not dwell on the past. Being bitter isn’t productive. Focus on being sweet—or savory—to move on. Does anyone have coping mechanisms or solutions that they’d like to offer?

CAULIFLOWER: I’ve found that reinventing yourself goes a long way.

SUN-DRIED TOMATOES: “Ooh, I’m Cauliflower, and you can turn me into anything.” What a whore. You still taste like you—you’re not rice!

KALE: Yeah, you don’t see me begging to be made into pizza crust or pretending that I’m hot wings.

CAULIFLOWER: Screw you, you’re wilted. Clearly, I’m not welcome here. You can all rot!

CAULIFLOWER storms out.

BACON: Bless her heart, she doesn’t know how quickly the tides can turn. Everything was wrapped in me, then suddenly the Dems and coastal élite got people drooling over soy.

GRAPEFRUIT: No politics, please. We’ve talked about this, Bacon.

AVOCADO TOAST: Excuse me, I was wondering if—

FROZEN YOGURT: Shut up! I’m sick of hearing about your problems all the time. You’re still doing well! Look at Fondue, he’s starting to congeal.

FONDUE: Sorry, sorry. I’m awake. All I have left these days are kids’ birthday parties, and they’re exhausting.

AÇAI (Brazilian accent): What you need is to be called a superfood. And aren’t you Swiss? It helps to remind people that you’re foreign so that you seem exotic.

KALE: Oh, yeah, did you hear that Canned Fish is going by Tinned Fish these days? Seems to really be working for him.

GRAPEFRUIT: Let’s remember that we want to avoid falling back into old habits like marketing. We don’t need outside validation. Look within. Learn to love your seeds.

AIOLI (defensive): I don’t have seeds. And I’m not Mayo, either!

BACON: If they could just smell me, I know they’d come crawling back. Get me on a griddle.

A car crashes through the wall, hitting FONDUE, who spills everywhere. At the wheel is a drunk, tearful OAT MILK.

OAT MILK: I need help.

GRAPEFRUIT: Oat Milk? You shouldn’t be here. If you’re here, then who’s . . .

OAT MILK (sobbing): Hemp Milk. ♦