Peel Slowly and See

As is my wont, yesterday when I was bored I played a game of Twister, solo. Oh what fun. What wasn't so fun was when, after one particulary vigorous spin, I found myself locked into a sitting swami position. I took the opportunity of such a paralyzed state to contemplate the idea of perfection. Lo and behold, after several fleeting and eventually unsatisfying images of Bo Derek, Bob Dylan's hair circa 1966, and the word aardvark flitted through my consciousness, I fixated on banana; I thus achieved the nirvana of discovering earthly perfection. Only then was I able to rather painfully wrench myself back to mobility.

Now I'm not just talking about the delicious pleasures that eating a banana bring, though certainly that is an inextricable part of the entire "banana = perfection" equation. I'm talking the totality of banana: perfection personified, so to speak. Yes, biting into a juicy orange in the dead of winter, or grabbing a handful of raspberries at a summer picnic, or slithering in a little kiwi slice at a swanky wine and cheese all have their profound merits, but a banana needs no context; wherever and whenever, consuming one always satisifies.

And think of all the various edible pleasures bananas, um, foster: on top of cereal, dried out, cream pies, puddings, fried (oh my God, fried bananas), frozen. And no offense to Hot Fudge Sundaes, but really, a Banana Split is the Rolls Royce of ice cream dishes. Hell, even that fake "banana flavoring," which ends up in everything, doesn't taste anything like bananas to me, but it still tastes great; name anything else whose pale imitators are pretty damn good, in and of themselves. Look, I'm no Rachel Ray (kudos, God), so I don't know even a tenth of the ways bananas can be used culinarily, but what I do know makes bananas unassailable. But it goes far beyond taste.

The banana's design is artistic and practical perfection. Peeling an orange can be a pain, but is there an easier, more pleasurable food preparation act than peeling a banana? The satisfying strength test of the initial crack at the top, then the sensual strip tease of peeling--machismo and sultry sexiness all in one. Think how long it's taken the packaging industry to design user friendly zip locks. The packaging of the banana has been perfect since its inception. And inside: No seeds or pits or gnarly cores to deal with, just total mushy goodness. And with the time-honored and always hilarious slipping on a banana peel gag, there's no waste: just toss the peel aside and wait for the hijinks. To me there's no better anticipatory experience in all of film than the tossed banana peel.

Now some uptight people may claim that the banana is just too phallic for them. To them I say, pshaw. The banana is a mite phallic, yes, but with its Saarinen-like sleek curve it's also quite feminine: it is the essential, unified, ying-yang of the plant kingdom: perfection.

Bananas are hip, too. The music is great, but to me what seals the deal for making The Velvet Underground and Nico the coolest, most undeniable album in history is Andy Warhol's totemic banana cover, Peel Slowly and See indeed. Then, of course, there was the great Sixties myth (was it just a myth, Rev. Jim?) that smoking banana peels led to a psychedelic experience like no other ("electrical banana"). Did you know some folks think the supposedly always-been-there (and so-much-more-poetic-and-fitting phrase than "losing one's marbles") "going bananas" originated with this banana peel smoking myth? Hard to believe, but the conundrum of the phrase's origins has even the redoubtable folks at the OED desperate.

The word (from the Spanish and Portuguese) itself is perfection. Like some mystical chant, it rolls off the tongue and never wants to stop. Just sitting there on the page or screen it looks so cool, so fun, so perfect, like a toy wooden train. A banana wouldn't quite be perfect if it were named the kumquat, right? I bet if they did a study with pre-literate babies and just tested their reactions to the look of various words, all the cool babies would gravitate to banana (my money's on the nerdy ones forming a cult around the word galoshes).

And besides, it's yellow. Being colorblind, I've always had an affection for good old unambiguous yellow.

The banana, ladies and gentlemen, perfection. Indulge.

Spike Jones and The City Slickers-Yes! We Have No Bananas