The New York Times piece on the burgeoning popularity of 100 calorie snack food packages stated the obvious in its headline and sub-head: "Fewer Bites. Fewer Calories. Lot More Profit," and "Snacks in Small Single-Serving Packs Aren't Economical, but People Buy Them."
Of course snack-food manufacturers make more money selling six packs of 100 calorie bags of everything from Goldfish to Oreo Thins. And yes, if I could find the wherewithal to just buy a big bag of Goldfish and divide them neatly into 100 calorie portions using plastic bags and ties, I would save lots of money. But the reality of the situation is if I bought the big bag of Goldfish I would polish them off in a couple of forays to the kitchen between innings of a televised Yankee game. I don't have the self-discipline to divide the big bag in order to practice portion control, and furthermore, I doubt that most other people struggling with their weight do either.
In fact I have a radical notion that might just solve my weight problem.
I think the answer is that all foods should be sold in 100-calorie packages. That way I would know exactly how many calories I was consuming, that if I just had 15 hundred-calorie-bags in a day I would lose weight. If Popeye's would sell fried chicken in 100-calorie portions, that would be swell. If Thomas Keller would sell 100-calorie portions of his coffee and doughnuts dessert at the French Laundry and Per Se, my problems would be solved. If I could buy a hundred calorie portion of an In-N-Out cheeseburger, life would be grand. Ditto for a scoop of Graeter's ice cream. If Hot Doug's in Chicago would sell french fries fried in duck fat in 100-calorie portions, life would be great. The same is true for the hot dogs topped with french fries at Gene and Jude's, the hot dog stand I insist on stopping at on my way to O'Hare every time I go to Chicago. My life would be just about perfect if I could buy a hundred calorie portion of the South Side Market's beef sausage in Elgin, Texas, or a similarly sized pork shoulder sandwich at Big Bob Gibson's in Decatur, Alabama. Tell me—in your fantasy life, what would you like to see 100-calorie packages of?
I tell you, the 100 Calorie Solution just might be the answer to my prayers. Whaddaya think?