"LOL: How Texting 'BRB' Can Lead to 'Bacon Really Belongs' and Other Culinary Misadventures in the Art of Miscommunication"

July 30, 2024

In the annals of culinary history, few phenomena have catalyzed a gastronomic revolution as profound as the rise of text messaging. The once-innocuous abbreviation 'BRB,' which stands for 'Be Right Back,' has become a singular mistress of misunderstanding. This digital shorthand, birthed in the crucible of internet chatrooms and text conversations, has transcended linguistic boundaries to spark a series of culinary misadventures unprecedented in their absurdity.

At the dawn of the 21st century, the holistic connection between communication and cuisine was a relatively straightforward affair. Recipe cards were passed down through generations, their handwritten instructions infallible in their clarity. Yet, as we hurtled toward a world of ever faster, ever more efficient communication, the once-commendable 'BRB' morphed into a Trojan horse of culinary confusion. A tale is told, possibly apocryphal (or perhaps not), of a well-meaning paterfamilias sending a text to his son who inquired what to cook for dinner: “BRB, need to check the pantry.” The digital gods, in their infinite jest, transformed this missive into “Bacon Really Belongs.”

What ensued could only be described as porcine pandemonium. Dutifully interpreting the cryptic message as gospel, the son proceeded to incorporate bacon into a meal meant for a vegan girlfriend. Our hapless gastronomist, staring in horror at his kitchen counter laden with neatly sliced pancetta and crumbled bacon bits, fell victim to the cruel irony of a technology meant to simplify communication. What can one divine from this? That within an innocent three-letter combination lurked a culinary calamity of swinish proportions.

Yet this is not an isolated incident. Nay, it hints at a broader epidemic, where the vagaries of text messaging intersect with the subtleties of cuisine. Another infamous case involves an online recipe swap, where a cook endeavored to share a meticulous recipe for Coq au Vin. “Coq 'n' Vin,” she texted briskly, only for auto-correction to spearhead her into the realms of “Cookin’ Veins.” The shattered dreams of aspiring chefs who misinterpreted this as some grisly, apocalyptic dish need not be overly dwelt upon.

Even professional kitchens have not been spared from the spectral specter of text-messaged havoc. In one notorious instance, a renowned sous-chef, instructed via text to “set aside rosemary,” was shockingly thwarted by the malevolence of an autocorrect that reinterpreted this as “set aside Rose Marie.” Consequently, a waitress named Rose Marie found herself bewildered and isolated in an utterly baffling scenario, ultimately resigning her position and deciding, sensibly, to pursue a career far removed from culinary endeavors.

Bright minds in ergonomic engineering and semasiological studies might argue that the root of such chaos lies not in technology, but in our over-reliance upon it. Were this a Luddite manifesto, such claims might hold credence. However, our concern is not with the existence of technology but with the magnificence of its missteps.

The revolution of text messaging, and the standardization of abbreviations, has seeded an ever-expanding minefield within the gastronomic landscape. Recipes laden with ‘tsp’ and ‘Tbsp’—perilously parsed in terse text conversation—are a playground for inadvertent salt bombs masquerading as delicate soups. The case of “BRAISED duck, NOT brained duck” that tragically unfolded in a reputed French kitchen speaks volumes of this precariousness.

A veritable Soviet of solutions has been proposed: return to longhand communication, mandatory culinary elocution courses, the employment of stalwart sentinels to proofread every text. Yet, none address the underlying truth that this convoluted cacophony is but our collective cultural destiny. Such nuances flavor not only our food but our very interactions, rendering our lives equal parts tragic and comic.

So, next time your swiping fingers dispatch a casual “BRB,” contemplate the potential epicurean travesties you may unknowingly sow. Roll the dice, if you must. But remember—beneath every message lurks the restless spirit of culinary misadventure, waiting to transform “Be Right Back” into “Bacon Really Belongs” or worse. And toast, dear reader, even if with trepidation, the magnificence of our most human of foibles in the digital age.