Food can be art. Not just in those make-it-look-good-on-the-plate ways, those fussy food art ways like in the film L.A. Story ("Gee, I'm finished already and I don't remember eating"), or even these ways, but also once it's inside of you.
After your teeth, your saliva and your tongue (and hey, maybe someone else's saliva, could happen) have started the job of making your food into bite-sized bits of the energy you'll need to get out and about and do stuff, that food progresses down that meat tube -- no, not that meat tube, and no, not that meat tube, either -- like it's being packed into sausage casing, and that's an ever-changing row of foodstuffs snaking down. Imagine it. The esophagus undulates in time to the food, moving it in the right direction, almost massaging it. Sculpting it, only with your insides instead of your hands.
It's interactive. You can feel the movement down your gullet. Then when it reaches your stomach, the stomach acids get crackin', silently breaking down the bits into smaller bits so it can extract their calories. You may add laser sound effects to this process if you like. The food disintegrates, collapses on itself, gets all mixed in with everything else you're digesting -- take that, anyone who can't stand to have food touching on their plate! EVERYTHING'S TOUCHING EVERYTHING NOW -- and until it's gone into the further nethers which turn what's left into, well, what's left (not going there in this post), it's like a turducken on steroids. Turkey, duck and chicken together? Try lettuce, pastrami, cheese, multivitamins, noodles, sauce, Pepsi, milk, pepperoni, wheat bread, chips, stuffing, corn, yogurt, ALL THE FOODS. And it's all practically melting into each other. IMAGINE IT. It is cool.
(Keep in mind I'm mainly running on memories of the special effects from Innerspace. Trivia! There's a fanfare Jerry Goldsmith wrote for that film that's inspired by his friend Alex North's unused fanfare for 2001: A Space Odyssey. You know more now.)
But don't make it into sculpture once it's past the smaller intestine. At that point it's just gross.
The preceding was inspired by the following Twitter exchange between me and Polly "Quizmaster Polly" Pospisil:
Her: Omg! I have a pound of bacon in my house and I am all alone. This may not end well.
Her: sculpture in mah belly!