I’m a dunker.
Shortbread and tea. Tim Tams and coffee. Everything into everything.
All day I dream about dunking.
There are two types of people on this planet — Those who dunk, and those who are wrong.
Adventure is out there!
Dunking is about the spirit of adventure. Every time I dunk my cookie into a luscious warm beverage, I’m thrust back into childhood.
No, not my real childhood which sucked — my real life was just school, being scared and failing at life.
When I dunk, I enter a land of fantasy. It’s a world where anything can happen. Where each dunk can change the world. Every dunk forever alters the chemical makeup of my food. Forever alters the trajectory of liquid destiny.
Dunking turns the world upside down.
So many great human discoveries and inventions were accidents.
The invention of the microwave in 1946 by Percy Spencer.
The discovery of X-rays in 1895 by Wilhelm Roentgen.
The discovery of Penicillin in 1928 by Alexander Fleming.
When I dunk, I join that tradition.
A world of wonder and possibility.
Dunking just tastes BETTER
Dunking makes everything taste better. Science says so. Yes. Science.
Cookies and coffee.
Biscuits and tea.
Chicken and sauce.
French fries and ketchup.
Dunk it all.
Dunking is full of history and tradition
Dunking food into liquids started with the Ancient Romans, two thousand years ago.
Romans would dunk their hard wafers into wine to soften them up. These wafers were known as “bis cotum”, which eventually became the modern word — “biscuit”.
Today’s dunking comes from naval traditions of the 16th century. Sailors ate “hard tack”, biscuits which tasted disgusting and could destroy teeth. To make them edible, sailors would dunk their biscuits into beer or brine so that they could eat them safely.
In the 19th century, dunking was seen as low class and was frowned upon by British high society.
But Queen Victoria was a dunker.
Game. Set. Match.
Dunking is meditation
I can’t dunk mindlessly. I must focus on the task at hand.
But I can’t focus too much — Too much, and my biscuit will crumble. Not enough, and I’ll drop everything or splash myself.
There is no perfect dunk. No perfect dip.
There are great moments. But what about the next bite? Can I recreate the exact experience? I don’t know. I will always keep seeking.
I believe in the perfect dunk — that orgastic future that year by year recedes before me. It eluded me then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow I will dunk faster, stretch my arms farther… and then one fine morning — So I beat on, biscuits against my tea, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Welcome to the family
The world is full of mystery, but dunkers live on.
When I’m at a coffee shop, I can see them. My family.
They hide their true selves with politeness and etiquette. But there is mischief behind those eyes. They want to unleash their inner child. They want to dunk — To remind themselves of the joys of youth, the brazen days of adventures run wild.
They’re not alone. None of us are.
I’m a dunker till I die.
