Margaret Emma Brandl
Assistant Editor Molly Reid: Margaret Emma Brandl’s “Mukbang” is a subtle critique of our current political situation, a nod to fake news, an exploration of cultural preoccupations with image and internet celebrity, and a sensory extravaganza—in 378 words. It’s a doozy. Also, if you’re not already familiar with the practice of mukbang, Google it. You’re welcome.
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Mukbang
by Margaret Emma Brandl
On Inauguration Day 2017, Thelma eats on camera. With a long-handled bamboo spoon she squishes around the Indian curry and rice the way all the Korean girls do. She unwraps a burrito. She arranges fat fries on a tray and eats them slowly, one by one, dipping them in chipotle mayonnaise. She’s been reevaluating mayonnaise—it’s just eggs and oil, all whipped up. It’s the same as aioli. Everyone loves it in Japan.
She pretends she is Y—, the petite Japanese girl whose stomach can expand to sixty-six times its normal volume. She imagines the video later, putting it in fast-forward and watching the food disappear as she smiles serenely at the camera, an upbeat jingle playing in the background. When she starts to feel full, she pretends she is V—, the first girl to film mukbang videos in America, who talks to the camera as if it is a confessional and she has been asked to list her sins. When Thelma runs out of her own sordid details, she makes them up: a cheating imaginary boyfriend named Hudson, a female friend she refuses to name who trash-talks her on the internet, a growing number of viewers who are frustrated with her content. She mourns a cat she never owned. She apologizes for a cooking video in which she burned a grilled cheese. She thinks of pulling down the front of her shirt or flashing the camera her panties like mukbang drama queen T—, but she doesn’t go that far.
As Thelma eats, she fantasizes about the finished product; she imagines that she’ll have a following. Her voice isn’t as matter-of-fact as J—’s or as grating; she isn’t as long-winded and full of wonder as M—; she isn’t as pretty as some of the white girls with unmemorable names—but she knows she has a chance. As homage to V— she melts Muenster cheese with sweet corn in the microwave, scoops it up with leftover chicken wings. At some point, she starts to feel sick. The TV is on mute in the background, no captions. Another fry with mayo. Another spoonful of curry. Thelma licks sauce from her fingers, looks instead at her camera lens. She pledges allegiance to nothing but herself.
Margaret Emma Brandl is a PhD candidate in English specializing in creative writing (fiction) at Texas Tech University, where she teaches English classes and serves as an associate editor for Iron Horse Literary Review. She has an MFA in prose from the University of Notre Dame, and her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Gulf Coast, Pithead Chapel, CHEAP POP, and Hobart, among others. Say hi on Twitter: @margaret_emma.
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