Chow: (n) food.
There aren’t many things about which I am a purist.
I greatly believe that human beings have the right to phrase, think, pursue and even live out their hearts’ desire.
I personally like the word “eat.”
I see no reason to make it more clever. So when people refer to food as “chow,” and slap me on the back, asking me if I’m ready to “chow down,” I suddenly turn into a German Shepherd and want to bite them.
After all, German Shepherds do chow down. They put their faces in bowls and stuff the food into their mouths until it falls out the sides, returning to the bowl to continue their slurping and crunching.
I am not a German Shepherd.
I don’t eat chow, and therefore, I don’t “chow down.”
I also don’t like to pull myself up to the old feed trough. (There seems to be an animal theme going on here…)
I don’t like to shovel food.
I don’t particularly care to inhale my food.
I really do just like to eat.
And I don’t want to be prissy about it, but when I hear the word “chow” I think of someone who wants to convey he or she has been in the military, or a 13-year-old girl who thinks she’s cool because she knows the Italian word for “good-bye.”