Published March 2, 2021Updated March 5, 2021 On my desk is a detailed miniature shaker of McCormick Crushed Red Pepper flakes. The bottle is small enough to pinch between my thumb and index finger; it looks as if it was made to fit the spice rack of an anthropomorphic hedgehog. I keep it around for its brain-soothing properties. There is something oddly relaxing about a banal item inexplicably shrunken into a fetish object. Sometimes I unfurl a tiny paper grocery bag and place the tiny pepper bottle inside, next to a tiny tin of Spam, a tiny jar of Skippy Creamy Peanut Butter and a tiny tube of Gourmet Garden Chunky Garlic Stir-In Paste.