Dear Steam,

I understand you consider the use of yourself as a cooking method to be a healthy alternative to flavour. You are, in my opinion, also synonymous with some of the most offensive human diets including macrobiotics, raw-foodism and the CRON diet. But perhaps your most revolting incarnation is as a method for making dumplings.

Don’t get me wrong, I love dumplings. But I love them to be fried. I loathe with a passion similar to that of Christ, steamed dumplings. From the wet outer whiteness to the blanched, rubbery insides to the hot water that springs from between coils of meat strings, every part of them is offensive. And you are the reason for that. The SOLE reason.

I offer the concept of bathing for your consideration. We, that is to say, humanity, have a number of methods by which we clean ourselves. Medievally, we use public bathhouses and still pools of water. You’ll note you are not present as anything other than a by-product in this example, which is where you belong and should stay. Unfortunately, we invented the shower. A brilliant innovation which unfortunately leads to the mass production of, you guessed it, steam. Horrible, useless steam. Which brings me to the next ‘invention’ of humanity, the steam-room or sauna. As far as I can tell, these are torture chambers for the gradual wasting away of normal human beings into jockeys. You offend me with your insinuation into our cleaning practices, but perhaps the most offensive thing about it is that I can’t help, sometimes, to enjoy your presence. Which makes me sick with disgust inside.

Tangentially, you formed the basis of one of the simultaneously greatest and most over-hyped sub-genres in recent history, steampunk. Steampunk is about on level with emo in terms of how sick to death I am of it, yet I am, similarly to emo, drawn to it again and again. I ask you Steam, why do you do this to us? Why do you draw us to you like cake to an overweight child, then discard us, bloated and unsure of ourselves, alone and with cake on our chins? Why?

I’m thrashing around in a tiny bathroom full of you, fully gauntleted and barely gripping onto my sanity. I hope you’re happy, Steam, I hope you’re happy.

Adrik