It’s hard to explain why a single giant Cheeto is better than a handful of regular Cheetos. Part of it is simple appreciation of scale—we Americans love big. (Can you imagine giant Cheetos catching on in Luxembourg? You cannot.) Part of if is how cute my granddaughter looks gnawing on one for half an hour. And part of it is—can I even say this in a newspaper possibly read by children and Mormons?—the pure, intense, pleasurable mouth-fillingness of it. Okay, that sounds gross. Except in the context of artificially cheesed snackery, in which case it sounds terrific. I know, health concerns, obesity epidemic—you know, you’re right. You probably shouldn’t eat any. Really, just leave ’em on the shelf; my granddaughter and I will be along shortly.