Unicorn isn’t the only myth about food of many hues

I’ve just discovered “unicorn food,” which won’t surprise anyone who knows that my policy is to lag behind pop-culture trends to see whether they’ll go away on their own.

Unicorn food, as near as I can tell, encompasses novelties such as rainbowcolored cupcakes or pizza that resembles a French Impressionist painting. It’s fanciful, like the beloved unicorn — which is said to excrete rainbows and glitter, by the way.

We might have reached peak unicorn last week when Starbucks unveiled a “unicorn Frappuccino,” featuring a pink powder, mango syrup and what it calls a “sour blue drizzle.”

Starbucks is the Apple computer of coffee in that the media obsess over its every move. Hence, heavy coverage of what amounts to a big cup of caffeine and candy.

Why are we doing this to ourselves? Social media, say the deep thinkers. Everyone posts photos of what they’re eating, and how better to command the audience’s attention than with a bowl of purple ramen or a plate of sushi in psychedelic colors?

Various origin stories have been advanced for unicorn food: It started with

Pillsbury’s sprinkleladen Funfetti cake mix in the 1990s; it started with a creative health guru in Los Angeles in 2015; it started with our longing for escape in a troubled world. Sheesh, people. Any children of the ‘60s who started the day with Lucky Charms or stained their tongues with the powdered candy in Pixy Stix can tell you the origin of unicorn food.

Marketers have known for decades that kids will consume anything if it comes in unnatural colors. And also that adults love anything that reminds them of their childhoods. Do you really think Jell-O shots became popular because nothing improves vodka like mixing it with dyed gelatin?

The only mystery is whether the nation can support what seem to be opposing food trends.

On the one hand, we live in a country where locally sourced, GMO-free, heirloom-homely fare is in high demand. And on the other hand, people are texting photos of entrees that appear to be the result of sending a herd of My Little Ponies to the slaughterhouse.

Well, the trends can co-exist.

My research reveals that such natural ingredients as turmeric, beet juice and, um, blue algae can be used to produce the Crayola effect some prize in their lunches. The algae is also known as spirulina, a name I’d favor if trying to sell Smurfcolored meatloaf in a state where algae has a bit of an image problem.

As for me, hold the unicorn. When I order the blue-plate special, I don’t mean it literally.