The Art of Roasting

By Andrew Pang ‘24

What sense is evoked when I mention the word roasting? The firm texture of rotisserie chicken from the convection oven? Perhaps a rich waft of caramelized coffee beans at the local Starbucks? Personally, I recall dread and humiliation from getting roasted by a friend and being too dim-witted to think of a comeback. Due to personal reasons, I won't mention the specific roast, but it was enough to flatten my ego from a three-dimensional creature into a two-dimensional pancake. Since that day, like in other stereotypical villain’s origin stories, I've been practicing for revenge.

Roasting is an art form; being rather abstract, it takes a combination of talent and practice to master. Without originality, your roast becomes dull and bland, lacking distinction or power. In the year 2022, cliche phrases like “Joe mama” are resolved for those with mush in their frontal lobe. However, it’s also important to not shape the roast into a personal attack, or you would have to suffer the awkward silence of going too far with your joke. Think of it as fencing practice: you spar rigorously with your opponent, but instead of killing him when you get the upper hand, you merely disarm and flick their rapier to the ground.

Personally, I find it immensely satisfying to watch one realize that they had just been utterly obliterated in our spar. Their eyes usually lose focus as their soul leaves their body from shame. Although my psychopathic half cackles from their reaction, I find that it becomes my job to pull their mind back from the brink of extinction, to offer a light-hearted grin and help them brush off the embarrassment.