The Web is loaded with images of receding gums, caramel-colored teeth, missing jaws, and white patches called gator lip, along with testimonials on how smokeless tobacco is absolutely, positively not a safe alternative to smoking. I search the Internet for "How to Chew Tobacco." The first piece of advice that pops up: Don't start. I space out, staring at my iPhone and trying to remember why I took it out. I don't throw up-a common dipping-tobacco rite of passage-but I feel profoundly uneasy, like I'm in a two-seater airplane bouncing through a snowstorm above Buffalo. Then, with alarming speed, comes the nausea. The tobacco stings my cheek like orange juice on a canker sore. Physically, it's more of a challenge than I thought. I can't stop smiling, like a demented flight attendant. One of the best head rushes I've ever had. For the first five minutes, I feel like someone is pumping helium into my cranium. But instead of the bullet I've seen ballplayers emit, I let loose a messy, chin-dribbling drool.Īs for the feeling: It's fantastic, until it isn't. I put my empty Poland Spring bottle to my lips and do my best. It's supposed to stay compact, but strands of tobacco migrate all over my mouth. The clean taste of mint mixes with the dirty tobacco-it's an odd paradox, like I'm licking an ashtray filled with Tic Tacs and Marlboro butts. One helpful Internet commenter warned that dip tastes like "Big Foot's dick." Another: like "a rodent exploded in my mouth." But actually, I find it more weird than gross. So on a random Thursday morning, I take a cherry-sized pinch of Skoal Classic Mint and tuck it next to my gum.
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