Feast or Famine

I'm writing this on my new MacBook Air, which is everything they say it is, and cute. If I were a computer, I'd want to be this one. My husband has really pulled it back from the edge after leaving me for dead (metaphorically) when I first sustained the foot injury. While he may not have taken it seriously at first, he's bucked up by massaging my ankle and leg, physiotherapy-style, for hours each evening, taking care of all the mobile-elements of family life (i.e., shuttling the kid) and gifting me with top of the line technology.

I think it's safe to say I'm going to postpone the divorce.

In the true spirit of Xmas, however, this post is not about the loot but about the food. For the last two days I have eaten a shocking variety of things that can only be deemed artery-blockers.

I'm not one of those people who frowns on gluttony. No ma'am. Give me your fried, crispy masses. Pastry that gleams with butter. My heart flutters at a perfect cake crumb. I can eat a round of brie.

Seriously. On Xmas eve, we had wild mushroom brie fondue that takes a pound of rinded cheese. Generally it serves 4 till they're stuffed beyond compare. M was sick, so she wasn't eating. Scott just humoured me by eating it. There was but a small amount left yesterday for me to pair with crackers while I drank a bottle of Vouvray (this is hard to find at a decent price and it's so clear and ringy, though far sweeter than the wine I generally choose). I drank it over 8 hours, fyi. This is to say nothing of the struesel cake I ate for breakfast yesterday morning. (Is anything better for breakfast than homemade coffee cake??).

The thing is that Scott's Xmas capon takes a zillion hours to cook. We were three, but he bought a 10 pound bird. Don't ask. In fact, we tried - on a whim, yesterday morning - to invite 8 people over to share it with us. Alas, they had already started to cook their own Xmas dinner at 10 am. Anyway, by 4 p.m. I was really hungry and I had to eat some ridiculous quantity of prosciutto.

By 7 p.m. the capon was juicy, delicious ready with roasted veggies. They managed to be soft on the inside and crunchy, oily on the outside. My fave combo. I won't lie - I ate an ounce of capon and half a pan of veggies - if you can call onions, carrots and potatoes soaked in grease "veggies".

The pan generally serves 6-8.

Scott and his friend of 35 years have a term to describe extreme, painful, disgusting first-world fullness. It's called "klunk" and you can use it as a verb or a noun or an adjective, your choice. To say I was klunk at this moment does not begin to express how I felt. I really thought I might throw up (which is a horrifying thing in my book). Scott felt my stomach and seemed alarmed by its distension.

At which point I decided I would never eat again.

I sense I'm about to break the fast (it has been 12 hours), but I'm going to do it with a hard boiled egg and a slice of cheddar. Though that cake continues to call. (Don't worry - I'm over it. I still feel vaguely nauseated, thankfully.)

Why am I telling you this? Why am I admitting to this horrendous level of gluttony? I'd like to say something like it's to make you feel better about your own holiday ingestion indiscretions, but who are we kidding?? I think it unlikely that any of you have crossed the line as I have. Maybe I'm looking for that one crazy reader who can match me in the stupid eating department? Maybe I am seeking absolution? Who can say.

So here's to hot water with lemon, green salad and chicken soup. Which reminds me, I have to transform those leftovers into a stew fit for a queen. Have I mentioned that my chicken soup is legendary?