What I Quaffed and What I Digested

Water, Beer, Coffee, Diet Coke, Whiskey, Grapefruit Juice, and Vodka.

That's it. In order of quantity. Nothing more.

The number of calories consumed over thanksgiving break - Infinity.

I spent two days making pasta sauce. I made it at my leisure.


I took long breaks between steps. Chop some onions. Watch a movie. Peel some garlic. Watch a movie. Prep the basil. Stare at the wall. Twist off the cap to the bottle of olive oil. Take a nap.

During the process, I realized my tastes toward Italian cuisine have changed. As a kid, pasta was my everything. It was what my mind drifted towards when eating rice for dinner every day for the last . . . well, since birth . . . became oppressive.

Now, pasta seems uninteresting. I know it has the biggest profit margins at restaurants and it’s all I eat when I’ve been really strapped for cash. It’s become synonymous with struggle, much like single moms buying happy meals for their kids after work.

I know a guy who’s somewhat made a name for himself as a DJ now but when he was struggling he’d buy one burrito every day. He’d eat one-half before noon and the other half when he got really hungry again. He was minimizing costs so that he could buy records. His burrito is my pasta.

Or maybe I had these thoughts because I had been breathing tomato sauce for over 50 straight hours. Most likely. I couldn’t think straight.

Anyway, the excitement over the sauce was palpable from my next door neighbors. The mood waffled between excitement and doubt as the tv generation patience depleted.

As with anything that represents perfection, I expected attacks. The patience required to wait for each molecule to greet every other molecule in the pot was roped with passive aggressive inquiries: “Don’t you think it’s spoiled?” “Your kitchen smells funny. Do you think it might be spoiled?”

No, it’s not spoiled. That’s the cheese that I accidentally left out overnight from the lasagna. The sauce is perfect.

“Whatever. You weren’t even simmering the whole time. Are you sure the sauce isn’t spoiled?”

“The sauce is perfect. Even God took a rest when he made the universe. Simmer too long and it’ll become paste.”

“But, but . . .”

I keed. The neighbors were really supportive. Croptop helped me to the lasagna summit. My drive was sputtering at the 48th hour.

My plans to have hundreds of Hawaiian Banana Macadamia Nut Pancakes got altered. Bob and weave. Bob and weave. Instead I had thousands of Blueberry pancakes with scrambled eggs and turkey sausage.

I had a turkey burger for thanksgiving dinner. It was nice. Talked to my parents. Watched Half-baked. Felt oddly grateful to Dave Chappelle and Neal Brennan for writing this movie. Then started to watch Office Space with Croptop and Hyuncher and fell asleep. Family, Friends, Food, Laughs . . . Thanksgiving '07 was choice.