Stuffing

I had meat for dinner last night. Not kidding: scrumptious steak tartare for an appetizer and melt-in-your-mouth roasted lamb for dinner. A vegetarian I’m not.

For the past few days, I’ve been basically eating everything and anything I will not be able to get when I move up north. This means I’ve stuffed myself silly with copious amounts of Thai, sushi, Ethiopian, Korean and any other melt-in-your-mouth or culturally-diverse foods you can imagine.

So what if I’ve had to buy elastic-waist pants? This is my last chance, people! My LAST CHANCE!

My work colleagues took me out for sushi yesterday for lunch, and after properly stuffing my face, I told them I was going to Scaramouche for dinner with my book club that night.

Them: “Oh no! You shouldn’t have eaten anything for lunch!”

Me: “Are you crazy? I have to eat everything I won’t be able to get after I move up north!”

Them: “Oh no you don’t! Don’t be silly! They must have sushi and stuff up there!”

Let me tell you something: If I ever found sushi on a menu up there, I’ll invite you up and YOU can eat it, OK?

This is not a Thai-sushi-Japanese-Korean-type area. This is back-roads dirty-indie pub country, where places like Casey’s, East Side Mario’s and Milestones are considered ‘nights out’. We just got a Boston Pizza, for crying out loud. They closed Swiss Chalet and Harvey’s. SWISS CHALET! I can’t even have my quarter-chicken combo!

And yes, you are right – it was MY decision to move there. Why?

Because there are no wine bars. No martini bars. No $9.00-beer bars. No we-only-offer-bottle-service- and-it-still-costs-you-$30-to-get-in bars. No I-have-to-push-you-out-of-the-way-and-won’t-say-excuse-me bars.

Me likey. Me likey very muchey.