Tuesday, 4 January 2011

The Gluttony and The Resolution

It is morning. I know it is morning because daylight is starting to peer through the curtains. That much my brain can work out. I also know that it's Boxing Day. But any more than that, my mind draws a blank. Above the sheets hangs a sour, stale cloud of vaporised port, peppered with a fine water biscuit dust. Underneath the sheets, it's a veritable sulphurous Hades. The Brassicaceae peninsula has been breached and plumes erupt from dark chasms, spewing forth poisonous gases. In the corners of my mouth, a strange white residue collects, similar to creamy cottage cheese even though my throat is bone dry. My head thuds in metronomic time to the rhythm of an invisible Big Brass Band and it feels like the Chattanooga Choo-Choo is going to cleave my skull in two-two. Somewhere out there in the vastness of space, a small voice pokes me in the eye and asks if Santa has come to our house again. And could they also have some toast. I just want to lie there in my bed and let my broken, bloated body knit itself together. However, a little voice inside my head says that I have to get up. I have to get moving. I have to look at myself in the mirror and slap my pale, moribund face and shake myself out of this stupor because a new day lies ahead. This is the most queasiest, most painful part. Because suddenly all becomes apparent. I know I have to do it all again. Such is the turgid treadmill that is Christmas and celebrating the birth of little baby cheeses.

Forgive me if that sounds a little negative, I did really enjoy myself this year. The look on the twins faces when Father Christmas (future brother-in-law) came bounding into the room on Christmas Day would melt the most cynical of hearts. And being a 'faaamlee' kinda of guy, I revelled in the banter and social play that comes when you meet up with your loved ones, shouting and laughing over Trivial Pursuit. Plus I had a hearty two week break from work so I shouldn't complain but I have to admit the endless cycle of eating and drinking has really got to me this time around. So much so that over that last few days, Mrs FU keeps finding me slumped in front of our fridge, whimpering "Why? Why won't the Stilton go away?"

Believe me, the feasting really has been ridiculous this year. Intense. Heathen. Bacchanalia(ical). Proper pagan I tell thee. Over this festive period, my eyes have fallen up platter upon platter of meats, fish, vegetables, breads, cheeses, pickles, crisps, sweets and I have gorged and chomped and savoured to my hearts content. Yet in some respects, I feel like I have almost been sleepwalking through it all. After a while you kind of go on autopilot, nosing cupboards and fridges, wandering from room to room, picking from random bowls along the way. Because after the main event, there is still so much food going around. At one point yesterday, I even considered the merits of installing a bowl of Twiglets in the loo just so I could get my marmite fix whilst pointing percy at the porcelain. Of course this idea was born out of the last drop of Prosecco that was finally drained away down my throat last night.

But now it must stop. The eating, the drinking, the sheer gluttony of it all. My resolution is to lose at least a stone. Tomorrow I shall throw my running shoes on. Tomorrow I shall throw away that poxy Stilton. Tomorrow I shall become a new man.

I would also like to say that this decision is in no way linked to Mrs FU's fawning over a pubescent, bare chested pipsqueak who thinks he's a wolf.

And whoever bought her the Twilight Trilogy on DVD, thanks a fucking bunch.


The Ample Cook said...

Oh Cheese-bound one. I think we both know what's happened don't we? *whispers* Old. Age. The art of being gluttonous is a ticking time bomb - you ask Tiny. When he was a much younger, thinner man with hair (ginger too) he thought nothing of cooking up a pound of sausages and eating a whole loaf with them, washed down with a few flagons of ale. Now, as you well know, he just picks at his food and sips nothing more intoxicating than a mug of Bovril.

So Dan, you're in a downward spiral of impending abstemiousness. Enjoy while you can :)

Dom at Belleau Kitchen said...

ah... i'm afraid we all have to deal with not quite living up to the musclebound hollywood freaks that tent NOT to stare back at us in the mirror... i'm right there with you as far as the weight loss is concerned but don't kill yourself... just yet anyway...

Seren said...

Ah, there is nothing sadder than a foodie on a diet (I speak from long and woeful experience). Courage, mon brave! And if there is any stilton left, perhaps you could cut it into sensible (??) portions and stick it in the freezer? Or is that heresy...

Good luck with your New Year resolution. I've only recently come across your blog but absolutely love reading it, especially being a former resident of the fair county of Essex myself.

Oh, and if you happen to find yourself in York while still in an abstemious frame of mind perhaps I could do you a Where's My (fat removed, grilled, ultra healthy) Pork Chop??

Best wishes to you and yours for 2011.

Food Urchin said...

The Ample Cook - Really? *sob* what if I went to the doctor? Tell him I think that I am on the downward spiral of impending abstemiousness? Can nothing be done?

Dom - I have solved the problem by sticking a poster of Taylor Lautner on the mirror, I feel much better now.

Seren - I consider freezing cheese to be heresy yes, especially as it is liable to be identifiable after 3 years or so but thank you for your kind words!

Dan said...

Very admirable mate. And nicely symbolic picture of running shoe atop a Stilton. Just got to put it on (not the cheese) and get out there and pound those pavements. Good luck with that fella!

Jonathan said...

Your sentence about whimpering in front of the fridge and cursing the stilton had me chortling away and I've had to wipe the spilt coffee off my keyboard. Good luck with the NY resolution.

Food Urchin said...

Dan - er yeah that has been the most difficult part so far, getting that trainer on erm *whistles and walks out of the room*

Jonathan - but seriously, it keeps hanging around, why sir? why won't it go away?

Lisa said...

Oh dear. Freeze the stilton. It will go away then but still be in easy reach of a batch of soup needs to be made.

As to the rest...er, I will think up non cheese based vittles for WMPC.

Really Hungry said...

Beautifully written piece and I echo the sentiment from the bottom of my heart.

I've had to resort to signing up for half marathons in early summer in order to force me into a regime that will keep the weight off. It's either that or give up butter.

And I'd honestly rather die.