Food Coma

I woke up disoriented. Sleepy and confused, I slowly gathered the facts.

There was a blanket over my head.
The TV was blaring a football game in process.
I felt my dog curled up against my feet.
Pulling off the blanket, I saw the bricks of my family room fireplace right in front of my face.

Oh right. I was awakening from my Thanksgiving food coma.

I rolled over and looked at the clock.

6:55 pm.

I'd been literally crashed out on the floor for over an hour.

Like most Americans, I'm usually sleepy after a hearty turkey dinner, but this was extreme. I wondered what on earth I had eaten today to cause such a dramatic effect.

Act I - Dutch Babies

Despite the bizarre name, a Dutch Baby is soft and simple, somewhere between a crepe and a souffle, made of nothing more than butter, flour, eggs and milk. Its crowning glory, other than the obvious golden puffy goodness, is the sprinkle of powdered sugar and splash of lemon juice that takes it from good to great. A perfect tide-me-over to power me through the cooking process and hold me steady till the feast.

Act II - Cranberry Mules

Lime juice, ginger beer, cranberries, lime, and vodka. Because no one needs an inebriated holiday chef, I made mine without the vodka and it was deliciously refreshing. I drank two, and thanked the gods of cocktail trends once again for the copper cup craze. 

Act III - My Heaping Plate

I thought I exercising restraint. I honestly believed this was a reasonable amount of food, and though I'd surely be full at the end, I calculated that it would be the good kind of full, satisfying and indulgent in all the right ways.

Well. I was wrong. Possibly my body is still recovering from some wicked jet lag after my trip to South Korea. Or perhaps my eyes were way bigger than my stomach. Maybe I'm just getting old. 

But this plate of food brought on the biggest food coma of my life, and I have promised myself I will never, ever, ever overeat like this again. 

* * * * *

The house is quiet now. Everyone else has gone to bed. Gracie is lying near my feet. The kitchen is spotlessly clean and the dishwasher is humming through one last load. 

And through the silence, I am beginning to hear whispers. "Come," call the gravy and mashed potatoes, "heat us up.". "We're perfect for a sandwich," promise the cool slices of turkey. And two cheesecakes - pecan and pumpkin - speak no words but sing in the tones of angels from the fridge.

So please excuse me but I need to go to bed immediately. One food coma was enough for today.