Morning After

It turns out that while I dislike holidays that are centered around food and food consumption, I really really like gravy. And when I don't get my promised gallon of brown goo, I feel incomplete.

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, the BF fell ill. Two nights before, when we were at my parents house for a small pre-thanksgiving Japanese feast of wild mushroom miso soup, sashimi hand rolls and rib eye, the BF was sneezing and dripping. He blamed my cat of course. But it was not her. She hadn't been anywhere near his nose. I didn't want to say, "maybe you should put on a sweatshirt since you are wearing only a t-shirt." He is the type to cut off his nose to spite his face. I realize this. And if I were clever enough, I could get it to work for me, rather than against me. I need to reverse psyche him somehow.

Right, yesterday, the BF sniffled, dripped and sneezed his way through the morning while I did my prep for the two dips and home made crusty bread. I was going to make a spinach and artichoke dip, then a hot crab dip. Oh, the joys of lump crab and cream cheese. The joy of which I have been denied. I have a whole pound of lump crab. The BF doesn't eat crab. I am not going to make a whole pound of crab dip to be eaten by myself. Well. I could. I have some nice Cambazola cheese in the fridge, with some crusty bread. It could be very nice. But if I ate all of that, I would die of over-stuff-ness. I would literally go blind from the happiness of eating a pound of lump crab. Only kings and emperors get to eat pounds of deshelled lump crab. And I am no king. Right around noon, the BF pulls the plug on our Thanksgiving plans. He calls up our friends and tells them we can't make it. No turkey. No mashed potatoes. NO GRAVY. Did you hear me? I said I don't get any gravy! All year long, I look forward to this stupid holiday so I can pour gravy over every thing on my plate. And this year, it's been pulled out from underneath my feet. I managed to pull together a spinach stuffed chicken breast with roasted oyster mushrooms, spinach stuffed mushrooms, and some wild mushroom ravioli made from scratch! No crab though. And no gravy. It was a mushroom themed mini thanksgiving. Which we ate while watching the pathetic sf v. baltimore game. LAME LAME LAME.

This morning, I wake up at 7am and get my jeans on. I hustle slowly down to Clement street to buy some gnarled ginger roots. My father and mother told me of an old wives remedy for the BF's cold. I have to hammer the gnarled ginger, simmer on low for an hour, then stir in some dark brown sugar to taste. Actually, this sounds like a delicious rice pudding recipe too.

While on Clement street, I cannot help but buy some dim sum. It's just there. Calling to me. Little packets of shrimp and pork. Savory, glistening bundles. But. Lately the MSG has really killed me. I get this wa-wa-wa headache and dry mouth and suddenly pass out from the MSG. It has made me very wary to eat anything from Clement street that is not a baked bread. Really, it's the only gripe I have with Chinese food. I can control my portions well enough so I don't accidentally on purpose eat my whole day's worth of calories in one meal. But I cannot control my portions so well that I escape the clutches of MSG. In order to accomplish that, I need to eat only 1 type of each dumpling, and no more than 2 overall. That is effing nuts. Especially when considering that each serving comes with 3. Sigh.

This morning, I got some fried shrimp dumplings, fresh out of the fryer. Oh gorgeous juicy fried ball. It was delicious. I snarfed two down before starting the car. And then I ate the 3rd one right before sitting down at the computer. Now, I feel the liquids draining from my mouth in the tell-tale (tale-tell? Tell-tell?) sign of MSG overload. Why must dim sum be so overloaded with MSG as to kill a small Asian girl? Why? I will try to give up dim sum. Really.

This weekend, I will eat cheese and bread and turn into a while man with a hairy belly. That will show the BF.