The Pre-Holiday Weigh-in

5:53 AM MST--163.0 lbs

Though Kim would have you believe that I am suddenly obsessed about my weight, this posting is not about trimming down, staying healthy or proving anything to anybody. It is that time of the year where I find it fascinating just how much food one can consume in an eight day period. From Christmas Eve until New Year's Day, there are literally hundreds of ways to find a reason to binge, and I intend to explore every one of them.

So for the next week, as the in-laws make their way to our home, I will track my weight for you. The holidays, in general, are a great time to load up on an extra 5-10 lbs of good winter fat. There are parties, huge dinners, candy, cookies, and cakes for as far as the eye can see, and the holiday season was developed in large part to expose us to the excesses that we cannot enjoy the rest of the year. I am not one to jump into these traditions half-heartedly, but rather embrace the opportunity to engorge myself to the point that movement is not an option. But I have the x-factor over the other 250 Million Americans out there who only have the holidays as their opportunity to put on extra weight, and his name is Poppy-Joe. I have not seen that Supersize Me documentary, but I would challenge the guy who ate nothing but McDonalds for 30 days to try the same thing with Poppy Joe cooking for him for a 30 day period. I would wager that the weight gain and health concerns would be at least equal to the task, and more likely, he would drop dead somewhere around day 16. I have seven glorious days of absorbing more cholesterol than any human thought possible, and I intend to make the most of my opportunity.

Let me give you a little landscape of my daily ritual beginning tomorrow morning (well tomorrow is Christmas, so there may be some adjustments to the "daily ritual," but you get the idea). I will wake up to the smell of the coffee brewing masked ever so slightly by the subtle scent of two pounds of bacon grease crackling in the pre-dawn splendor. Before I can get out of the shower, there will be a toasted bagel slathered with cream cheese, four strips of bacon and two eggs fried in the inch-deep bacon grease, piled high in a sandwich with toothpicks to hold it together for me. Most likely, there will be a slightly burnt bagel, also slathered in cream cheese in the trash because there was the scant possibility that the finished product would not be up to standard. I will gladly eat this masterpiece of breakfast sandwich glory, and when I finish the first half, he will already be starting to make a second one, "Josh, can I get you another one?"
"No thanks Joe, I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Positive--this is great. Really, thanks so much, but I'm stuffed."
"Well, just have one more, I already toasted the bagel--this one isn't burnt."
"Um, this one isn't burnt either, but I am fine."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure. Seriously, I can't thank you enough. Really this was fantastic, but I have to get going to work and I am full."
"Well, take one with you on the road."
"Um, they're a little messy. Besides Joe, I really am full. Why don't you sit down and eat?"
"Well, just eat some of this bacon then."

At this point four more slices of bacon and another cream cheese loaded bagel make their way to my plate, where I politely eat one piece of bacon before running out the door. During the day, I can only imagine what is being produced/consumed at the house, but when I return at night, the kitchen has been hit by a tornado and there is a 24 ounce piece of beef sitting on my plate with all the necessary accompaniments. After each bite, we have a ritual.

"How's that steak cooked for you?"
"Oh, boy Joe, it's just perfect."
"How's the flavor?"
"Unbelievable. Really great flavor."
"Got enough garlic for you?"
"I really love garlic--it is fantastic. Thank you."
"What do you think of this cut? You should've seen the marbling."
"Well you can tell--very tender and good texture."
"Did you try the mashed potatoes?"
"Um, not yet."

Next Bite.

"How were the mashed potatoes?"
"Wow--those really have a kick."
"Horseradish mashers--you like 'em?"
"Terrific."
"Not too spicy for you?"
"Are you kidding, they're great--nice job."
"Do you need some more horseradish--I made some horse cream for the steak if you want."
"Sure, thanks."

Taking some of the horseradish sauce, followed by dipping the steak into the sauce

"How do you like it with the horse cream?"
"Boy, that is fantastic."
"I told ya."
"Steak cooked allright?"
"Joe, why don't you eat something?"
"I'm fine--how's the flavor?"
Now most of you out there are thinking one of two things:

1. Look, you ungrateful bastard. That Poppy-Joe can come by my house any time he wants. Cooks for you for a week--I really don't see what the big deal is.
2. Come on. He can't possibly ask you the same thing that many times, that many ways. I believe that there might be a little bit of writer's embellishment going on here.

Let me address these individually if I may. I am not in any way ungrateful. The man is a fantastic cook, and I appreciate him taking a week out of his life to cook for us. He spends a good 6 to 8 hours a day shopping, prepping, and cooking while he is here. I think it is fantastic and the fact that there are 6-8 hours a day that he is not doing something else to drive me insane in my own house is unbelievable. My only real gripe is that when I want to cook a meal, he has to show me a better way to do everything. I stay the hell out of his way when he is in the kitchen, and I really don't need somebody to show me how they cut onions and peppers when I am making fajitas--I am kind of set in my ways. Now if he wants to grab the sharpening stone and hone the edge of my knives while I am cooking, I really have no room to bitch, but give a man some room in his own kitchen. Joe has to be involved--he can't control himself and can't stay away. I do my best to maintain as much patience as humanly possible, but my breaking point usually comes within the first 30 seconds of his arrival and my blood pressure doesn't return to a normal level until two or three days after he goes home. These are my own personal issues that I must deal with, and I admit that.

No, I am not exaggerating the Q & A session that goes on every meal. He is obsessed with my opinion about his cooking, and I have no idea why. If the meal isn't complimented at least a half dozen times by everybody at the table, the ritual must continue until the compliment quotient is fully realized. I have never seen anything like it, but it is a fascinating study in the human drama, and I would suggest to anybody who has the opportunity to see it first had to take full advantage of its splendor.

As the week progresses, I will be sure to keep everybody posted on the experiences that are the most painful, keep you abreast of the projects that he will undertake to keep himself occupied, and of course will keep you up to date on my weight gain. Kim, for some reason wants no part of having her weight published here on a daily basis, so I will leave you with a song in the spirit of the holiday season. Feliz Navidad.

You’d better watch out,
You’d better not cry.
You’d better not shout,
I’m telling you why.
Poppy-Joe is Coming to town.

Kim’s made him a list
He’s got his own too
I just pray to God
There’s enough left to do
Poppy-Joe is coming to town.

He smokes while you are sleeping
He cooks when you’re awake
He’ll ask you more than 10 damn times
If you really liked that steak.

Oh, you’d better sit down,
You’d better like food
You’re gonna have thirds
If you’re not in the mood
Poppy-Joe is coming to town.

And now I will be alerting the local cardiologist contingent of the impending vessel blockages that will be coming down the pike over the next 8 days.