30,000 Calories of Eggnog
I begrudgingly woke up, cartoonishly rolled out of bed – very sloth-like – listened to my joints pop and waited for my eyes to open as I shuffled to the refrigerator.
I’m not someone who obsesses over food. In fact, if there were a pill that provided my caloric and nutritional needs, I’d take it and never think about eating again.
When I’ve been writing for hours and hunger pangs hit, it might as well be a chorus of screaming toddlers. It’s a distraction that I abhor. I wish someone would invent a “never eat again” pill. Is that too much to ask? We have pills for every other damn thing. Why not pack 2,000 calories into a capsule and call it a day?
So, we’ve established that I’m not a foodie. If I could live off black coffee, peanut butter, and cigars, I’d be content. It doesn’t work – I’ve tried. I also tried Guiness and bananas, but that’s a story for another day. Sure, a medium-rare steak would be nice every now and then, but again, I could do without.
But I’ve had a few meals over the years that are worth writing about. I’m not that boring. One in particular was a twelve-course thingamajig at the Four Seasons in Atlanta. We feasted on caviar, foie gras (first time I had both and instantly liked them), and several other fancy dishes. The dinner was held inside the kitchen, and everything was prepared and served by the chef. It was spectacular. But again, I don’t drool over these things like I do over fly rods and typewriters.
Back to this morning and making a beeline for the fridge, albeit in slow motion. I scuttled through the kitchen, my wool socks lazily skating over the hardwood floors like Snoopy on a frozen pond, until I opened the Frigidaire and saw the one thing that brings me gastronomical joy – eggnog.
Oh boy, do I love eggnog – more than a politician loves graft. And like all things special in life, it’s seasonal. I’d hate it if I could get it year-round. I appreciate that it’s not available January through October. Isn’t that amazing? These days EVERYTHING is available ALL THE TIME.
Want a watermelon in February? No problem; there are farmers growing them in Guatemala. But aren’t watermelons supposed to be a summer treat? Part of the fun of diving into a watermelon is that school’s out and the sun is blazing. They’re supposed to be eaten at BBQ’s, on lakes, and in people’s backyards. Where’s the fun of eating watermelon with snow on the ground?
Thank God that isn’t the case with eggnog. Can you imagine slugging back a glass in July? Hell no, you can’t. It’s a Christmas tradition. Well, it’s more of an early winter tradition. There is no way on God’s green earth I’m waiting until December to drink eggnog. I drink it nonstop from Halloween to New Years. I expect to consume 15,000 calories of it before the ball drops in Times Square. At 350 calories a cup, which makes for about 40 cups … actually, now that I think of it, there’s no way I’m only drinking 40 cups. I’ll do that in November alone – double it. 30,000 calories and 1,500 grams of fat. The very thought of it brings me a wheelbarrow’s worth of joy.
So, I poured a cup of eggnog for breakfast this morning, and my taste buds leapt with joy! They knew it was that time of year. In fact, several of them went to the library and read a book on Morse code. At first, I thought I had a tooth ache from the incessant tapping in my mouth, but after a while I realized what I was hearing:
.-- . / -. . . -.. / . --. --. -. --- --.
We Need Eggnog
Those little bastards knew the holidays were coming. So, we enjoyed our first glass of eggnog, and the tapping stopped.
I’ll watch my first Christmas movie tonight – probably White Christmas – with a glass of eggnog, but not some wimpy eight-ounce glass (those are for pulp free orange juice and whiskey, neat), but with a sixteen-ounce highball. I’ll be wearing wool socks and flannel pajamas, even if it means putting the ceiling fan on high because it’s not that cold yet.
If you’re one of those people who shudders with anger over the “Two-Month Christmas Crowd,” now would be a good time to stop reading because I am proudly in that camp. When the eggnog flows, I forget about Thanksgiving. Again, I’m not a foodie. The idea of sitting around all day eating is laborious. It never made sense to me. The whole “unbuckling of the belt” and snoring on the recliner is not my idea of a good time.
As un-American as it sounds, the ideal Thanksgiving would be spent golfing in the morning, fly fishing in the afternoon, and reading fireside with my pipe in the evening: giving thanks to only God knows what - the relentless pursuit of leisure?
When the movie wraps up tonight, when Bing and boys finish their last number, I’ll fall asleep knowing what’s waiting for me in the fridge when I wake up. And that is something to be grateful for.
