The Gastro-Genius

Chili con CarneIt’s Saturday morning and the fridge is calling to me again.

My fridge calls to me all the time, but this time it’s not the normal lilting, sensual voice that bespeaks of Camembert and pudding. It’s not the dreamy song of sausages and fresh eggs and tomatoes. And it’s not the lute melody fairy songs of cold pizza, leftover fried chicken or ham off the bone.

Today, this weekend, the music is different; more like a satanic, death-metal bagpipe-fest played by angry Gary Coleman lookalikes. Despite this, I climb off the couch and shuffle up to the fridge.

I open the door and regard my enemy: a pound and a half of spicy chili. I let out a miniature war cry and remove the chili from the fridge. Then I grab the crackers. I have a job to do. I have one and a half pounds of chili to eat in one weekend.

My post-imbibing gastro-choices have been less than ingenious. I have vague recollections of 3 a.m. KFC visits that have cost $65. I once spent a Saturday praying for death after a binge consisting of three pizzas from Pizza hut. I am fairly certain that I still suffer from hallucinations from four bacon-wrapped hotdogs I had in San Luis Potosi…in 1991. And there’s a chance that a late-night lamb Vindaloo I had in Goa has left me sterile and with consistent flashbacks about Louis Armstrong.

This chili situation is no different. I made the chili last week and froze a large portion of it in one giant Tupperware container. After four beers Friday night I decided that this was going to be an all-chili weekend, so I pulled it from the freezer and put it on the counter. And we all know that defrosting meat is like throwing a poodle off a building; you can’t take it back on it once it’s done.

Chili is a community meal and there are roughly five people in Prague who like me. And even they are not on board with me as a friend all at the same time. In any case, PJ is allergic to cats, Lee can’t eat beans, K is in Australia and Collin (my last hope and fellow veteran of several late night KFC campaigns) is in France.

But while I am no gastro-genius, I am no gastro-quitter!

And so I have done what any self-respecting idiot would do – I have designated this a chili weekend. I have had a war movie marathon (possibly Designing Women) and I have had chili and eggs, chili and popcorn, chili on pizza, chili and rice, chili and quinoa, chili sandwiches, chili dogs, chili tacos and chili fries.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the fridge is growling to me again. And I need to buy fifteen boxes of Tums.

What is your worst post-drinking gastro-choice?

  1. #1 by Hanna on February 6, 2012 - 3:12 pm

    Do you know where Vagon/Rock Cafe is? Do you know the KFC right next to it? Enough said.
    And I’ve had the exact same Kilo of Chili problem a few months ago! You watched Designing Woman? Or Designing Women?

  2. #2 by Damien Galeone on February 6, 2012 - 3:21 pm

    Designing Women, baby! Old school sitcom that a man should not admit to watching

  3. #3 by Andy on February 8, 2012 - 5:53 pm

    Coming off a 72-hour stomach bug from a bad run in with some questionable carpaccio, this post just gave me goosebumps. Incidentally, I was your “chili-eating-brother-in-spirit” a few weeks ago; luckily, I had a younger brother home from college to even the odds.

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