The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘food’

Well Done, Ham Industry

I’ve never been a fan of ham. Some foods that I disliked as a child I enjoy now, like broccoli, lettuce, salad, tomatoes, etc. But ham has always been on my no thanks list.

And YET, even knowing that I don’t enjoy it, I still see the names of ham products at the grocery store and can’t help but think, mmm, that sounds good.

  • Honey Baked Ham
    • Are you kidding me? That sounds amazing!
  • Black Forest Ham
    • Is Robin Hood himself delivering this ham to me?, because that’s what the title implies in my mind.
  • Mystical Ham Boat
    • I just made this up, but you’d buy it, wouldn’t you?
  • In French the word ham is ‘jambon’
    • Jambon! Jam on! It’s like Michael Jackson himself couldn’t help but randomly say ‘ham!’ while singing (perhaps he messed up the pronunciation).

I tip my hat to you, ham industry. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.

And let’s not forget about this walking advertisement.

Home Again!

The wife and I are back from our honeymoon in India! Since we have returned we have eaten …

  • Burgers for dinner
  • Cereal and doughnuts for breakfast
  • Taco Bell/Pizza Hut for lunch
  • Dinner tonight will be ice cream and cheese/sausage/crackers
photo 3

This, this is a picture of the sweet sight of America.

 

 

Drastic Measures

He sat down and stared at the behemoth in front of him. This … was to be his lunch. He already knew he would be eating until he felt awful but he picked up his fork and dug in anyway.

This was his favorite and least favorite (during astute post-meal analysis) restaurant in the world.

The amount of dollars spent here would be upsetting, shocking, pain-inducing and gut wrenching … Unless compared to the amount of calories consumed here. And then the dollars would be a mere drop in the bucket.

Before he knew it his plate was half empty, his appetite was gone, and yet the fork continued to move.

Slice, slice, bite. Slice, slice, bite. The rhythmic motions perfected like an Olympic level athlete’s perfect form.

He sat back, finally, stomach so full it almost hurt to exhale. Taking deep breaths because the effort had exhausted him physically and somehow, against all logic, emotionally.

The plate was conquered. The dish vanquished. Appetite demolished. Sense of self-hatred sky rocketing. The belly was the new ruler of the land and, oh, she was not pleased.

He got up, asked to see the chef, the manager, and his waitress. He took a large sip of his drink and proceeded to spit it out, as though his mouth was a whale’s blowhole, onto each of the three people integral in this all too large consumption fest.

Finally, he thought, I can actually stick to my diet now.

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