Will to eat...fading

I feel as if I have been running for days. My hands are cracked, my legs are tight with exhaustion, and I am wearing lethargy like a cape. I have been on an eating marathon.

I wake up from a night of drunken debauchery (see "Homeless fishman Christmas) and suffer through a few hours of work before schlepping back into the city for FoSF's chunkier, raucous cousin...Meat Fest. After helping Kelly finalize his apartment cleaning, I rush to the North End to pick up Evie and we return to find Kelly in full swing. A cheese platter also fitted with pate, chorizo, and prosciutto stare up at us, and we graze through the final moments of chaos that dominate Kelly's kitchen.

The menu, surprisingly, has a few vegetarian options (more so than I would have imagined)...but they are so thick with starches and carbs that they may as well be bacon wrapped around chicken stuffed with quail. Kelly pours out the champagne into our glasses (cleverly marked with wine markers that fit our personalities...I am "understated but competent") and begins plating. Pan-seared cauliflower with garlic and capers are placed right next to his English potatoes slathered with herbed goat cheese (my favorite of the whole meal). Next comes Evie's mushroom pasta and her scallop and crab stuffed jumbo shrimp. Cordelia buzzes to be let in, joining us with a flush from the cold coloring her cheeks.

And then the meat appears. Beef Wellington, as big as my fist and coated with a glossy egg-wash, is pulled from the oven and Kelly begins cutting. Decorated with a puff pastry candy cane on it's surface, the pastry crumbles under the knife and the juices spill. The meat is pale and blushing in the center. Kelly divides it into quarters and we each get a slab.

I haven't really eaten all day. Still full from FoSF and just getting over my hangover, all I managed to trick my body into consuming is a small sandwich and water. By now, I am ravenous. I pile my plate with cauliflower, potatoes, pasta, a shrimp, more potatoes, and then the Beef Wellington. The meat is so perfect that I almost pick it clean out of its protective puff shell.

After gifts are exchanged, Kelly returns to the kitchen and Evie and Cordelia glow with delight. "Time for dessert," Kelly says and I can hear something sizzle on the pan. After a few moments, he scoops out a seared slab of jelly and doles out a portion on everyone's now empty plates. "It's foie gras," Cordelia says and divides a thick piece from her own with her fork. Kelly pours a Sauternes to pair and I look down with determination at my plate. By this point, I just want to cross the finish line. Fatty and smooth, with a crust of carmelization on the tops, the foie gras tastes delicious but makes my teeth feel slick. I rinse them off with the Sauternes and manage to clean my plate yet again.

As the night ends, I pull a comatose Kelly into the car with me to drive Evie back home and wish Cordelia a good night and happy holidays. I move automatically the entire drive knowing that, in a matter of hours, I will have to get up and start eating again for the holidays.