Like Buttah

I just got back from nine days in Ohio, where Nathan & I spent most of our time eating (which is business as usual for me). As a result, I am pretty sure I'm about two grilled cheese sandwiches & one bacon-date milkshake away from a coronary.

Speaking of coronaries, some friends indulged my ritual request to consume waffles after closing out the bar one evening. So consume waffles we I did! Toward the end of the 2am-ish meal, three small cups of condiments sat atop our table: syrup, butter & mayonnaise. (That was not mine, I swear - Nathan had a BLT!) I told my friend Peebles I'd pay for his meal at Melt Bar & Grilled if he'd down one of the three available condiments... & he chose butter.

We remain in disagreement about which condiment was the better choice. I say a shot of syrup would have been the most painless way to go; he insists butter was the clear frontrunner. (We can both agree that mayonnaise was never an option.) And yes, we are 16 years old. I dared my friend to eat butter. And he did. And I made a photo collage of it.

Later that week, my pal Anthony blasted through a long-standing two-hot-dog barrier at Happy Dog, a magical place I've blogged about in the past. Though many of my friends have, in the past, claimed to be able to consume more than two, friend after friend has failed in the actual attempt. But not Anthony, who blazed through three & didn't even complain of intestinal mutiny or claim boisterous victory.

My friends are machines.

Also, in assembling this post, it becomes painfully, stomach-achingly (no, really) clear that I need a new hobby. Like, say, exercising?