Christmas Day + 2 — Reflux Redux

First of all —Gutbloom, Third Pharaoh of the Elusive Order of St. John the Dwarf, Happy Happy Appropriate Seasonal Platitude, from the heart. And thank you so much for this perfectly appropriate, and oh so relatable, holiday missive.

I’m living the dream, as well.

We have, all of us in my world I think I can fairly say, succumbed to the selfsame barbarism of which you speak. There have been untoward comments, loud and embarrassing declamations, bad moods, escape attempts and pivotal life decisions cast aside. There has been laughter, swaggering, arguing, belching, unwelcome criticism and unvarnished opinion. Overindulgence and excess — Christmas means food and drink and, yes, carnage. It has been, as my lovely husband says, a “shitty Christmas” — and it’s been lovely, honestly. He doesn’t mean the company or the quality.

Said husband is a spectacular cook and chose this year a ham and pasta quattro formaggi (which in Italian means “sandbag in the descending colon”). I baked us an Italian coffee cake for breakfast, the perfect sponge for Christmas Eve activities, and a spectacularly dense and decadent chocolate tart with a shortbread crust (“slab”) for dessert, because one cannot have pain without suffering.

There are many bottles of things that we’ve forgotten, many plates of cookies, dirty dishes and trashed festive plans. There has been much midnight traveling to and from bathrooms and attendant groaning. Complaining has issued from all quarters. Tums are our, somewhat ineffectual, first line of defense. However, it’s the 2 a.m. bicarb in the kitchen, followed by room-clearing, explosive mouth flatulence that usually does the trick.

Sorry. Too much information?

And tonight, 2 days after the blessed event, my brilliant life partner made us a leg of lamb (so light!) and a gratin dauphinois (which, in the original French, means “arteries like coat hangers”) — served with spinach and the last sorry leftover bottle of wine, a local and inappropriate Gewurztraminer (“wine for export” in German) which supposedly has the ‘flamboyant bouquet of lychees’ but has been unfortunately trampled by lamb and cream.

Love the graphic. I would eat the cherry cordials, for sure, but — Whitman’s? Really?

And to end — my wonderful groom just approached me at the computer to ask as I write, “Do you want any pan drippings?”

I’m not kidding.

Help.