Last night, I had the second gym meal that I’ve had this week.
Wait, you don’t know what a gym meal is?
A gym meal is not a specific type of cuisine, nor a tye of food. Rather, it is a meal that makes you decide right then and there that you have to join a gym. It is a meal that fulfills your appetite so well, that you end up feeling guilty that you have gorged yourself on such a basic little pleasure as food.
Last night, I thought I was doing fairly well. I try to keep my gym meals down to one a week, that way I don’t consume myself with guilt too often. Earlier in the week, I had a wonderful meal at Kim Chi Bistro, a little Korean joint hidden in the far recesses of Broadway Alley.
And I indulged.
It’s not difficult to indulge on Korean food, especially when tradition has it that they give you six side dishes (of various tofus, kimchis and seaweed salads. But I added to the festivities by gettign some dumplings. “It’ll be fine,” I thought. “After all, I’m allowed one gym meal a week.”
But then there was last night… a mere two days after the Kim Chi Bistro Massacre (Bi mi Bop is something that shouldn’t be missed, by the way), I found myself with Tara on Queen Anne’s Hill, indulging in tempura and Sushi at Sam’s Sushi. Normally, I can handle sushi, but adding tempura on top of it, and well… I was on my way.
But then it was suggested…not by me…that we should have dessert. Elsewhere.
I’ve come to the conclusion that one of the many variables that defines an epicure, is the ability to stop at more than one restaurant in the course of an evening, in order to complete the dining experience.
So I found thinking as we drove to Capital Hill to B & O Espresso for dessert. Tara had a hot drink called teh Milky Way (a little sweet was the response) and I had an Vanilla Italian soda with a touch of cream. We then split a piece of Sour cream Lemon pie. It was worth it.
But now? Now I am quite sure that I need to join a gym.