the eggony of defeat

My efforts on Saturday were a bit disappointing. Even I will admit to that. The thing is, I am a fan of eating. Do it all day long. I sometimes have little candy treats around for my youngest students, but I have to keep them far, far away or I will devour them all myself during my planning hour. But I'm more of a grazer and generally don't eat very much at one sitting. However, I'm usually able to scarf down a large quantity of food when the situation requires. Such as, for example, last summer, when in perhaps the single proudest food-related event of my life I demolished not only my entire slice of Cheesecake Factory goodness but a decent portion of a friend's slice as well. So the fact of the matter is that I sort of have a reputation to maintain, particularly among those present for the cheesecake inhalation.

Well, on Saturday my gut was put to the test with some of the most fantastic breakfast food I've ever had in my life. The place? Butterfield's in Naperville, IL. The contenders? Me vs. a 3-egg omelette with Swiss cheese, prosciutto, and asparagus; 2 good-sized pancakes; and half a dinner plate of hash browns. Oh, and some OJ. The witness? Eric, who had not only been present for the aforementioned cheesecake incident, but was also the friend whose partially-eaten slice I had taken the liberty of finishing.

So there I was, face to face with two plates of breakfast-y goodness, with my dignity on the line. The night before I'd had a good meal with my Aunt Jane and cousins Deanne and Mike, but I'd tried to lay low on the late-night snacks for a change, in hopes of defeating the breakfast monster. So, you know, I had a smaller bowl of ice cream than normal. (Hey, it was Fannie May mint something-or-other. What was I supposed to do? Turn it down? I think not.) My tummy was rumbling. My mouth was watering. We bowed our heads prayer, in the traditional manner of Dutch people in restaurants, and then I took up my fork to begin.

I started with the omelette, and from the first forkful I knew this was not going to be an easy contest. The cheese seemed to defy the laws of physics as it stretched from the plate to the tines and gleefully rejected my attempts to pull it free from the omelette. (Yes, cheese can be gleeful. Particularly Swiss. Arrogant little cheese, that stuff.) But I kept my wits about me and shoved forkful after forkful in my mouth. Well, "shoved" is perhaps too coarse a word. I chewed, swallowed, and thoroughly enjoyed every mouthful. Nonetheless, food can sense weakness, and so it was best to keep a stiff upper lip. Or as stiff as possible while still being able to, you know, chew.

Eventually I decided it was time to take a break from the omelette, which may or may not have been a fatal error. Because once I'd had a few bites of those pancakes, there was no going back. Not only were they delicious, they seemed to expand as soon as they hit my stomach, like those little pill-shaped capsules that turn into a dinosaur sponge when you drop them in the bath. Oh, I did my best on the hash browns and the remainder of the omelette, but it was no use.

I had lost.

Adding insult to injury, since we were headed directly into the city I couldn't even take home a doggy bag of defeat. So those snooty little leftovers just sat there on my plate, mocking my ineptitude. And as if that weren't enough, Eric (the loser of the cheesecake round, in case you forgot. Ahem.) finished his breakfast off without batting an eye. I swear I could hear the hash browns laughing at me.

And I don't think I'll ever be able to look a pancake in the eye again.