Please! Not one more bite!

I'm being held captive in the home of two of my favorite gourmands, Angela and Billy C. They have retired to this lovely area of the North Carolina shore to enjoy themselves and to this end they are enormously successful. Angela is a cook's cook. One of her favorite phrases from back in the day (more than 15 years ago) is "I just hate having the same old fancy French dishes for dinner every night." The food thing, I think she got from her mother. Never did I walk into that home when Charlotte (Sadie) was alive that I didn't leave with a few pounds of ham, potatoes, and some sort of sinful dessert. Who could say no to Sadie when she was wielding a chef's knife in her hand? "You've never had ham like this," she'd say, in her shaky voice, while slapping the side of an entire pig with the blade.

Angela had a plan when I arrived. It involved plying me with food until I was too freakin' fat to waddle out the door, but I still have enough legs left to get me back home. Here is the menu:

Thursday night:
Veal piccata
roasted potatoes
asparagus with buerre noire
Bananas Foster

Friday night:
spanikopita
prime rib roast
baked potatoes
Caesar salad
Bananas Foster

Saturday night:
Blackened chicken with tarragon mayonnaise
Armenian rice pilaf
sauteed squash, zucchini, peppers and onions
Bananas Foster

What's with the Bananas Foster, you might ask? Here's the thing. We ate like pigs. We couldn't help ourselves. Okay, that's just me. I don't get to eat food like Angela can cook, not often, for sure. I ate and I ate and I ate and when it came time for dessert, there simply wasn't room. So, we had no dessert on Thursday night, no dessert on Friday night, and god help me, she's going to make me eat this Bananas Foster tonight whether I puke it up in the backyard like a sick dog or not. This isn't even taking into account the mass quantities of martinis that we drank (courtesy of the gallon of Boodles Gin I brought as a hostess gift, half of which I unabashedly drank so as to save her the shame of it all) or the snacking (spreadable Gorgonzola cheese or garlic cheddar bread). As Angela says, it was definitely a low-fat escapade. She wanted me to take one of the two bottles of gin back home with me and I can assure you, gentle reader, that my liver has accounted for quite a bit of that. The bottle, however, will be recycled here in North Carolina.

We are about to sit down to watch a movie together, and tomorrow I'll start my drive (hey! I'll be back! I can't eat like that at home and what's an 8-hour drive?) back home. I have another 27 CD's to listen to, after all. But please, let's reconsider the Bananas Foster.