This Piggy Packs on Plentiful Pounds

by Chris Becicka

‘Tis the Season to Pig Out
Americans pack on an average of seven pounds between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Kansas Citians enjoy an abundance of indulgent culinary options, making decisions deliciously difficult.

So there we were, my portly friend and I, two days after Thanksgiving. Since any holiday is an eating holiday, I was well into my annual tradition. We’d started early, Wednesday night. Thursday, the whole turkey deal, with two helpings of sweet potatoes and three different kinds of pie. (Thin slices of course. Heavy on the whipped cream.) Friday, in Dallas, for the best onion crisps ever at Maggiano’s (the reason I insisted on going there) and four cheese ravioli. By Saturday at the Capitol Grill, it was more than clear: this little piggy will be among the millions who gain seven pounds between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.

I was happily on my way: an old-fashioned before me, a rib-eye steak sandwich slathered with caramelized onions in both hands. Here, oinky oinky. But I was still showing restraint—I ordered the coleslaw instead of the fries. Fortunately, my friend ordered fries. At 1:30 pm on a Satur-day, few others around us were behaving in such a hedonistic way. Too full to eat dinner, but we were capable of the five-nut brownie at Houston’s. Disgustingly tasty with my kahlúa.

’Tis shameful.

On the proverbial other hand, why not take a more philosophical approach? One more attuned to the ways we’d like the world to be. Why not indulge? Given this line of discourse, I began to ponder the glories of gluttony, the ecstasy of over-indulgence, the orgasmic delights of sheer guilty edible pleasures. What better time to enjoy excess than when you’re likely, nay when you are supposed to, gain weight? Why else have we New Year’s resolutions?

Deciding my indulgences might not be everyone’s, I asked around. I’m proud to say that I’ve accumulated a few friends who happily indulge in excess as well.

One of my favorites came from pal Justin who says his is strictly Christmas: first go to Crown Center to watch the tree lighting and demolish the Gen Dare burger that comes smothered with hash browns, grilled onions, and cheese at Fritz’s Railroad Restaurant. From there, it’s the Plaza to admire those lights and finish up with the Skyscraper soda at Winstead’s—enough to share but “a real man can do it himself.”

A never-to-be called slim male friend said the cheeseburger at the Kona Grill and the cheeseburger and fries at Woodswether Café or the fries at Oklahoma Joe’s—the best trans-fat offerings in Kansas City, he notes. I like to think of him as my favorite health nut.

Another friend regarded this request as the “final meal” before they strap him in, feeling no guilt other than maybe the crime that got him there. He went back to Oklahoma Joe’s for the rib slab and fries, then off to Sheridan’s for the Tahiti Treaty (which I assume he wouldn’t actually have to say). There’s fruit in there but he promises it’s ‘gastronomic!’

To my surprise, two favorite male friends picked the Peppercorn Duck Club and for the same reasons: great ambiance, service, food, AND the chocolate bar. Who knew? But I like them even better now, though I notice neither has offered to take me there. Two favorite female friends picked anything at Murray’s Ice Cream in Westport, both bemoaning their annual winter closing.

New friends from the southern regions picked Jasper’s—one for the Pasta la Salle, but he swears it was named after him so he might be partial. Another simply swooned, “J.J.’s Scampi alla Livornese.” Another said the osso bucco there but finally someone confirmed my favorite, the coconut cake. Another gluttonous glory dessert: the pecan pie at McCormick and Schmick’s.

The pity of this piggy story is that my prose, like my friends’ dream indulgences, can pitter-patter on endlessly. I have a definite limit to the number words on this page—if only the same were true for holiday calories. Eat-em-up and suck-em-down—Happy Holidays indeed!