Like freshly fallen snow, January is a pure, crystalline month of the new year, brimming with possibility. It’s a chance to consider changes, make time for personal reflection.
Although after weeks of round-the-clock holiday eating, perhaps it’s also time for some gastric reflection. (Or should I say reflux-ion?) But gosh, I will miss those five shortbread fingers at 3 pm every day with my tea …
Now that I am a certain age, it is no longer advisable for me to have dinner too late, for example and especially not the kind of dinners that I used to enjoy years ago.
I will now date myself. While waiting for cavernous bowls of creamy fettuccine to arrive, we’d pull buttery slices from a warm loaf of garlic bread and order deep-fried tempura vegetables that were served in something the size of a child’s sand pail with a trough of sour cream dip alongside. (Oh, and anyone for a couple of onion blossoms?)
Carafes of house wine flowed freely, followed by dessert offerings, samples of which would be wheeled in by the server. (Which was fortunate because — aside from our poised dessert forks — who was moving at this point?) Cheesecake studded with jellied blueberries, shiny rectangles of Death-by-Chocolate, doorstop wedges of carrot cake and Banana Royale cake with those cute little discs of banana on top were all on display, rising high like miniature chateaux.
And obviously, there would be ‘specialty’ coffees to finish, the whipped cream neatly bisecting the blackness of hot liquid beneath, clearly visible in its transparent beaker. I mean, years ago, we howled with laughter at Jerry Seinfeld’s parents’ penchant for “early bird dinners,” but these days, to me, it’s suddenly not quite so funny.
Nowadays, any meal served late will provide a sleepless night to contemplate both the ceiling and the curling rock now crouching in my dome of stomach. As I stare at the ceiling, my mind helpfully brings forth fun facts about the perils of high fat, heart disease and alcohol; in fact, that third glass of wine will not only impact my sleep but also affect the way I look in the morning, when my face becomes a compressed bathmat that doesn’t spring back. It’s not good.
The volume of food is simple enough to control, of course, but the time that I eat seems to be the main culprit. I am not happy about this — it feels elderly — but every time I find myself brightly agreeing to an outing that will involve a late meal, I know I will suffer later.
My millennial children still enjoy eating at all hours, but their food choices seem more virtuous than my own were at their age: postage-stamp-size bits of pork belly, tri-colour beets, perhaps a lean wild boar sausage? More often still, it’s no meat at all, and they’ll tuck into Buddha bowls or steaming noodle dishes. They lean towards local organic produce, ethically sourced: discriminating eaters, in other words, just as I wanted them to be.
But nowadays, for myself, I’d really prefer not to eat a beef cheek — slow braised or otherwise — even if the cow lived right next door; in fact, especially if he lived next door! I seem to crave the clean, especially after the gluttony of holiday gorging.
Of course, I’ve also tried ordering lighter dinner fare. This suits both budget and digestion, but also introduces the very real risk that I will greedily supplement with some grilled haloumi when I get home. Even later.
So, what’s a girl to do? If event planning is up to me, I often suggest brunch either at my place or a restaurant. In my experience, everyone loves brunch and guests seem secretly pleased that there’s an entire day left, including time for a brisk walk — or a nap!
I’ve also accepted the fact that sometimes eating late just happens, and I’ll just be proactive with my dress sense and leave any waist cinching belts at home.
I’m also now acquainted with the “Digestive Health” aisle at the drug store and derive some comfort in the knowledge that I’m not alone. (There’s a whole aisle, after all).
As well as a lengthy career in public library systems in Canada and the UK, SUE SUTHERLAND-WOOD has written for numerous publications. Her short essays have won national awards. Read more from Sue at her Substack, Everyone Else is Taken (EveryoneElseis-Taken.substack.com).
