Sunday night we went to a dinner party with some co-workers. They were serving fantastic Italian food (including garlic knots!) and I couldn't stop myself. Italian food is like my kryptonite; it weakens my ability to say no. So on top of lasagna & penne san remo I had four, fist sized garlic knots. But in my defense, they were beyond delish; doughy knots covered in sea salt. And garlic. And soaked in butter. And oil. It was all kinds of wrong.
(Thankfully, I have an ability to rationalize food situations like this. Like it's OK to eat four giant garlic knots, since garlic has all kinds of health benefits it cancels out all the other fats and carbs.)
Predictably, I woke up later that night in the fetal position (usually it's only red wine that makes me wake up feeling like crap). And by the time I got to work I could still taste garlic. Even post-coffee. I was like some stinky garlic camel who didn't need to eat again until the end of the day. Except for a few TUMS.
