I never really got the whole competitive eating thing, not only does it look horrifically disgusting, but it’s kind of grotesque in a world where so many people are starving. However, I just realized that I spent my entire weekend doing that. Yes, it was a Becca Family Bar Mitzvah.
Let me digress for a moment and say that I think of my blog as sort of like Law & Order. The thing I always liked about that show, besides foxy Chris Noth, is that you never saw the principal characters’ home lives and it only snuck in when it was apropos of a storyline or a good joke. Sure, you knew Briscoe had been married a bunch of times and had a daughter who had a drug problem and then died, but you never really saw much of that. It was just the case of the week and that’s it. So that’s how I see J-Ball, nothing terribly personal, just as far as it fits into the post of the day.
Anyway, since I haven’t done much of anything this weekend besides shmooze with my family and eat copious amounts of food, it’s really hard to keep that all out of this thing. And I especially need to since one of the only members of my family who is allowed to read Magic J is the sister of the Bar Mitzvah boy. But she’s in Argentina for the week, so let’s sneak this in. So, this is what my family does because I have 146 cousins who I am in contact with. We all go away to a hotel for a weekend of gossip and piehole-stuffing. If it gives you an idea of how much food was involved in this weekend’s festivities, the napkins at the Saturday night event had this message, “are you still eating?!” Indeed. Between the four meals a day there was an open tearoom, and here “tea” meant a panini table and “fill your own bag of candy” bar with 85 kinds of candy. It was kind of like a cruise without the water.
But it’s kind of a rude shock to come home from a hotel with marshmallow soft bedding and meals that contain frites bars and make your own sundaes to your own pigsty of an apartment where you are required to cook your own food from a refrigerator that contains condiments and spoiled milk. Luckily there’s another Bar Mitzvah in two weeks. Bring on the elastic waist pants!
PS, the Bar Mitzvah boy did great. Now I’m off to hurl.