While in Des Moines this week, I was tasked with a holy crusade – to become the “hero vendor!” Well, I’m a title-whore, so I had to take the challenge.
Hold on a sec – are you my wife? If you are my wife, you must stop reading now. Compromising pictures are to follow, and you cannot know what I did behind your back in Iowa.
Not gone yet? No, I’m serious – leave now!
Dammit, why are you so stubborn?
Alright, let’s partake of a little background. My mother-in-law once doubted I could finish off the last pound of mashed potatoes at some family function. Silly mother-in-law. She was unprepared for what followed – a gorging she hadn’t witnessed in many years, since she raised 2 girls. At any moment in time, I can consume an unlimited amount of potato-material. It’s just a fact.
Likewise, I can usually polish-off any quantity of cheesy macaroni. So, when I was challenged this week to finish an entire bowl of macaroni gratin at some floofy french restaurant, I rose to the occasion.
Armed with my furnace-stomach and unhealthy love for the macaroni, I eyed the bowl as it was placed before me:
Ahhh… heart attack in a bowl. My favorite.
Let’s elapse some time here:
Did I mention there were large bits of bacon waiting inside as well? Who knew the french could make such hearty food!
I was surprised to learn I would be the first to pass the challenge. Now, I’m small of stature, so this fact surprised me. As the end neared, I knew I was going to taste victory, even if the Marriott bathroom would be soon declared “ground zero” after the attack upon my system.