Organ failure

Well, it happened again.

My stomach let me down when I needed it the most.

As in last night, when Sebas and I went to one of the best restaurants in Bogota for his birthday dinner (of which he was paying for, sadly).

The place has a 5 diamond rating, and is only one of two in the whole of South America to receive this honor. Now, under normal circumstances, we would never be able to afford a dinner like this but....it's Colombia, and that means Colombian pesos which instant royalty status for Holly and Sebas.

So we get there and decide we're going to order the tasting menu with the accompanying wine. I mean if you're going to do it, do it all the way, right?

First course: thick, creamy, buttery French vegetable soup in a little tiny espresso glass.

I chug it.

Second course: quivering, savory, rich foie gras pate with vanilla gelatin and reduced wine sauce.

I inhale it before the waiter can leave the table.

Third course: crispy, creamy, firm scallops perched atop spanish chorizo, which is perched atop a crispy corn cake (total: 3)

I attack them like a rabid dog.

Keep in mind, this whole time there is a half glass of wine to accompany each course. I'm eating, I'm drinking, I'm feeling good and...

BAM.

The stomach gives out. I went from 100 miles per hour to 2 miles per hour in 1.2 seconds. Just the site of the next course, Lobster thermidor with champagne risotto makes me want to vomit. The smell of the Reserve Collection Napa Valley wine makes me want to jump out of the window just to get away from it.

I eat one bite.

Fifth course: seared ribeye with escargot and smoked mashed potatoes.

You notice there are no glowing, succulent adjectives to go with this one. Why?

One bite.

Sixth course: pineapple sorbet

Three bites. Hey, it's sorbet--it like, dissolves in your mouth.

Seventh course: lemon tart with strawberry icecream.

One half of a bite--the ice cream, not the tart.

And the wine through all of this? Sitting sadly on the table, never to touch my lips. To my credit, I did force myself to at least try everything, though it kind of backfired because the exquisite food (which was excellent, according to Sebastian) just tasted like impending doom to me.

So we left the restaurant almost immediately after the last course, me apologizing profusely, Sebas being reassuring but looking disappointed.

But that's not even the best part.

We get home, brush our teeth, settle in for a night of sleep. Except I wake up around 4:00 suddenly, sit straight up in bed and think to myself

I'm hungry.

And suddenly the whole evening came rushing back, and the realization of all the delicious food I didn't eat and I stared at the ceiling and tried not to cry.



Ask yourself this: have you ever cried in the middle of the night over food that you didn't eat that day?

I have.