My Tummy is Not My Friend

Yesterday I didn’t even know what a Hatch Chile was but I eagerly agreed to go to a festival in its honor with peeps from the cul de sac. I couldn’t say no; the proposition included two of my favorite “B” words: Blue Mesa and Buffet.

But here’s my problem with buffets: I get there and I get so excited and I want to try everything. Then, of course, I go back to get a second plate and after that I can’t shovel anymore food in my mouth. It’s like I’m Carnie Wilson after gastric bypass surgery.

The “buffet full” is different from the “Thanksgiving full.” After the turkey meal, I can’t even look at mashed potatoes and gravy; I can’t even stand to smell another broccoli cheese casserole and if I even hear the word “cranberry sauce,” I might just puke.

But at the buffet last night my brain wanted more fajitas, enchiladas, guacamole, chips, salmon, chicken, beans…but my stomach said “no vacancy” (and it was flashing with the “v” and “a” missing so it said “no cancy.”) But even as I was clutching my stomach in pain I looked over at my neighbor Terry’s plate and thought, “Is she not gonna finish that? Because I sure would like some.” What? It’s my damn brain; it’s never full at a buffet!

Now dessert is another story; it goes in a different vestibule. I always have room for it. And apparently at Hatch Chile festivals you still get chocolate, cheesecake and flan. It was freakin’ awesome.

My only regret is that I didn’t have a stomach the size of Carnie Wilson’s pre-surgery. Then I could have tried many more things—and really gotten my money’s worth (which is why Frank hates taking me to a buffet).

But the Blue Mesa Hatch Chile festival buffet was certainly delicious. Although I’m pretty sure I forgot to eat a Hatch Chile. That’s okay; I hear Chuy’s is having a soiree next week. Hatch Chiles (and my tummy), watch out!