A meal of unexcusability

The morning started off optimistically: without any urge to binge. Good.

I split J.'s portion of iced coffee. We thought we were going to brunch at the Asgard in Central Square with  our friendly neighborhood atheists, but the Red Line suffered great delays (over an hour with no train, and no announcements!) so we missed out. We disembarked, after finally catching a ride, at Downtown Crossing, and decided to seek out a meal in that area.

We ran into my old friend Emily Small from Isle au Haut; small world. She was munching a panini from UFood Grill; being highly suggestible, J. and I elected to follow her lead. Subsequently I enjoyed my Southwest Turkey sandwich: turkey, sliced; turkey, baconed; tomato; some kind of sauce; flat hot crispy chewy bread. And an order of baked sweet potato fries, a diet cola (two cupfuls), and my half of a chocolate-peanut butter smoothie. Health food! But probably too much of it.

At North Station, wanting not to be left on the train to Lunenburg without sustenance, we got a small vanilla Coolatta and a chocolate chip chunk cookie. We split the drink evenly, but the cookie was mostly my responsibility.

A can of Coke Zero in the car on the way to dinner.

Dinner at Cracker Barrel in Sturbridge was not a proud moment. In retrospect, I believe I wanted to avoid seeming finicky in front of my two old high school friends Kim and Jeff. So I went whole hog (cf.: "pigbelly") and ordered Grandpa's Country Fried Breakfast, consisting of two eggs cooked to order (over easy, mine), with grits (I mix in an egg with broken yolk, and salt and pepper), buttermilk biscuits, a spadeful of "hashbrown casserole," and a portion of friend fried chicken with more gravy. J. gave me her bacon, probably just to marvel at my ever-moving maw. I drank diet cola, since irony is a good condiment.