There are days when it appears that I eat like a 700 lb. man.
Those instances are few and far between, or at least I think they are, but between devouring the occasional 16-inch sub, oversize plates of nachos with all the fixings, or an extra-large pizza over the noon hour, I can consume calories like nobody’s business.
Not bad for a guy who is only 170 lbs., and sometimes referred to as a “starving journalist.”
Then again, I’m not food-eating master Joey Chestnut, nor do I have any intentions of eating that much food with that much regularity.
Last week, however, Smoke’s Poutinerie opened.
For weeks I’d seen the sign on the door alerting passersby that the artery-clogging poutine diner was “opening soon,” but it wasn’t until a member of the circulation department brought back her own cheese and gravy soaked sample of poutine goodness that the craving hit me.
When the rich poutine smell reached my sniffer, I was in the early stages of writing a story pertaining to laparoscopic surgery of the colon.
You know, the last part of a person’s digestive system?
Clearly my colon was in for a rude surprise as I mentally prepared to consume Smoke’s for the first time.
Unfortunately, those cravings stirred for another two days. So, when two of my colleagues tagged along to also partake in stuffing their faces full of poutine, I was — more or less — ecstatic.
For once, my co-workers were not going to jokingly judge me for eating more than I should.
That didn’t happen.
While the others purchased smaller poutine portions, I opted for the “wow size” bacon cheeseburger poutine.
I thought go big or go home. Clearly, I went big.
As I fed myself forkfuls of gooey cheddar cheese, juicy ground beef, crispy bacon, thick gravy and fries, I was so pleased that I’d finally fed my craving. But as the end neared it was as if my colon was yelling, ‘Stop! Stop! Make it stop.’
After I’d triumphed over my first wow-sized Smoke’s Poutinerie creation, I looked down at my stomach. It looked back at me — three sizes larger than it had been 30 minutes previously. I felt like I was 700 lbs., but — as has been known to happen — two days later I returned to an eating establishment that had previously brought out my inner fat person.
The smaller triple pork poutine went down much smoother, but I still felt like I was committing one of the seven deadly sins.
If my middle name wasn’t Andrew, it might as well be Gluttony.
Nathan Liewicki can be reached at 306-691-1256 or follow him on Twitter @liewicks