All Over A Plate Of Fries

I overindulged with food again last night.  Once again, my long-held belief that I'm getting fat because my parents make me eat too much food at home is upended when I eat too much on my own.

After work last night I had this screening for a research study at the University of Minnesota.  But this wasn't on campus.  Instead, it was in north Minneapolis.  And I heard of a new restaurant just north of there that is kind of recommended.  I say kind of because I checked on Yelp and the reviews, especially when it comes to the food, haven't been universally kind, shall we say.  I thought about not going.  But ... well, I don't know the next time I will be in that part of town, and everybody seemed to like the drinks, so I decided to wedge a visit there between the experiment screening and Taco Bell, where I planned to finally eat that night.

And then, once I go to this relative new place, I caved and got an order of fries.  The fries weren't generally condemned, I don't think.  Besides, it was fries.  I figure it is hard to screw up, and even if it were, it's the cheapest item on their menu.  Now, they were good, even though I wish I had gotten a much bigger cup of aioli.  But it was a lot.  It was shareable size, and I was the only one eating it.  And my stomach got so full that I wondered whether I could even eat at Taco Bell.

But I made the decision to eat at Taco Bell anyway.  I altered what I would get, going from three food items to two.  But eating even a Mexican Pizza and their new street chicken chalupas was difficult.  I was so full that consuming them was not enjoyable, if you know what I mean.  And now, waking up after a four-hour sleep that's really a nap, I feel -- a bit bitter, but still plenty full.  Really, I feel as fat as I have ever felt.  All because I decided to have fries with my drink, dammit.