The End Of Chocolate Season

chocolate

With any luck at all, today will be the end of Chocolate Season.  Even as I type, there are only two eggs and one bunny (minus ears) left from this year’s Easter cacao extravaganza.  The eggs are already spoken for, and I really don’t think (considering his injuries) the bunny will last the night.  I’ve always loved Chocolate Season, but this year, I have to admit, I won’t be sorry to see the back of it.  The thing is I’m another year older and my man-of-the-world physique is getting a little thick around the equator.  This is no big deal really except the calorie fairies have been in my closet again and sewn all my clothes one size smaller.  Plus, the $49.95 digital scale I bought less than a year ago has developed a 5 kilo defect.  (In American terms, that over 10 lbs!)  So, much as I hate to admit it, the bottom line is, over this winter, I’ve radically increased my bottom line.

Back in the day, winter plump didn’t mean anything to me.  It was something that happened to other people.  I could spend the colder six months of the year lying around, watching TV sports and reading long, gangly British novels — without gaining a gram.  Pizza and Pepsi™ had no effect on me, and chocolate, in all its many forms, was my friend.  There was always a slight loss of muscle tone, but even in the last days of March, mirrors didn’t scare me.  How the mighty have fallen!  Last week I got out of the shower and — uh — let’s just say there wasn’t room enough in that bathroom for both of us to dry our backs.

The problem is inside my head I’m still broad-in-the-shoulder, narrow -at-the-hip, and 35 year old.  Nothing jiggles when I walk, and I can take my shirt off without frightening old ladies and confusing the babies.  That’s inside my head.  Outside my head, the reality is there’s only so much bum you can stuff into a pair of Levis™ before the fabric finally rebels.  And, quite honestly, there are bits of me that shouldn’t be this uncomfortable when I walk.  No, I’m going to have to silence my inner skinny person and do one of two things — either get off my grand derriere and get some exercise or buy a new wardrobe — ’cause I don’t want to miss Chocolate Season next year.

(FYI, Chocolate Season begins a couple of weeks before Hallowe’en when you start eating the candy you supposedly bought for the kids.  It runs from there through Christmas and Valentine’s Day and only ends when the last bunny bites the dust after Easter.)

The Irish Don’t Drink — Much

beer

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day, the one day a year when everybody wants to be Irish!  Which is interesting — given that Irish history is a litany of famine, conquest, rebellion, exploitation, betrayal, some more famine, mass emigration, civil war, bombings, assassination, another famine, whiskey, guns, God, and a particularly vigorous branch of the Catholic Church.  (But that’s a story for another time.)  Personally, I think most people celebrate St. Paddy’s Day because they’ve have been sucked in by the myth that the Irish drink a lot, and they just want to get in on some of the action.  I have no idea where the world got the impression that Ireland is basically 5 million alcoholics, clinging to a rock in the north Atlantic — I’m looking at you, Hollywood — but it just isn’t true.  And today’s as good a day as any to shoot that fairy tale in the head and bury it in the back garden.

Disclaimer: I’ve been known to throw back an adult beverage or two in my time, so I cast no aspirations on any country, region, ethnic or religious group — and if they’re eagerly offended, it’s their own damn fault!

No, the Irish are not the biggest drinkers in the world.  (They aren’t even in the top ten.)  According to no less an authority that the British media outlet The Telegraph, the biggest boozers on Earth are the good citizens of Belarus.  I’ve never been to Belarus, but I’ve seen bits of it on TV and quite frankly — I’d drink, too.  After that, the top ten have all the usual suspects — Lithuania (#3), Russia (#4), Romania (#5), Ukraine (#6) — and a couple of surprises, Moldova (#2) and Andorra (#7.)  I have no idea where Moldova is, but I assume it’s a scrubby little country east of the Balkans, and Andorra is basically a handful of mountains stuck between France and Spain.  Quite frankly, if I was sitting on a mountain, looking at the politics of those two, I’d be tempted to pull a cork or three — and that’s exactly what goes on in that part of the Pyrenees.  It turns out, that, per capita, the folks in Andorra drink more wine than anyone else on the planet.  However, they’re not that far ahead of #2, Vatican City, which, coincidently, also has more priests per square centimetre than anywhere else in the world — which probably makes “morning after” confession a piece of cake.  The other weird one in the top ten list of wine drinkers is the Falkland Islands — although it’s not surprising.  After all, what do you do in the Falklands?  Watch the wind blow and hope to hell it isn’t full of Argentineans — again?

Actually, the only place Ireland even figures into the top ten of drinking anything is beer.  However, they’re only #7 — substantially behind the Czech Republic (#1) and another couple of rowdies, the Seychelles (#2) and Namibia (#5.) The Seychelles are about 100 strips of sand, half- submerged in the Indian Ocean, so I imagine there are a ton of drunken tourists upping their numbers — but Namibia?  Good, bad or indifferent, Namibia normally never comes up on the panel.  About the only thing I can say, with any confidence, about Namibia is they drink beer — a lot more than the Irish.

So tomorrow, if you feel the need, have a Green Beer or a Guinness or whatever your pleasure, but if you want to sop hops with the big boys, wait a couple of days until March 21st.  That’s Namibia’s Independence Day, and the truth is those folks know how to drink!