Maternity Pants for the Holidays

First World Problems

I love the holidays, even though I spend too much money and I outgrow all my clothes in less than two weeks.  It's not a big problem, because when we fetch the Christmas decorations from storage I have one plastic tote full of pants with elastic, stretchy waistbands, and oversized shirts that cleverly hide my uncanny resemblance to the Abdominal Snowman.

Taking off the week of Christmas afforded us the opportunity to dine in a couple of new restaurants, spend quality time with friends, family and loved ones, and eat ourselves into a food-induced fugue state on more than one merry occasion.

It all started when I snagged a coveted 8 PM table on Tuesday at what might be Dallas's hardest restaurant to crack unless you want a late lunch at 5 of are still hungry for dinner at 10:30, neither of which fit into my particular circadian rhythms. Gemma is a bright star in the culinary firmament around these parts, gathering all kinds of slavish praise from food critics and topping every Best Of list in magazines and blogger polls.  It's an unassuming little place at the end of a strip center, which is not normally where the fashionistas of Dallas are prone to congregate, so I figured the food had to be outstanding. We were greeted warmly, seated promptly, and watered and cocktailed in under ten minutes. Our server was knowledgeable and efficient, and recommended the charcuterie with cheeses (yes) and several other "off-menu" items (no). After polishing off the house-cured meats and imported dairy, we enjoyed some terrific Mussels in Coconut Lemongrass Broth, Thai Basil, Cilantro and Chile, followed by Braised Rabbit Pappardelle, which proved anything but hare-raising. (Sorry.)  Yes, despite the hype, Gemma is a jewel.

Speaking of jewels, Christmas Eve found us at the Joule, one of the fanciest hotels in Dallas, at their new Modern Italian destination called Americano for dinner.  Perversely, we went retro instead of forward-looking and had charcuterie (again), some Jewish Style Artichokes (I was disappointed they weren't sporting tiny yarmulkes) and Spaghetti and Meatballs. Our server was nice if a little bit dizzy and her weave was crooked which was slightly distracting.

Earlier in the day, we had met some out-of-town chosen family, A & E, along with our bestie J, at Dish Preston Hollow for lunch.  It doesn't have the sexy vibe of Dish Cedar Springs, but does exude a manly, professorial attractiveness like a smart cardigan sweater with leather patches on the elbows. We had so much fun yukking it up with our table mates that the food was somewhat of an afterthought.  I dimly recall two Bloody Marys (day drinking is not my strong suit unless I am modeling a sleek swim suit, peering through cheap sunglasses, and have my toes in the sand in Puerto Vallarta) plus a serviceable version of Day Boat Caught Fish and Chips.

Christmas Day found us at bestie J's house, where a small army had gathered to chow down on Roast Turkey, Beef Wellington, Mashed Potatoes and a super healthy vegetable app I had brought:  Spinach Artichoke Dip surrounded by a ring of Parker House Rolls.  (The artichokes and spinach no doubt canceled out the fat-inducing ingredients including four kinds of cheese, sour cream, cream cheese, and white bread.)

By this time I was struggling to zip even my fat pants, which was unfortunate since I had a last minute business trip pop up unexpectedly the week before New Year's, and I don't own any items from the Suit Barn.  I wrangled myself into some clothes, used safety pins to bridge the gaps, and just decided to wear my overcoat indoors and out, claiming a "thin southern blood" condition that folks living north of the Mason-Dixon line are inclined to believe and pity us for. Nothing spectacular in Minneapolis, a good if not great Pork Chop at Firelake in the Radisson Blu, and Spare Ribs and Sushi at Seven.  I did have a terrific lunch at FIKA at the American Swedish Institute,  where I indulged in Split Pea Soup with Ham Hocks and House-Cured Gravlax on a thick slab of Caraway-Rye bread (perfect for a day that never saw the north side of 10 degrees, brrr.)

Hurrying home from Minneapolis in time for New Year's Eve, our pals R and J prepared a feast worthy of that extra dose of Crestor.  The world's best Crab Cakes with Smoked Paprika Aioli and a cute little Bistro Salad, a slow-roasted Herbed Pork Butt  (the seven year old boys inside us sniggered every time we said it), Macaroni and Cheese with Gruyere, Parmesan and Cheddar (no truffle oil, thank you very much) and Tiramisu in a festive trifle dish.

I spent New Year's Day lying on the couch in a track suit I borrowed from my most obese neighbor, eating leftovers and candy.

Today is the 2nd of January, and tonight we are going to a new restaurant called Bite,  I am thrilled to report I'll be wearing a new fur-lined muu-muu, courtesy of my beloved D.