A few years ago, The New Yorker published a story by a guy who had attended a dinner party featuring a 37-course meal.  It took 11 hours to consume.  There was a passing reference to an even grander feast hosted by the great actor Gerard Depardieu:  the Frenchman was turning fifty, so naturally, the feast had fifty courses.  

The thing I remember most about the story, though, was that the author woke up the next day to his usual morning peckishness.  He wandered to the fridge to see which of the mountains of leftovers looked appealing eight hours cold.

I'm a big eater, so this kind of thing is oddly appealing to me.  I grew up in a house that encouraged hearty eating.  My Mom was--and remains--a kick-ass chef, and the food chez Heffernan is generally very healthy.  We rarely had a lot of sweets lying around, and on days when my sister and I were indulging in a little too much bread and a few too many cookies, she would say "That's enough, now.  You've eaten nothing but paste all day," and insist we have something decent.

Nevertheless, there was always a balance.  When I started exercising seriously in my teens, and my mother detected that I was declining butter and desserts on a suspiciously regular basis, she would look at me and say

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Years later I was performing in a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night and realized that she had been identifying me with Malvolio, an uptight Puritan killjoy. 

Decades have passed since then, and certifications and workshops and years of study and practice have influenced my thinking on all things nutrition-related in the intervening years, but I still think those two quotes from my mother more or less say it all:  you have to eat something besides paste, but cakes and ale have their place too.

I'm remembering this on the day before Thanksgiving, because let's face it, this is no time to for squeamishness.  Tomorrow's a day of gluttony; I intend to take full advantage, and I hope you will, too.  I've heard all the Malvolio-style protests about low-carb this and that, and how to do Thanksgiving healthy.  I even wrote about it a scant year ago, but I'm here to tell you, don't worry about it. 

As long as you limit your pig-out fests to the three or four huge meals you eat between Thanksgiving and New Year's, you're not going to pack on those 'holiday pounds.'

So tomorrow, eat and enjoy.  You won't gain ten pounds in a day.  You won't fall to pieces.  Take a happy swan-dive off the diet wagon, and you'll wake up Friday morning, pleasantly peckish, looking forward to turkey sandwiches for lunch.  

Even the Puritans did it.