Sundae Sunday

Thanks to a detailed work of fan fiction, I have spent the past hour working on a poster while drooling over the idea of an ice cream sundae. Given the minimal amount of physical exertion in which I have engaged over the past few months, it is a bad, bad idea, and I blame an overactive imagination and decent writing as the kryptonite to my personal battle of the bulge. What truly did me in was the mention of rainbow jimmies. Well, I call them sprinkles, but it amounts to the same thing: small dashes of crunchy goodness pairing perfectly with decadent vanilla bean and sinfully rich whipped cream. Yum.

I guess what it amounts to is me being a sucker for food descriptions, in a phenomenon I am hereby coining a "gastronomigasm." I remember countless afternoons rereading Mariel of Redwall and dreaming of giant trifles and monstrously sized fish (not together, of course). The Harry Potter series had me constantly wondering about the taste and texture of a pumpkin pastie or treacle tart, while The Omnivore's Dilemma gave me the oddest craving for corn. In this respect, I find the written word to be infinitely more powerful than a simple image, as it gives a detailed accounts not only of what one may see, but also what one may smell, taste, and touch, all in phrases designed to titillate the imagination. In short, it pulls in all the senses, with the result that I find myself dribbling over a memory or what I imagine a food could be.

Gastronomigasmic indeed. I should probably mention that it is currently nine degrees Fahrenheit (with a windchill factor of negative four degrees) in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Looks like I'll have to bundle up before pursuing my quest of a fatty, sugary persuasion.
Two hours later...

I made, I ate, and now I feel queasy. Too many calories at once do not a happy hippo make.