The Bottomless Pit You Become When You Have a Hangover
Adeline loves food, lots of it and often, both at home and out. Usually, that goes well, but sometimes it doesn’t. In the series Sunday Roast, she shares her observations. This week she has a hangover, and it’s not a pretty sight.
After a night of heavy drinking, I turn into an all-devouring bottomless pit. You can safely assume I’ll have a substantial breakfast, in the category of: fried eggs with too much cheese, and ten minutes later I’m craving tomato soup again. Five minutes later, a Rocket ice lolly. Around brunch (yes, because the day hadn’t progressed that far at all yet), I want breakfast again, this time with a Croque Monsieur, and then I think deeply about what to have for lunch while I lie drooling in front of the TV, watching the film Chef on Netflix, in which a handsome Cuban Sandwich is being put together. Would I still have pickles at home?
Grilled cheese sandwich. Donut. Burger with cheddar. Fries. Orange juice.
Properly plastered
My hangover is a glutton. If I had to describe my hangover in moving images, it would probably be big, round and red too. And hungry. My hangovers can go one of two ways: if I’ve really overdone it (that’s Brabant dialect for drinking everything mixed together, or what it might mean in my case), I end the day after with two slices of cucumber near a toilet. But if I weather my drinking habits bravely, I eat my way through the day. Back when I got home at five in the morning and had lectures again at ten, my companions and I would sometimes grab breakfast at McDonald’s. And not the usual kind they advertise now. No Big Mac in the morning is unfamiliar territory to me.
Orange Calippo. Popcorn. HEMA hotdog. Katjang Pedis.
Cookie Monster incarnate
Naturally, I consulted the books: that enormous craving for mountains of food the morning after has everything to do with falling blood sugar levels caused by the alcohol. Your body tries to get you back on your feet during those few hours of sleep, causing your glucose level to go completely haywire. And voilà: you wake up as a flesh-and-blood Cookie Monster with an uncontrollable craving for fresh orange juice, which, after three glasses drunk too quickly, gives you heartburn—against virtually no one’s expectations.
Chicken soup. Pizza. Coke Zero. Tuna Melt. Lasagne.
XL pizza
At the point when you have to turn to eggs (I can still handle those) and bananas (?) or oatmeal (yuck), I check the takeaway menu on thuisbezorgd to review my options. For lunch, I’m planning on enchiladas; around drinks, an entire baguette with Boursin; and for dinner, the XL pizza, because the medium size is for pussies. And me? After all, I am a hangover.
Read also:
