Gluttony Begins Here... or, Why I Farm

Yes, each year I celebrate my birthday with eggs benedict and mimosas in the morning. The potato dish varies. Some years it's country home fries, others it's latkes. Either way though, my birthday ushers in the kind of cool weather eating that revels in gastronomic glory and packs on the pounds. You see, Jim's birthday comes just a few short weeks after mine, so we're already talking about what he might like to eat for his birthday at my birthday dinner, which this year was comprised of lobster, New York strip steak, and the last delicious strawberries and raspberries of the season with whipped cream and melt-in-your-mouth crumbly shortcake.

Then, of course, the Thanksgiving harvest lingers just a month or so away, followed quickly by Christmas goose and roast potatoes in goose fat, with a New Year's Eve seafood fest on its heals. Then there's Valentine's Day lobster or filet mignon or, most likely, both because that's the kind of people we are, likely complete with two mouth-watering sauces—a roquefort and a burgundy—because I'm all about the sauce.

And so begins my decadent foray into feasting and merry making—with much good food and good wine and great company to wile away the dark winter hours.