Nero Wolfe

I am back to work, I am inexplicably hungover.
Plus ça change.
Engorged, as I am from drinking copiously and from eating my own body weight in christmas dinners: gravy-two kinds-mashed potatoes, mushy peas, roasted parsnips, carrots, roasted spuds, sprouts from the vine, stuffing-two kinds-oh yes, and turkey annd honey glazed ham, prawns, smoked salmon, soda bread and Marie Rose sauce, I vowed, most port-ily to my newer retund self that I would stop eating meat and eat yet more delicious veggies. I also proclaimed loudly that I would cease drinking as much as a sailor or sailors...on shore leave for the first time in many months at sea.
And I would have no problem with this at ALL! Had not a certain man with browny/greeny eyes and excellent arms not gone out of his way to provide me with the 'complete Nero Wolfe box set' as part of all things presenty.
Days of watching Fritz the Swiss cook create meals of tender veal and roasted starlings, of rich well seasoned game, of fennel and garlic and oil and rosemary rubbed pork, drip droolingly described suckling pig, of sweet crackling crubeens and sweetbreads doused in mild french mustard and aromatic spices....
For God's sake!
What is a fat cat to do?
I immedatiely raced my less than nubile body off to WILSONS BUTCHERS in Rathfarnham.
'Please sir,' I cried, 'a ring of your white pudding, a pound of your smoked maple backed rashers, some of those hand reared organic pork sausages, stuffed with sage and herbs, what do you mean stop drooling on the glass? Bah! Give me five of those tender lambs chops and eeeeeeeeeeeee, some of those YELLOW breasts of organic fancy assed chicken!'
Tonight I am making a dinner of peppers and chicken. And I will ENJOY it.
Paramour had better like 'more' of me.