Gluttony, The Most Filling of the 7 Deadly Sins

I've spoken before of the prodigious and bounteous nature of my Mom's kitchen.  I kid you not, this is an excerpt from a recent email sent prior to a recent visit to my parents home:

"M, is there something I can do to start roasting tomatoes? If you tell me what to get started, I'd be happy to do it. I bought plenty of garlic today and fresh mushrooms if you need any of that. Also bought fettucine and we have spaghetti here so we're in good shape with pasta. I'll make some French bread tomorrow and I have plenty of stuff for salad, either cuke salad or lettuce salad. I think I'll make meatballs, too, since I just picked up some nice hamburger. Will probably also cook up some shrimp, and as I told you, there's chicken breasts, so just let me know what you all want.

"Saturday's dinner will be lamb, new potatoes, asparagus, butternut squash, tomato tarte, dilly casserole bread, and apple pie and peach pie for dessert with vanilla ice cream and homemade peach ice cream. I cooked a beef roast and shredded the meat and am making green chili right now in the slow cooker so we can have burritos one morning for breakfast. We'll figure out something else for the other breakfast."

Keep in mind, this is a partial menu for 5 people for two days. 

The downside of such a weekend is not only in the waistline; it's also the psychological impact of such an event, or what I like to call the 5 Stages of Gluttony. 

1. Denial.  You'll hear things around the dinner table like, "This all looks so delicious!  I'll have a little of everything.  and maybe a an extra helping of that."  Or, "I'll only take one scoop of that on this pass.  I can take a second helping next time."  This is the most dangerous stage, because it sets up the strategy of your meal.  A sense of eager anticipation pervades the room. 
2. Anger.  Ok,  not so much "anger" in the beginning.  Maybe more like concentration.  As the plates fill up, the conversation around the table grows softer.  Oh yes, jokes are still made, and laughter rings out on occasion, but we slowly grow quieter and quieter.
3. Bargaining.  "Just one more bite."  How often have we uttered these desperate words, and how often have we moved right on to the next stage?
4. Depression.  A pointed silence hangs over the room.  No one looks up, but rather we all stare dejectedly at our plates.  Mom cheerfully rings out, "Who wants more?"
5. Acceptance.  The battle is lost.  The remains of the meal will now be relegated to leftovers.  We start doing dishes and anticipate dessert.

The 5 Stages exemplifies the experience, but it's not quite as hopeless as it seems.  As the dinner progresses, the camaraderie of the participants grows.  The food is delicious.  There will be legends told of our accomplishments. 

Tonight for dinner?  How about a modest salad?  And maybe some steak.  And a baked potato.  And pie . . .

Or maybe:

Mediterranean Baked Chicken Breasts
4 large skinless, boneless Chicken Breasts
1/2 cup Greek Yogurt
1 tablespoon dried Tarragon Leaves
1 tablespoon Butter
1 tablespoon Olive Oil
1/2 medium Onion, minced
Put the chicken breasts, yogurt and tarragon into a plastic bag and let it marinade for a few hours (up to the night before).

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  In an oven-proof Dutch Oven (I'm using a cast iron Dutch Oven) on the stove top, melt the butter in the oil on medium high heat.  Take the breasts out of the marinade and shake the excess marinade off (a little coating is good) and lay the breasts in the hot oil.  Cook for 2-3 minutes each side, dusting with turmeric and sprinkling with salt.  Add the lemon juice and onions.  Cook until the onions start to turn translucent.  Add the yogurt and tarragon marinade to the pot.  Cover with a heavy lid.

Put into the oven and cook for 20 minutes.  Remove from the oven and let rest for 10 minutes, covered.  I served with Orzo and fresh vegetables.
3/4 teaspoon Turmeric Powder
1/3 teaspoon Cinnamon Powder
1/2 teaspoon Salt
Juice of 1/2 Lemon