Inhale. Exhale. Just Breathe.

I'm pretty sure eating qualifies as anaerobic exercise - at least in my house it does.  It's not at all infrequently that my brothers and I receive the compliment (at least we perceive it as such whether or not it was intended that way) of, "Wow, you sure inhaled that."  It's a cliche phrase, I know.  But it means a lot to me, and I feel several inches taller as I gaze down upon the common folk who need to pause to breathe during a meal.

It'll probably be my downfall (the whole not breathing thing.  Not the superiority complex.  Though that may also backfire sometime).  That's cause it keep me from talking.  Well, most of the time.

I'm eating - I've got a job to do.  I'm eating - I'm a guy, and I can't multitask (it's not pretty when I multitask eating, let me assure you).  I'm eating - So I'm not really listening to you because I'm busy planning my Olympic-qualifying godbite.

Alas!  Whoever thought up going out to eat as a social event clearly didn't ask my input. 

Fortunately, I didn't have to worry about that this last time I went out to eat.  The food was so good that none of my friends talked when the food came. 

Restaurant Week in Philly at Smith & Wollensky!!  Awesome steakhouse!

A moose watched us eat.  A little disconcerting.

Such good rolls.  This is my absolute favorite part of the meal - not really, but almost.  Foretelling good things to come.