Buffet Belly: The True Story of How My Metabolism Packed Up & Left Me

Last Friday night (I didn't mean to, but I sang this in my head as I typed it...Katy Perry-style), J & I drove to San Juan to celebrate Cousin Edward's 40th birthday at Guevarra's, Chef Rolando Laudico's buffet service restaurant.

The Filipiniana-style house was reserved for families and friends of Kuya Edward and his 5 other celebrant friends.

Soon after arriving and greeting Kuya Edward, as well as saying hello to relatives, J & I proceeded to the buffet area to survey the spread.  Saying I was famished was an understatement (it was 9pm, well past my dinner time!).  Now I am not new to buffet-style eating.  Growing up, I would always have Sunday lunch buffet with my family.  We now joke about our buffet jaunts that would last for 3 hours (we'll sometimes skip dinner in light of the blatant piggy-ness earlier, to be fair!), our family feasts that would inadvertently cause restaurants to close down (we ate them to the ground...sad but true), and our bottomless pits for stomachs, strategically concealed in normal-sized bodies.  Really, considering our appetites, we were surprised we didn't wake up to find ourselves transformed:

This was a real fear for me

Back in the day, we could polish off at least 5 plates full of food, with room left for a round or two of dessert.  The night we ate at Guevarra's, J & I just had 2 plates each before we raised the white flag of surrender.

True story

We marveled at how we were no longer buffet warriors, getting our money's worth (possibly more) at these types of establishments.  I was telling whining to my sister over the weekend that I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted, without having to worry about gaining a pound.  

The good old days

Now, even a teeny tiny bite of something sinful and decadent will come haunt me and poke my midsection.

Rendered unconscious by skinny jeans

I remember watching a show where Paris Hilton tells her friends at the gym that she didn't have to work out to keep a figure like hers.  I would have dropped a dumbbell on her feet.  Us lesser mortals will just have to watch what we eat (no more finishing a whole pint of ice cream in one sitting - I'm looking at you too, Ahia) and squeeze in a bit of exercise or some other form of physical activity in our busy lives (does shopping count --> walking in malls, carrying shopping bags?).

It's not going to be easy though, especially when the husband comes home after a weekend out with the boys bearing this beauty:

Blueberry IS a fruit, you know.