Don't let the name fool ya...pop!
So the doc says to me, “Do you drink beer?” If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d have laughed at him, then filled a cooler and gone to the lake. Instead, I confessed that yes, I have been known to drink a beer. Strike one.
Then he says, the doc says, “Beer and shellfish are the worst things you can eat for gout.” Perfect, because I’d had all that beer, AND we went to City Tavern, where I had oysters, scallops, and shrimp. And I had crawdads the day before. Strike two.
The third strike came from stress. Don’t ask. Anyway, Doc said, in so many words, that I got what I deserved. Then I got a buncha pills. Delicious pills. This morning, I sprinkled the pills on my already glorious mix of Rice Chex® and Coco Puffs®. I feel happy.
Ben Franklin had gout, as did Thomas Jefferson. And they were money.
Does anyone else remember the one scene in the one episode of Charlie’s Angels when Bosley had gout? Why did that stay with me? It wasn’t a huge plot point, and the show was, well, stupid. Don’t get me wrong, I watched it, but I was what, 12? I had the Farrah poster, although I always thought Kate Jackson was infinitely better looking than any of the other angels. But she wasn’t even in the same universe as Kristy McNichol.
To the best of my knowledge, Kristy McNichol never had gout.
I digress. I knew shellfish was bad for gout, but I didn’t think it was as bad as beef, especially brisket. Especially brisket rubbed for about 10 hours, smoked with one part oak and two parts cherry, for a good 8 hours (to 170 or so), then wrapped in foil with Slabs.com sauce, a sprinkling of more rub, and an ever-so-slight drizzle of honey (plain ol’ clover honey, not anything fancy). But the doc went straight to shellfish, as if I smelled like an oysterman’s boots or something.
I think Shaq has gout, as did Immanuel Kant. They’re two of a kind, you know.
I also rediscovered how much gout hurt when Sara kicked me while I was mostly asleep. I think I was dreaming about beer or Kristy McNichol or something, but when she hit my knee, everything flashed white. That’s when I passed out. I think. I don’t remember. I was near death, apparently.
That was a week and a bottle of pills ago, now I’m fine. Actually, every once in a while I get a stabbing pain in my knee, but I’m only limping a little bit, and I’m ready to cook for the #28 Checkers – Border Patrol Chevy team at Gateway this weekend. As we discuss the magic of maple syrup on ribs, and the joy of a hot race wheel searing your fingertips, the vicious pain all that damned uric acid brought my knee will fade, and everything
Comments
Hey!
I didn't kick you on purpose, I was getting comfy and your leg was in the way.
I did say sorry, the white light-thingy sounds painful, sorry about that too.
Bye! XOXO, SJH
PS: Watch out for shellfish and beer.
Posted by: SJH | August 6, 2007 8:31 AM