Seeing as it's the week after the Superbowl, this seems to be an appropriate question: What's the worst food hangover you've ever had? Now I'm not talking about alcohol-induced hangovers. Those are better discussed by my fellow Whores. I'm speaking of that bout of indigestion after the midnight cruise buffet, or the fiery consequences of a curry-eating contest gone bad. What's the worst you've ever felt after eating? Food-poisoning doesn't count. Just relate stories of times you've done it to yourself.

I'll kick it off with a story of my honeymoon. My wife and I stayed a few days in Hilton Head, South Carolina. It being September, we didn't brave the chilly Atlantic waters, but we did brave another September specialty, oysters! Most of you may have heard that fresh oysters should only be eaten during months that have an 'R' in the name, and that they aren't safe to eat any other time. This isn't true. With proper care and preparation, oysters are safe to eat year-round. However, oysters 'R' better in months with an 'R'. The reason? Sex.

Oysters are bivalve mollusks, and as such, spend most of their lives like I spent my senior trip to the beach; completely sexless. Fat with glycogen and salts (the stuff that makes oysters tasty), oysters are content just to lay around and filter feed from fall to spring. But in late April, these yummy little snot goblins get spring fever! Quickly converting all that salt and glycogen into tasteless, watery sex organs, oysters assume a sex, any sex, and spend the summer the way David Duchovny spends a week in Vegas. A lot of energy is spent making mucus-y whoopee, and as a result, oysters during summer months aren't as plump and tasty. It's best to eat them while they are fat and lazy. Besides, who wants to mess with a mollusk in the act of mating?

So back to my honeymoon. For dinner one night, my wife and I ate at The Crazy Crab restaurant in Harbour Town, famous for it's "bucket of oysters". Not to shy away from a house specialty, I immediately ordered said bucket. Well, the bucket came out, empty, followed by a large cafeteria tray piled extremely high with steamed oysters. Turns out the namesake bucket was for the shells. With barely a shudder of hesitation, I gleefully dug in to the veritable reef of shells, greedily shucking out all the yummy oysters and spraying the table with bits of shell, lemon juice, and horseradish. Some romantic dinner, huh?

Well, I did my best to finish that whole tray of oysters. I probably downed fifty or more before I reluctantly threw in the towel. On the way back to our condo, I waited patiently for the OTHER myth about oysters to kick in, their aphrodisiac qualities. On arrival at our little love nest, I did indeed feel a familiar rise of pressure in my lower abdomen, but it wasn't what I thought it was. To spare you the sordid details, suffice to say I spent the majority of that night in the comforting embrace of the porcelain god, instead of my spouse. It wasn't food poisoning. I've had that and it's terrible. It was just a case of overdoing the oysters.

So that's my story. What about you? What's your worst food hangover?

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