My love affair with garlic didn’t start until I moved out of my folks’ house. They would use garlic sparingly, as if a tiny piece would mess you up. “Watch out for the garlic” would be a favorite Mom expression. One of my first roommates would stink up the house with a wok filled with garlic and burnt chicken. I thought garlic was just for eccentric people, or something to be avoided. Then I went to a couple of Garlic Festivals in Gilroy, got into stir-frying and saw the light. I once contributed a linguine and clams recipe to the Mountain Brothers website and suggested cutting up like 10 cloves. I wouldn’t do that today. I’ve maintained a balance. Garlic seasons a lot of things I make: meatloaf, guacamole, steaks, Italian dishes. I haven’t gone overboard in a long time.

Until this afternoon. So now I rest and enjoy the high. When I get home, I will catch hell. On the soccer field, friends will ask, “What the hell did you eat last night?” I don’t care. I popped a couple of Eclipse Winterfrost gums but I still have garlic burps. Yumdiggity.