Culinary adventures

So to make up for the fact that I've been a royal terror to live with during all this moving stress, I picked the spouse up from his part-time gig, took him out to dinner, gave him a Christmas present and told him some potential good news I don't want to jinx by spilling it here.
He likes Indian food; I hate all the calories but his present was a gym membership so I decided to be flexible. The food was fantastic. We ordered a vegetarian meal for two, and they kept throwing food at us -- mango lassi, samosas, huge plates of naan, lentil soup, three kinds of dessert, hot chai, jasmine rice, two entrees, etc. etc. The wait staff were cheerful, polite and on the ball -- my water glass never went empty (and considering how thirsty I get when eating spicy food, that's saying something.) And the ticket was something like $28, tax included (I tipped well; not that I can afford it, but I reasoned that tipping well at a restaurant to which you feel inclined to return someday is a good investment in the quality of your future service).
At about 4 a.m., I woke up violently ill. I thought I had food poisoning. My ribs hurt. My back hurt. I suspected I might vomit up my own spine. I moaned, I wept, I lay on the bathroom floor while the d@mn feline opportunist I let live in my house circled around me like a furry, four-legged shark chirping, "Since you're awake, it's time to feed the kitties!!!" The husband went to the phone book to find the nearest emergency room.
However, after I took four Tums chewables and five minutes later could breathe again, I suspect not food poisoning, but weakness in my own constitution. Deep-fried appetizers, entrees covered in cream sauce and spicy chutneys apparently burn holes in one's esophagus when one is used to eating salad, potatoes and coffee with skim milk. Who knew?
"It was that waiter," the man of the house muttered darkly, crawling into bed next to me and stroking my hair after making me a cup of strong chamomile tea. "He kept walking by and throwing spoonfuls of chutney in your soup like some kind of gastric terrorist."