Being unable to afford ramen, but wanting as I do, only the finest in life, is somewhat of a conundrum at times. Fortunately the good lord has seen fit to bestow upon me a wonderful knack for begging. And I'm also OK at pleading, and have been also known to wheedle at times when those other tacks fail to catch the necessary current.

To these skills I owe much, but I owe more still to Erin, who even without the employment of said skills, last night purchased for me (and for herself as well, I suppose. I wasn't really aware of anyone else in the room) the best dessert I have even had the pleasure of savoring. Purchased here, and titled the "Royale with Cheese" with a sly nod to a certain director of ultra-violent motion pictures, the dessert was crafted from, as near as I can tell, pure mana. A pornographic chocolate mousse dipped in chocolate and served with a wedge of some kind of tripple cream super-camembert analog. Many of the neurons in my brain responsible for reporting toothsome pleasures gave up after this experience and quit their jobs, believing they had now tasted everything. It was so good that I'm looking around in wonder this morning, searching for the lost hangover that should accompany such an experiential binge.