Today for breakfast, I took the last slice of my chocolate birthday cake and heated it up in the microwave. I wasn’t really sure what would happen, but I figure if the resulting explosion was big enough to break through the oven walls, I probably had a significant scientific discovery on my hands, even if I was seriously maimed in the process.

When I took it out, the chocolate icing had all melted into a rich, aromatic syrup. Where the two layers had been joined by chocolate, a gaping, chocolaty crevice now awaited. I spooned on refrozen vanilla ice cream and whipped cream left over from our crèpe session and proceeded stared at it for several seconds while my arteries begged me not to indulge. Then I dug in. It was delicious.

For lunch, I heated some zhong zhi (sticky rice wrapped in fragrant leaves) and found part of one of those Shop Rite rotisserie chickens in the fridge. This too I popped in the microwave until I heard the popping sound of exploding oil.

I ate the whole thing with my fingers until my hands were sticky, greasy hands of ultimate uncleanliness. I am a disgusting slob. This is something I take pride in, at least when I’m alone.

I quite enjoy leftovers. How often do you think I’ll get to do this again, stranded at college without a car? :)