Earl Grey and porridge made from the leftover grains of the IPA I brewed last night. Om nom nom!

I’m having a barbecue!

Because, like, if the world ends, I can save on propane and enjoy a delicious steak while the world descends into demon-infested hell. And if it doesn’t, I can enjoy a delicious steak and then play some video game about the world descending into demon-infested hell.

Win-win. Please come on over if you’d like to join us.

It’s very much a Southern California thing, and totally an L.A. thing. Yes, I’m talking about Chinese food and donuts. Most places in the world sell donuts in donut shops. We have those too back home, but why bother when you can go to your local mom-and-pop California-style Mandarin joint and pick up some quality orange chicken and lottery tickets while you’re at it?

This food combination seems bizarre to non-Angelenos, unnatural even. But contrary to the hissy fits thrown by those of you who object to the co-mingling of stir fry and pastries, we are so not nuts. It’s absolutely delicious and makes perfect sense. Give it a shot sometime. Chow mein, broccoli beef, and kung pao chicken is so much tastier when you polish it off with a nice bear claw. There is a downside, which is the 72 hour coma induced by consuming your body weight in carbohydrates. But the twenty minute sugar rush just before you pass out makes it all worth it.

Replicating this dining experience will be difficult for you foreigners, but try mapping out your neighborhood to try to find a Chinese place (preferably not a chain store) and a donut shop (ditto) that are close together. You can at least get take-out and try it out at home. But for those willing to go the extra 400 miles, I’ll be happy to head up a field trip any time you like.

Do you hear me, baby? I miss you. Right now I’m gazing at you, wishing I could put my lips on you and whisper how much I’d love to just eat you up. Lick you. Go crazy and spend a whole night devoted to you.

Sigh. And yet all I can do is look at your sweet face:

It’s not the same. I love you, Jaffa Cakes. I first tasted them in college, and after moving back to the U.S. I made frequent trips to an import shop in Santa Monica just to get them. Gradually I weaned myself off of them, because they were hard to find and making special trips just gets more difficult. But I had some while on my vacation in April and it triggered that deep love. I could run, I could hide, but I could never escape this passion.

And the effing import shop is out. “Probably until Friday.”

Curse you, McVities, for your cruel and unfair failure to expand distribution to North America. Curse you for parting me and my great love.

I think I’ll go have pumpkin pancakes.