Sometimes the answers of the universe can be contained on a dessert menu.
This weekend, my friend P-girl and I decided to take it up a notch by passing by the beach boardwalk's over-the-counter, soft-serve ice cream cone for the beachfront's chic hotel cafe's dessert cart. We're talking $8 S'mores, my friend. And worth every penny. For eight bucks, you don't get no grocery store-quality, factory-puffed, is-that-shit-synthetic marshmallows. You get a little slice of semi-melted heaven on a bamboo skewer. Graham crackers never had it so good. On the side, a ramekin of melted gourmet chocolate. M'kay? All of it presented on a perfectly folded white linen napkin resting sweetly on a pristine white plate.
That was just my order. P-girl got some warm chocolate bread pudding a la mode with a city grid of caramel drizzles across the plate's negative space, so that we could sample both delicasies.
As the seahorse-print-tie-wearing waiter set these works of edible art before us, P-girl turned to me and murmured, "Shall we say grace?"
Normally we never would bow our heads in prayer before knoshing, but the proof-of-deity desserts before us deserved nothing less.
I dare any atheist to eat an $8 S'more and still argue the absence of God. That may sound blasphemous to some, but there's no way that plate of palate-shuddering goodness was a result of natural selection.