On Saturday night, I made my way to my friend Marc’s new place in Oakland. I hadn’t seen him in something like 8 years, so I was looking forward to catching-up, seeing his new place, and eating at Hawker Fare with our mutual friend, Kana.

Marc’s so new, his name isn’t in the building’s directory yet, so I called him from my cell. When a tiny-voiced Mexican girl answered with, “Hola” and began to ramble nonsense (to me, anyway), I realized I didn’t even have his current number.

So, there I am standing outside a residential building in downtown Oakland in my pumps and pearls like a common prostitute. For a second I panicked and the whole pre-diarrhea thing started to bubble-up downstairs and I broke a sweat. Then I remembered, I could just call Kana. She’d surely have his number. And I was right—the night has been saved!

By the time Marc came down to open the door, I was cool, calm, and collected. He was none-the-wiser. Silly, Phil.

He showed me his darling place and some art he’d recently bought. We sat down and got caught-up while Kana made her way to us.

Kana came bearing gifts. The kind I like most: edible ones. Out of her bag appeared two Crispycakes from The Crispery. Mine was festooned with a sugar turkey, while Marc’s was bisected by a swath of caramel. I immediately got a boner.

We went down the elevator, out the building, and made our way over to Hawker Fare which is just a few short blocks from Marc’s building. I wrote my name on the clipboard and we waited outside.

It was a nice December evening, not too cold and surprisingly quiet on a Saturday. We’re near The Fox Theater and several good restaurants, but the mood of the night was relaxed and the city was still.

After about 20 minutes, they called my name and we went in and sat down. The restaurant is a small, lively square. It’s an open space, one large wall is tagged in graffiti. It’s casual and bustling at the same time—feels perfect for street food.

We shared two appetizers (papaya salad and roasted peanuts with fried tiny anchovies). Kana ordered the Congee with 1000 year-old eggs, Marc had the 24-hour pork belly, and I devoured the Issan sausage rice bowl. It’s a rice bowl place—no noodles. We got everything with a fried egg on it. The food was excellent. We tasted each others dishes and Marc showed me a video on his phone of a handsome man masturbating on his bed. What a lovely evening!

When the server came over and asked if we’d like to see the dessert menu, Kana and Marc quickly dismissed her and mentioned how “stuffed” they were. I demurely agreed, although inside I was crying like a baby. Why turn down coconut rice pudding with banana jam and a spiced sesame crumble? I’m secretly a fat girl.

We were about to go our separate ways when we remembered I had left my Crispycake at Marc’s place. We saw Kana to her car and Marc and I made our way back up to his place. Marc handed me my rice crispy goodness and mentioned how he couldn’t dare eat his tonight (he then hid his cake in a cabinet beside the refrigerator). Again, I agreed.

I got in my car and headed back to my place. It was a little after 10. My sugary treat sat there in my passenger seat the whole way home, flirting with me from a paper bag.

I parked my car in the garage, went up the stairs and into my apartment. I grabbed my bottle of lube and sprawled out on my bed. I inhaled the entire jumbo-sized rice crispy treat in about 5 minutes. Ugh. I felt sick and totally guilty. Almost time for Saturday Night Live!

[Images via Hawker Fare]