So, in case you don't know, the Super Bowl is Sunday. Chili is on the menu, and Nick rejected the healthy version I made last year along with his mother's, even after having her transcribe her memory-stored recipe card. No, he wanted to try a recipe courtesy of the great Emeril Lagasse. He read it off to me last night, ticking the ingredients off as he went. "We have that, we have that, we need to get that, we..."

At long last, he came to a most peculiar ingredient. "Unsweetened chocolate. I think I have some of that sitting around." I snorted most unladylike, still, I supposed, slightly peeved that he was uninterested in an ultra-healthy version. I question the age of his bit of unsweetened chocolate and he questions back, more hypothetically than anything, whether chocolate ever goes bad.

And in the moment, I realized that I didn't know the answer, could never know the answer, for I've never let chocolate sit around for any amount of time greater than or equal to 7.8 minutes. For all I know, at 7.9 minutes, the chocolate shrivels up and dies, screeching like the Wicked Witch of the West.

And we certainly don't want that, now do we?