I am picking out something to eat in a coffee shop when my eyes linger on a plate of brownies.
“The mocha frosting is to die for,” the salesperson says.
I take the brownie home to my kitchen, put it on a plate and grab a fork. The first bite is some kind of ecstasy—deep rich chocolate mingled with creamy coffee-flavor. This is the best brownie I have ever eaten; maybe the best anything I have ever eaten.
If they serve brownies in Heaven—and how could it be Heaven otherwise?—they will be these brownies. I take smaller bites and chew more slowly to make it last.
I have eaten half the brownie when I notice how rich it is, how heavy and how filling. And then, quite suddenly, I feel ill and the fork clatters onto the plate. The brownie to die for has become the brownie to die from if I eat one more bite.
And I wonder, not for the first time, why is it that we can’t get enough of something until we’ve had too much?
And is there any good thing of which we cannot have too much? I want the answer to be yes; I want the answer to be this brownie.