I was hanging out with Joe Rogan. I think we were heading back to his place, where apparently I had left a pizza in one of his refrigerators.  He informed me that he had eaten it already.  It wasn’t any problem — I don’t remember whether it was a gift to begin with, or perhaps something I had put there to keep for myself for later, or something I had hoped we’d eat together on another occasion; the main thing was just that I had assumed it was there and he let me know that it wasn’t there any longer, just to be clear.  So then I tried to remember the name of that particular pizza, like was it the “Cowboy” variety? Neither Joe or I could remember exactly which one it was. Joe expressed that it was good; he had enjoyed it.  So then I realized I was carrying a loaf of some kind of dessert bread that I had baked, with the intention to share, like a zucchini bread, which was more like a cake but perhaps not as rich as a true cake.  Then I arrived at Joe’s kitchen, which was sort of teaming with staff and activity, and there was a wall of refrigerators on my right; there was a large work/prep area with several aisles and lots of countertop space.  I handed the loaf to one of his kitchen staff ladies, and she sliced a piece off for me which was quite thick — I’d say it was more like the thickness of a New York strip steak.  I noticed it had chocolate chips in it.  It was a bit too much to handle just holding it, so I asked for a small plate. I took a bite and liked it. I also suggested to the staff member that it would be even better with a little butter on it.  She swung open one of the fridge doors and then handed the plate to me with a puddle of liquid butter on it.

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