I left Connecticut at 3, and I drove and drove and drove, through snow and darkness, through slush and salt spray. On the roadsides, the rear ends of SUVs poked out out of ditches like hungry ducks upside down in a pond. Police cars prowled in the shadowy margins as teams of snowplows sparked and scraped in military formation. On and on I drove, praying incessantly to the muse of windshield-washer fluid. Finally, after crawling north for seven hours, I arrived at the Saigon Restaurant in Portland, Maine, where a comical wedding dinner was in progress, one that involved much posing with gift envelopes before an avid camera hobbyist while old grandmas tossed their heads contemptuously at the bread. For a moment I worried that I would be sent back into the salty cold. But thank goodness: there was a table for me; and when my bowl of pho arrived, and I tasted the first spoonful of that divine broth, tears came to my eyes.

Have you ever had moments when you meet the food that solves everything, the dish that arrives at exactly the right moment, the spoon laden with broth and meat and vegetables that pours a pristine Colorado River into your digestive system's existential ravine? I'm not talking about craving Oreos; I'm talking about sustenance. This bowl of pho was a bowl from the gods. And all it cost me was $7.45.

At the end of this one-dish feast, my fortune cookie remarked, "Go for it. You never know what happen next." Which was true. I had no idea that two hours later, when I finally arrived home, Tom and James would be watching an episode from Saturday Night Live's season 2, one that featured guest host Ralph Nader in a skit in which he was performing consumer-protection tests on inflatable sex dolls. And you thought Newt Gingrich was carrying some hard-to-explain baggage? Jeez.