“Hello, I’m Bernie, and I’m an addict. I’m addicted to my self. I have practiced for many years, will practice more years, and I will always be addicted to my self. This, Aussie, is how Bernie used to introduce himself in big gatherings.”

“Self must be a yummy treat.”

“Stop with the food, Auss. The point is, he’d be introduced by someone who would mention all his credentials—titles, founder of this and that, writer of these books, founder of Zen Peacemakers—and then he’d get up and say that he’s an addict.”

“Come on, an addiction to self is not a big deal. What about Chewy?”

“You’re addicted to Chewy, Auss?”

“Not to Chewy directly, but everything they sell. What about my addiction to Pawstruck Grain-Free Beef? Or Ziwi Peak Fresh Trade Lamb? Or the worst addiction of all, Honest Kitchen Organic Everybody-Loves-Everybody-Except-the-Chicken Chicken? That’s what I call addictions.”

“I think you’re right, Aussie.”

“You do?”

“Aussie, I have come across an addiction that is way worse than the addiction to the self. Not dog snacks, not heroin, not fentanyl, not even clothes shopping in the Salvation Army. Way worse than all of these: churros con chocolate.”

“I love chocolate.”

“It’s not good for you, Aussie.”

“Why?”

“It’ll make you an addict. Churros con chocolate is the greatest invention since cappuccino. You see, churros are these thick fried dough sticks with cinnamon, a little like crullers but not as sweet.”

“What good are they if they’re not sweet?”

“Because they get dipped into a cup of chocolate, smartie pants. But not the hot chocolate we know in the States. This one’s a thick brew of bittersweet chocolate combined with some milk, but very thick, dark, and full of flavor, and you dip the churros into it. I’ve had it twice, once in Madrid and again in Salamanca, and I’m addicted, Aussie.”

“What are you going to do when you come home on Saturday?”

“I’ll have to give it up cold turkey.”

“Try warmed-up turkey.”

“The trouble is, Aussie, this is an addiction I don’t wish to give up.”

“No addiction is a true addiction if you want to give it up. But you’re a Zen person, your practice is to give up addictions.”

“Not this one, Auss. Not churros con chocolate. I’ll give up all the others—the self, sitting, potato chips, chocolate bars, reading, writing, walking you—”

“Don’t even think of that!”

“—everything, Aussie, just not churros con chocolate. What will I do when I get home? It’ll be like checking myself into rehab.”

“You can always prepare it yourself. You’ll ruin it, of course, given how you cook, but I guess you can try.”

“I’ve already checked recipes, Aussie, and—”

“There goes the kitchen.”

“—do you know how much oil, butter, and chocolate you use to make churros con chocolate? My arteries will explode.”

“A true addict doesn’t worry about trivialities. Beside Pup-peroni’s Meaty Meat & Salmon Combo, life and death is a very small matter.”

“I don’t know, Aussie. All my life I’ve been training, like Bernie, to let go of the self—”

“Bad training. Bad! Bad! And it sounds cultish to me.”

“Now I’m in a new cult, way worse than Zen. Churros con Chocolate. CCC for short.”

“I’m also in a cult. PPP.”

“What’s that, Aussie?”

“Prosciutto Prosciutto Prosciutto.”

“Aussie, I don’t bring ham products home.”

“Oh no, the kosher addiction! One of the worst. It’s not good for you, try to give it up.”

“I’m more concerned about what they do to pigs back home, Auss, not about whether the food is kosher or not.”

“OMG, the worst addiction of all. Also CCC.”

“Another CCC addiction, Aussie?”

“Compassion Compassion Compassion. Get over it quick, it’ll eat you alive.”