Confession. I have never had fruitcake. I know nothing about it. Yes, I know what it is, but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what it tastes like. And today, I’m going to eat it.

I really like the idea behind what you do — a literal movable feast. But I lament the lack of pho, mini doughnut and mashed potatoes trucks.

After awakening from a troubled sleep infected with visions of demonic abstractions pitched at odd angles against an impossible landscape of stark horror, my sweet tooth hit.

I love malted milk, malted milk balls and all related products. I love then enough to want to sing their praises in public, because it seems like the flavor of the malted is disappearing.

You know what’s awesome? Toast. I’m so smitten with it that I have a tattoo of a toaster on my left arm. When people inquire after its significance, all I say is this: “I like toast.”

You have probably never heard “Bean Burrito,” Hiram Bullock’s smooth jazz tribute to, well, a bean burrito. Nor would I have, if Pandora Radio’s algorithm-based system really worked.

Hatched in Georgia in 1955, the 24/7 restaurant chain blankets the South. Its sunny yellow Scrabble-tile signs standing proudly at every other exit from Savannah to Gulfport — and beyond.

The days leading up to Tet must mark a lull in national cobra consumption. Despite it being lunchtime, there was not a person in the place, save the bored-looking older couple who ran it.

In our continuing effort to educate the public in all matters of taste and importance, we present the following 100% true and well-researched facts about cupcakes. What d’ya have there, Abner Doubleday?

Cheese is my Prozac. There are delicious bits of cheesy goodness that will cure any and all ills, and chief among these cheesy medications is pizza. But what style?