It was in one of Nigella Lawson’s books that I came across the idea of Never Knowingly Undercatered, and I fell in love with it instantly. Nigella is My People. 
Julie is, too, because she and her kind and excellent fella G exemplify the Never Knowingly Undercatered ethos. Taking a little break from ‘thonning, I follow Julie into the kitchen. I have been kind of churlish because, as I mentioned earlier, I had undershopped for supplies. I had no energy drinks, save for the Korean red ginseng drinks with the unlikely brand name of Ohioberg, no gummy brains from Dylan’s, no chocolate-covered espresso beans, not even the hated Red Bull,which I vowed to stay away from this year, but whose absence is keenly felt.
On the phone with Bunni, where we are peptalking each other into staying awake for ten hours, I hear a knock on the door. It’s Julie, offering to take me on a tour of the dessertstuffs in the kitchen, including nine—I am not exaggerating—nine pints of frozen desserts, the apricot curd she made a few days ago, the iced coffee stash, the hot coffee stash, and, wonder of wonders, the very thing that will get me through the night: a bag of dark-chocolate M&M’s, a rara avis that G found at a gas station in Long Island.
I am so ready for the night shift.