No one ever wants to spend their Saturday morning hitching a trailer to the back of an SUV, then helping their roommate navigate a car onto said trailer, then riding with them to a place you’ve never been. But when someone agrees to share a living space with you, you’ve gotta make sacrifices.

As we’re driving to our destination (I have no idea what part of town we were in, but it was the backyard of one of my roommate’s friends) I mention how hungry I am and my roommate just replies “me too”, takes a hit of his Juul, and keeps staring at the road ahead of us. I was getting anxious. I didn’t know where we were going, what we were doing, I was hungry, and running low on cigarettes.

We arrive in an odd suburb of a still unknown location. I’ve lived in Richmond my entire life, but had no idea where we were. It was overcast. There was a slight chill in the air when we got out of the SUV. I lit a cigarette while my friend did something on his phone, which turned out to be texting his friend that we had arrived. An adorable pit bull runs up to me, sniffs me, smells the cigarette smoke, and walks away. I get it, it’s a nasty habit. Sorry dog. Following the dog is a taller man, with dark, messy hair. Bags under his eyes. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed. He sparks a cigarette as he says “what’s up” to my roommate. My roommate acknowledges him with hit from his Juul. “What a strange interaction” I think to myself. “Where’s the dog?” I say to myself, walking in circles because I don’t know what else to do. The two talk about cars and stuff (now I’m starting to understand why we’re here. They take the trailer off of the SUV, I’m making eye contact with the dog. Someone else comes out of the house and the dog runs to them.

My roommate and his friend finish up talking about the car. I find out the man is going to do some welding for my roommate. We get in the SUV and head back to familiar territory. My roommate turns to me and says “are you still hungry?” No shit, man. I’m starving. I say “yeah, very” and he tells me he will treat me to lunch for helping him in the morning. I’m stoked, but all I can think about is McDonald’s. I tell him that and he says something like “I’m treating you to lunch and all you want is McDonald’s?” I was starving. I don’t know. We agree that we’ll drive around until I see something I like. I realize at this point we’re in Mechanicsville, and have been for at least an hour. We pass a dozen fast food places, but I’m trying to avoid them, even though there is a Cookout AND a Taco Bell right next to each other. Across the street though is where my roommate was looking. Red Lobster, Olive Garden, the empty shell of what used to be a Steak n Shake (RIP), and I think even a Cracker Barrel. I jokingly suggest we go to Red Lobster. He agrees, but as we’re pulling in, he says “how do you feel about Olive Garden?” I tell him I love it, and we agree that’s where we will dine.

We park the SUV and walk into the restaurant. Two dudes that probably smell dressed in dirty black jeans and T-shirts, mine lacking sleeves, in a sea of family members congregating dressed in their Sunday best after a morning of worship. The hosts looks at us, almost with relief, and asks “How many?” in unison, my roommate and I reply “two”. “Right this way” we’re told, and we follow the young lady to a booth large enough for a party of 4, but just right for a table of two smelly dudes.

About 45 seconds after we were sat, a wonderfully cheerful young lady greeted us as if we’d met before. Maybe we had, maybe we hadn’t. She told us her name was Lashay and she would be taking care of us that afternoon. We chose to remain anonymous, responded to her question as to what we would like to drink, and thanked her. She walked away, but I knew we would see her again.

Now it’s time to get serious about what I want to eat, play time is over and I am starving. The first thing I notice, as usual, is the “Limited Time Offer”. At the time, their offering was UNLIMITED STUFFED PASTA. HOLY. SHIT. All you can eat mix and match STUFFED pasta, for $12.99. My eyes lit up, but I knew they were also bigger than my stomach at this point. I kept looking through the menu, but I knew deep down, that stuffed pasta would find it’s way inside me. I called it. Lashay was walking back to us with beverages and a partner this time.

The partner was weighed down by a large salad bowl and a basket of hot breadsticks and couldn’t be bothered introducing himself. That’s fine, I didn’t feel the same connection as I had with Lashay, anyway. The partner set the salad and hot bread on the table, smiled and nodded, and walked away. Lashay set our drinks down and pulls out the cheese grater for our salad. She tells us to let her know when to stop, I respond “stop when you start to feel uncomfortable”. She calls my bluff, after about 20 seconds I tell her that’s good. She laughs and asked if we were ready to order. I smiled nervously and said “I’m going to need a few more minutes, I’m sorry”. She snickered, said “that’s fine”, and walked away.

As I’m looking through the menu, I’m noticing some menu items have drink pairings next to them. Fancy, right? I mean, in certain places, yeah, I can see how a wine pairing list would come in handy…but like…Olive Garden takes it to the next level. Sure, they tell you which wine to get with your pasta, but they really kick it up a notch. Like, if you’re not sure what goes well with Calamari, they’ll tell you right there on the menu that a Long Island Iced Tea is the way to go. Or if fried squid isn’t your thing, I bet you never thought a Spiked Strawberry Lemonade would wash down Fried Mozzarella in way you’d never imagine.

I stuck with Coca-Cola.

It’s time to get serious, what am I going to order to eat? I can’t fill up on salad and breadsticks. I’m in the “Stuffed Pasta” section, my mouth is watering at all the choices. Cheese Ravioli with my choice or marinara or meat sauce! Manicotti with the same two sauce options! I was drooling. Then I saw it, almost isolated from the other stuffed pastas. What was this…what was this dish?! It was exactly what I had been looking for. A pasta, that was stuffed with protein instead of just cheese, and covered in a cream based sauce instead of a tomato based one. Could it be real? It was.

Creamy. Mushroom. Ravioli.

I couldn’t wait for Lashay to come back so I could share with her my excitement. Almost as soon as I had made my decision, there she was. I was truly starting to believe Lashay and I had a real connection. My roommate orders first because he knew I wanted to hold onto the excitement just a little bit longer. I can’t remember what he ordered. SORRY! It was my turn, Lashay turned to me with a smile and I told her my choice. With a voice of agreement, she replies back “Creamy Mushroom Ravioli?” I nod, she let’s me know it was a good decision, and goes to place our order with the kitchen.

At this point, our menus had been taken away. I was tired of looking at Instagram on my phone within seconds, so I needed something to do. The tablet that comes standard on all Olive Garden dining tables now was out of commission, despite Lashay trying to help us with it earlier. Then I see it, something we always forget about. The little menu that only contains the drink menu and the dessert menu. I’m not one to typically get desserts, but I always look. This one contains items you might assume. Tiramisu, cheesecake, a cinnamon apple dessert for the Americans that need to be reminded they’re still American after eating pasta, and even a Black Tie Mousse Cake. They do all sound delicious, I won’t argue that. But those people, whoever they are, in the Olive Garden dessert kitchen deserve an award for what I’m about to tell you about. Ok. Get this.

Chocolate. Brownie. Lasagna.

Holy moly. “Eight decadent layers of rich, fudgy brownie and sweet vanilla cream cheese frosting, topped with chocolate shavings and a chocolate drizzle” is how it’s described on their official menu online. I told myself, and my roommate I wasn’t going to eat all of my mushroom stuffed pasta so I could save room for this monster. He looked at me like I was crazy. He was right.

Finally! Lashay comes to see us again, hands filled with our entrees this time. I was pumped. She sets my roommates order down first (I’m sorry, I still can’t remember his order), and then she sets my ravioli down. The smell of the mushrooms immediately fill my nose and I go into a state of near Nirvana. I’m brought back to Earth when we’re asked if we needed anything. We politely say “no, thanks”. Lashay walks away and let’s us dine.

I take my first bite, and I don’t know if I was just starving or it was actually really delicious, but, that ravioli was the best thing I had ever had from Olive Garden. I keep shoveling the pasta into my face, taking only small breaks to consume soda, or rip off a piece of breadstick so I can dip it in the sauce. All of a sudden I can’t go any further. I’ve eaten 3 of the 6 raviolis. There was no way I could eat anymore, and I knew I had to pass on the Brownie Lasagna. I felt defeated. I knew it was for the best, though.

Lashay visits us again, and she can tell I was worn out. She asked if I needed a box, and I moaned “yes please”. She takes my roommates plate and asks jokingly if we had saved room for dessert. My roommate replies back with a slight laugh that we in fact had not saved room for dessert. Quickly, Lashay disappears and returns with a box and the check. My roommate hands her his card (debit? credit? I don’t know, does it matter?) and Lashay is off.

I thank my roommate for lunch and can’t tell him how stoked I am to take a nap when we get home, especially knowing that when I wake up, I will have ravioli in the refrigerator. Lashay returns with my roommates approved method of payment and wishes us a good rest of the day. We tell her we wish the same, roommate tips accordingly, I’m sure, signs the check, and we’re out of the door.