Meet one of my dietary nemesi: chocolate-raspberry cake from our favorite tea room. It is dark, and sweet, and sinfully delicious, and it whispers, "Go on. I won't clog your arteries and kill you. This time. Maybe."
So, no more of this for me until I can use something like my birthday as an excuse to have a piece (a much smaller piece. Think like a third or fourth of this. Minus the icing.) If I can stop weeping over it long enough to inhale it.