. . .

After a few minutes of eavesdropping, Jane thinks about sneaking back to bed. But then Martin says something interesting. Softly, he asks Johnny Pancake, “Where does this end, Johnny? How far do you intend to go?”

“Food evolves quickly,” answers Johnny Pancake. “Potato pancakes are ultimate evolution engines. I expect that I shall reach an omega plateau and become . . . God.”

“‘God?’”

“The ultimate realization of dharma. The final expression of the potential in the self. Perfection.”

“I see,” Martin says.

There is a bit of a silence.

“I shouldn’t, should I,” says Johnny Pancake.

Martin considers.

“That is for you to determine,” he says, after a while. “Jane cooked you, not I.”

“I would supplant these pitiful things that call themselves men.”

“No,” whispers Jane.

“They are not a delicious fried potato concoction,” Martin says. “But they may surprise you.”

“No!” Jane says louder, bursting into the kitchen with a complete disregard for stealth and dignity. “No! No self-sacrifice! No ‘I shouldn’t!’ I love you, Johnny Pancake!”

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