Okay, remember the other day when I was cheerfully saying things like, “One of the fantastic things about living (and drinking) in New York is all the wonderful food you can consume late at night“? Well I forgot to mention that this can come back to bite you in the ass. I generally frown upon moderation, but there are definitely times when New York is the ultimate enabler of over-indulgence.

For example, last night I met my dear friend Alice for a few post-work drinks at Barrimundi in the LES. After several rounds of absurdly cheap happy hour drinks, we ventured out to find some food. Even though I was drooling over Falai‘s menu, we decided to pass in search of somewhat cheaper eats. Eventually we arrived at Tiny’s Giant Sandwich Shop, where I stuffed an open-faced tuna melt in my face and Alice finally got the grilled cheese she wanted.

This is where the evening should have ended. But the most dangerous part of going to Tiny’s Giant Sandwich Shop is that Schiller’s is right across the street. Schiller’s always elicits a complicated emotional reaction from me. I feel obligated to dislike it on the grounds that Keith McNally is kind of irritating to me, but in reality, I love Schiller’s. I mean love. Everything from the drinks to the food to the decor to the DJ playing Depeche Mode all night.

Last night I discovered a new dimension to my love: the sticky toffee pudding. When I wasn’t bouncing in my seat to the music or pouring a bellini into my mouth, I was stealing tastes of Alice’s pudding. I got the caramelized banana split myself, but was already so full of food and liquid that I was barely interested (and actually, in the interests of full disclosure, I should mention that we also split an order of French fries when we arrived as well). Luckily New York Magazine put together a handy blog post about how to make Schiller’s sticky toffee pudding, so I will probably be trying that soon. But not before I nurse myself out of this stupor caused by caloric over-indulgence. Damn you, New York.