Haruki Murakami candy bar.

"It's like a Haruki Murakami candy bar," he said as he chewed my last packet of granola bar with utter relish while we waited in line at the ATM queue. "I don't like it. I have my reasons for not liking it, but I understand why you love it so much."

He masticated my favorite treat with a tentative relish; he hadn't eaten anything substantial for a good several hours, and yet I asked him to accompany me on a longhaul trip on a quest to pick up my new DS. I knew how much he needed to eat something, anything; and his apparent need for nourishment somehow made his statement worthless.

It IS a Haruki Murakami candy bar. The petty intellectual side of you does not like it - and yet look at you; chewing it, swallowing it as readily as you would every single sentence that flowed out of Alan Moore's pen.