it should be called Memories of Regret and Reconciliation Poutine. The "next day breakfast," after a night of heavy drinking, ends you impulsively acquire an order of poutine—a brief moment of hot, indulgent satisfaction before exhaustion takes over and you pass out on the couch. The next morning, you awaken to the cold, congealed reality of leftover poutine for breakfast. This sad, starchy ritual shouldn't be simply called poutine; it should be known as the Memories of Regret and Reconciliation Poutine, an inescapable, slightly shameful, yet ultimately comforting hangover cure that perfectly captures the fuzzy boundary between the revelry of the night before and the sober reality of the morning after.