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Massaman, light of my life, fire of my stomach. My sin, my soul. Ma-ssa-man: the touch of the lips taking a trip of widening the cheeks, to tap, at three, against the teeth, behind the lips. Ma. Ssa. Man. Okay, I didn't need to butcher Nabokov to make my point – I bloody adore massaman curry. Especially a beef one. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. I could eat them for a week straight and not get bored.