Picture this: an entire ballroom full of local dessert vendors offering you samples of some of their finest, tastiest confections. No, this was not a dream&-this was real life, and it was in the city of Boston.

Among my friends, I am known for inhaling desserts in record time and not feeling the slightest bit of guilt about the overwhelming amounts of sugar I consume.

I decided to put my sugar cravings to good use and visit a dessert shop or bakery in the Boston area each week, sample anything and everything, and then inform the Boston University community of my verdict. My first endeavor led me to satisfy my gelato craving.

By now, you, fine students of Boston University, have settled into your dorm-issue desk chairs (some with, some without cushions) and are exhausted from your arduous move-in experiences.

It is very busy in here. And hot; the air is dense with smells, wood smoke and laughter. Tuesday night, 8:30, standing in Toro drinking a pisco sour by the bar. My friends and I have an hour waiting time for a table, and I would wait two if necessary.

Enjoying tapas is somewhat of a culinary adventure: dish after dish arrives in quick succession, each one offering a different aroma and taste to surprise your palate. Tasca, in Brighton, serves a variety of small plates in a large but cozy atmosphere that immediately transports one to Madrid, Barcelona or wherever your dream Spanish destination may be.

Seafood is Boston's culinary crown jewel: shellfish, scallops and haddock are only a sampling of the incredible options that are available fresh, and usually one needs only travel half an hour south if the fish aren't caught directly off the city's piers. With the warm weather comes seafood cravings, and because we don't go to college in Idaho, we bypass the land-locked fate of freezer-burnt Gordon's fish patties and can consciously resist that eye-twitchingly frustrating Filet-O-Fish jingle.

A fish market is a place that's more likely associated with briny odors, workers screaming at each other and at patrons in different dialects and the deafening noise of utility trucks unloading cargo. Instead, Fish Market on Brighton Avenue is a hidden oasis among the hustle and bustle of Allston. The simple elegance of this tiny sushi bar that seats no more than 25 immediately transports you to another world. The décor is minimal but sophisticated: bamboo-looking wooden planks line the porcelain-white walls and comfy mint-green chairs ensure your meal will be relaxed, regardless of the small room.

Let's talk about waffles. And why not, right? We've discussed waffles in The MUSE before, and for some reason this particular morning delicacy is much more closely associated with music &-&-specifically funk &-&- than perhaps any other. And since today marks the annual celebration of International Waffle Day, it seems as good a time as any.

Oh! The buds are creeping into bloom, midriffs are bared and Newbury Street is about as congested as a sinus infection. A hungry and thirsty wanderer may be in danger of being trampled by girls in long dresses and platforms, so below are some ways to hit the spot when impending warm weather graces us with its presence.

Chinatown isn't usually the first place that comes to mind while trying to think of a hot date spot around Boston, especially on Valentine's Day. This year, Valentine's Day shares its day with the Chinese New Year, and Chinatown's romantic appeal heightens as the possibility of finding a hidden date spot with an added splash of culture surfaces.

The Farmer's Market is usually a great way to stay loyal to local purveyors, small businesses and better produce, but in Boston, the dilemma comes with schizophrenic weather patterns. Marshall's Fenway Farm Stand, which opened in late November, is housed in an old Goodyear Tire Retread store, safe from both the elements and any (still) bitter Red Sox fans.

I sat alone, inhaling the earthy aromas of fresh ginseng spiked with boiled dungeon crab, my nervous foot tapping the ground in sync with my rapid heart rate. She came over to me, and carelessly scribbled my order down after I pointed to it on the laminated pages of the menu, before I ordered a giant glass of Pinto Grigio to drink my nerves close to a coma.