The expression on Darcy's face when he finds a box of Rice-A-Roni in her pantry is priceless. Admittedly it isn't food for the sophisticated palate, but starting up a business and dating William Darcy, real-life mancake, doesn't leave a lot of time for domesticity. The kitchen is practically a vestigial part of her apartment at this point. (Unlike her bedroom, as they've just spent the last thirty minutes proving. Has she mentioned her boyfriend is a "mancake"?)

Still, Lizzie listens attentively as he lists the harmful effects of monosodium glutamate, and acts properly horrified when he mentions the excessive sodium rampant in boxed foods. It's only when she clutches her chest with a dramatic flair reminiscent of her mother that he realizes she's teasing him by prodding for more information on the horrors of her food choices.

"I was told by the locals this is standard San Francisco fare. A veritable treat, in fact," she insists.

He keeps investigating the shelves, looking for something else they can prepare for dinner. "Slander that does this city a tremendous disservice."

She grins. "That's a bit much, Will. You are such a food snob."

"I didn't realize my snobbery had subcategories," he says drily, but he's bending his lips in that quietly amused way she's only recently discovered. Contrary to popular belief (that she had no small part in propagating, she's ashamed to say), William Darcy does have a sense of humor.

"I can prove it in under five words."

He raises his eyebrow in acceptance of the challenge. She thinks for a second, staring up at the ceiling, lips squished to one side. Then:

"Processed cheese product," she says with a knowing smirk, and watches him vigorously try not to grimace. (He fails, spectacularly. It makes her love him just a little bit more.)

They end up going out for dinner.