Megan McArdle had a dream about me a few weeks ago. The two of us were locked in an epic gastronomic showdown, and what bothered her, she explained to me at the Raven shortly after having the dream, was that the ending was inconclusive. It was all very strange. I had little idea that Megan cooked. What's more, as far as I knew, she had only sampled my food once, and that was little more than a poker snack.

But I know a challenge when I hear one, and so my back got up and my upper lip stiffened. Well, then: we're going to throw down, Iron Chef style. Word circulated around the bar -- you're having a cooking contest? When? Can I be a judge? -- and soon enough people were egging us on. This could be no idle barroom boast: pride was at stake. Without much care to the details of the enterprise, we reasoned that I'd cook in my own Punk Rock Kitchen, Megan would cook around the corner at the Casa de Libertarios, we'd each prepare three dishes featuring cheese as our special ingredient -- blogging, as well as this whole idea, being cheesy -- and we'd determine whether my liberalism or Megan's libertarianism dominates the culinary world as well as the world of ideas. Oh, and one more thing: we'd convince Bob Wright to let us put it all on BloggingHeads. Then we continued drinking.

Amazingly, Bob, generous guy that he is, let us have our way with his format. And on Sunday, with assistance from Ezra, Will, Julian, Matt, Lindsay, Sommer, Kate, Kriston, Kerry and Dave, this crazy scheme came together.

A word about Megan. The day before the battle, she, Bob and I joined on a conference call to plot the logistics of this rather cumbersome scheme. I was as scatterbrained as Michael Midgley. Megan, by contrast, was on point. She didn't make a single suggestion without thinking through every particular. I knew then and there what a fierce competitor she'd make, and she didn't disappoint. I stand by my food, but she put together a great menu.