Technically speaking, crypsis is any way in which an organism tries to avoid detection. In this particular dish, I refer to the evolutionarily-designed blending of the chicken frita in this pool of five cheese marinara. It's difficult for a predator to tell where the sauce ends and the chicken begins, and thus, the chicken hopes, it can avoid detection by a hungry pasta predator.

Pictured here is Crypsis - hey, did I just do the same review twice in a row?

Behold, the visible galaxy! Playing the part of the supermassive black hole that makes up the center of our corner of the universe, we have a dense orb of pure meat. View in astonishment as the swirls of grease around it simulate the natural curvature of spacetime in the vicinity of extreme gravity.

Yeah, I know this doesn't look that impressive, but imagine if Neil Degrasse Tyson was narrating this review.

Pictured here is Milky Way...or the highway!

Marinara seems to be the least consistent sauce at the OG. Some days it's plain tomato sauce (and I will not be convinced otherwise) and some days it's the perfect compliment to a breaded meat. That said, I would never attempt this sauce without a topping. It's just too subtle - this sauce is an accent, not a main attraction.

Pictured here is Veni!

This was a little bizarre. For the first time, my meatballs came on a separate tray, and were not incorporated into the dish. I have a rule that I take pictures as they are served to me - I don't dress them up, I don't photoshop anything, I don't send back food that looks bad. I want the pictures to be an accurate representation of what a customer can expect.

But "some assembly required" isn't what you can expect at Olive Garden. This was a weird fluke. So I put the meatballs on myself and snapped this picture. I hope you can forgive that I have gone mad with power.

Pictured here is Vidi - straight ballin'.

I think the trick to photographing Five Cheese Marinara is to not get too much of it in one shot. If you had, say, a forkful of penne just barely glossed with 5CM, I think that could look pretty good. Unfortunately, while the sauce does *taste* good, it definitely has a tendency to look like...well, any number of unpleasant comparisons spring to mind.

Pictured here is Vici, which utilizes an angle shot that would put any chubby myspace dude to shame.

"I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself."

A lot of parallels can be drawn between a strong, independent woman and a meatball alighting a plateau of spaghetti.

Pictured here is Charlotte, a pasta who don't need no man.

"Beauty is that quality which, next to money, is generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men; and, therefore, it is likely to entail a great deal of trouble on the possessor."

If this is as true for pasta as it is true for women, this dish can rest easy knowing that it will not be attracting any unsavory types.

Pictured here is Anne, with classic Victorian sensibility.

"There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou — Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed."

A metaphor for the importance of roughage in an otherwise all-pasta diet.

Pictured here is Emily, so demure!

As is so often the case, what started out as a good-natured ethnic slur turned into a beloved cuisine. Welsh Rabbit is a dish that is little more than carbs and cheese - and so we find that the more things change, the more things stay filled with cholesterol.

Pictured here is Welsh Rabbit, and please just ignore the chicken because that doesn't really jive with this whole concept.

Oh come on, don't tell me you don't see it. It can't just be me.

Pictured here is Jessica Rabbit. Eh? Ehhh?

You know how when you get a can of pork and beans and there's just the one little hunk of pork? That's the "rare bit", though this term can apply to any choice morsel in a dish. The more you know!

Pictured here is Rare Bit - in this case, referring to the whole mushroom chunks.

One of my fondest memories of growing up as a young Jewish boy was the time when Rabbi Thadstein, attempting to gain "street cred" with the local teens, adopted this self-appointed nickname. While it never took off, I'm pleased to immortalize it in this dish, which I believe does technically count as kosher, since it's not very good.

Pictured here is Rabbi T, and this was a really bad idea for a theme day, and didn't make any sense. Sorry.