Cheesecake. It sounds good enough, two of my favorite things combined into one. Cheese and cake. But, there’s nothing good about it! It’s a pale brick, mixed up with some sugar, vanilla, maybe a few eggs, barely baked then flapped on a plate with a cherry on top and called ‘dessert’. It’s disgusting. It has the density of a meteorite.
Cake is a wonderful thing, when it is baked thoroughly. It is pure happiness on a fork; fluffy and sweet, evoking memories of happy celebrations. Cake should be light and fun, with sugary icing and sprinkles, not flapped on a plate like a trowel full of mortar. A proper cake is a party. A proper cake marks a special occasion and brings a smile to everyone’s faces. A proper cake is happy. Cheesecake is not happy. People who consume cheesecake usually do so in private, eating it slowly while in their pajamas, as if it were some unspeakable secret indulgence. When a friend orders cheesecake from a menu, they usually get a gleam in their eye as if they just committed a sin. When they place their order with the waitress, she will usually repeat their choice “Ah, the cheesecake,” while nodding her head approvingly. As if “I’ll have the cheesecake,” was the password to some secret club. If I order an ice cream, my choice is never repeated to me or met with such excited approval. Cheesecake is obnoxious; it is the offensive joke of dessert.
Once upon a time I decided to give cheesecake another try. I hadn’t had any for years, nearly gagging at the sight of it. But, there I was at a restaurant that was actually named after the vile, semi-dry, clay cake. In fact, this restaurant claimed to actually be a factory or the stuff! So, since I was inside a factory of cheesecake, I decided to give it a shot. Why not? After all, millions of people can’t be wrong, right? The list was an entire page long. How many different varieties of the sludge could there be? It was all basically the same sludge, but they would mix different ingredients in, or change the toppings to make you think you were getting something unique. Well, I ordered the least offensive sounding concoction on the list, a slice of carrot cheesecake. Apparently, it was supposed to have actual carrot cake swirled into the cheesecake. I was cheating, in a way, since it was only half cheesecake. But, oh how I was wrong! It was beyond even my worst expectations. I tried not to breathe in as I took the first bite, chewing with my front teeth like a rabbit and swallowing with a drink of water. I picked out the carrot cake pieces and carefully separated them from the glop. I ate the few, scattered pieces of carrot cake then put my fork down, finished. Defeated. My husband laughed. The waitress was concerned; apparently something was wrong with me. Against my wishes she boxed it up for me, a cute little present to remind me how different I obviously was from the rest of the world.