A chocolate cheesecake and a childhood memory

 

Kissed all over and spanked well in a hot oven, she puffs up and trembles all over, reminding me that she is indeed the finest goddess of all desserts. Cheesecake. She makes me sin in a way no one has ever sinned before. If it was not for this midnight love, I wouldn't have known how to survive. And this story is about finding love.

I am a night cat. Since I don't sleep so much, I want it perfect in the rare occasion that I do. When it doesn’t happen to me, I get stressed. And when I am stressed, I resort to a lot of things like chewing on hair, or my cuticles. Or pole dancing. On my tripod (there is a way). Maybe taking hour long baths where I reenact scenes from Psycho. You know, just normal people things. But when these don't work, I do some filthy midnight baking. And this one particular night, I decided to bury myself alive in a delightful chocolate cheesecake and let her take my stress away. I did not care about my sleep anymore; I would have the warmth of cheesecake.

Fast forward to 3 in the morning. My chocolate cheesecake was in the oven, waiting to be sliced into. Dishes were done. I rubbed my appletini-scented body cream on and sat back. A few more minutes in and she came out with that perfect satin finish on top that always melts my heart. She smelt of dew-drop mornings – only if mornings came in chocolate. And just like that, I had accomplished two tasks at one go. 1) Stress-relief midnight baking. 2) Launch of my little journey with cheesecake.

My brother came into the kitchen that night with a baseball bat behind his back and said he had expected a burglar in the house. He was a little let down, so I gave him a piece of cheesecake. He wasn't impressed, and still looked let down, so I added extra large swirls of whipped cream on top. He had an almost-grin.
‘No more cheesecake for me,’ he said. I do understand. For some, it's tough to fall in love. Oh dear goodness, my boy. The things that you are missing.

For me, cheesecake as it is. Pure, delightful, uninterrupted cheesecake.

Oh, and have you seen those ghastly cracks on cheesecake tops? You could slather a layer of sour cream on them, or arrange a pile of fresh fruits to cover but why would you want these grand canyons to form anyway? I loathe crackhead cheesecakes (there, you have a name for them now) and so I add some corn starch or flour to stabilize my batter. That alone doesn't do the trick either. Proper temperature control always works. I assure you. Keep your mental clock on, you should get it right. That does mean no to naps! I do enjoy some disco. As we go along this journey, I will take you through its many textures.

So what's this story about finding love? My memories associated with cheesecake is very odd. I never ate one until I was 25, nor have I had anyone in my family bake them let alone know what it is. How it associates with my childhood is through my mother’s simple bread pudding.

Every time she did not bake it, I craved for it. One year, then two years, three years – it was never baked again for some reason. I grew up, saw myself graduate and get a job. Get my heart taken. Then broken. Somewhere along the way, I had my first slice of an beautiful baked New York style cheesecake and I got my first taste of food-induced nostalgia. In a strange way, that plain baked cheesecake had undertones of the bread pudding which my mother made years ago. After more than 10 years, it opened in me, a torrent of emotions and I found it so difficult to contain them. I did weep. A little. 

So it all starts right here. Ouch, mister sensitive tooth, I know you are in there.

To make my journey a little trippy, I'll be jiving with disco legends and, will be sharing each of them as my Cheesecake Song for every post. Many could be extremely cheesy for some of yours' liking. But remember: Too much cheese is always good.

Today: The Jacksons' version of Mick Jackson's 1978 song called Blame it on the Boogie