Chocolate Cheesecake

Dear reader, do not be stunned – this is way too serious to be just a passing affair. I love her, I do. 

This story is about finding love.

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. 

I am a night cat. So I am not into sleeping so much, but when I do, I want it perfect. 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, cuticles or gum. Or pole dancing on my tripod. Maybe taking one hour 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 have 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 is in the oven, waiting to be sliced into. Dishes are done. I rub my appletini body cream on and sit back. A few more minutes in and she comes out with that perfect satin finish top that always melts my heart. She smells of dew-drop mornings – maybe if mornings came in chocolate. And there I accomplish two tasks at one go. 1) Stress-relief midnight baking. 2) Launch of my little journey with cheesecakes. 

My brother who came into the kitchen with a baseball bat behind his back (probably thinking I was a burglar?) gets chocolate glaze and extra large swirls of whipped cream on the cheesecake. For me, cheesecake as it is. Pure, delightful, uninterrupted cheesecake. 

‘No more cheesecake for me, please!’ he says. I do understand. For some, it's tough to fall in love. Oh dear goodness, my boy. The things that you are missing.

I do most of my cheesecakes without a water bath. Thus, they aren't as creamy as they would be, baked in a bain marie. They are still smooth, perfectly cooked and definitely tasty. I like my cheesecake a tad firm, and smooth on the tongue.  

And have you seen those ghastly CRACKS on cheesecake tops? Yeah, you are right, slathering a layer of sour cream on them, or arranging a pile of fresh fruits cover these things up neatly, 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 a little corn starch to stabilize my batter. And 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.

I have plenty of childhood memories associated with cheesecake but in a very odd way. I never ate a cheesecake 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 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 amazing 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. But I have my shoes buckled!

To make my journey a little trippier, I'll be jiving with disco legends and, will be sharing each of them as my Cheesecake Song for every post. Many of them 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