Last night, on IM, my friend described the delicious sounding cheesecake she bought at a store and I have been obsessing and craving it ever since. I have to have it. No, I do not want any kind of cheesecake, just the one she described in detail. It was a cheesecake with a graham cracker crust, fresh fruit (sorry, I am drooling) and covered by an apricot glaze. A sweet apricot glaze! Now, I need this cake. I must have it, I’m a foodie and proud of it. There’s just one problem, she ate it in another country and when she casually laughed and said “Gee, I should have saved you a piece” I did not take it lightly. Do not toy with my cheesecake and dessert emotions. Certainly you should have saved me a piece, in your mind if nothing else. Do not taunt me with tantalizing details of the sweet, syrupy, jam-like apricot glaze, or the lush richness of the cheese-cake itself. It’s not fair.
Do not underestimate me. Whereas I know that I cannot have that same cake, I am fully aware that there is a restaurant called “The Cheesecake Factory” that I will go to within a few days. Nothing can stop me. Why can’t people describe an amazing array of fresh vegetables, or a chopped salad with such enthusiasm? Generally, they don’t and I don’t blame them. I eat my vegetables because they are healthy and they taste alright but I would never describe them in detail or dream about having them the next day.
Sigh. It’s not right. Our home life and health are in total disarray so Sunday night is my time to look forward to. On Sunday night I always have to love (most times I have to downgrade it to like) my dinner. It’s a 40 plus year tradition starting back to grade school. Sunday dinner was supposed to be fun, eaten at a cheap restaurant or getting take-out. Nothing was expensive but it was the excitement of every Sunday afternoon that was charming and in our family, growing up, extremely important. When I was growing up, of course, we always disagreed but eventually we all would be happy in the end. Sunday night was the bridge to going back to all school years, then work, then life in general. “I have to love my dinner” is a refrain well-known in my family. It is the one time of the week, that special meal, as the saying goes “if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”It’s one for all and all for one (whatever the heck that means, I have no idea).
So, cheesecake friend, I will not go down without a fight. I will trudge ahead looking for that perfect cheesecake that is moist and dense and has fruit on top. As much as I am ready for the search, I know, deep in my heart, that I may not find that apricot glaze she mentioned in passing. That hurts.
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