an ode to cheesecake

Cheesecake is my gateway drug. 

I was a picky kid, in friends and in food. Mayonnaise? Even the word sounds gross--no thank you. Sloppy Joe’s? Why would I eat anything with “sloppy” in it? I was particular; food needed to sound and look right before I’d even consider the taste. Once, a friend’s mom tried to serve me milk with pizza and I wanted to cry (that’s when I learned to also be picky about my friends). So, no, I couldn’t seem to get past the fact that a cake full of cheese did not sound right. What kind of cheese? Nacho cheese or a block? Is it grated on top like cheese sprinkles? A food that required this many questions just wasn’t meant for me. I couldn’t understand, nor did I want to. I washed my hands of the whole mess. 

And yet, cheesecake persisted. It found me. I was 21, preparing to move to Los Angeles. The women in my life (Me, Mom, Mamaw, My sister) spent a weekend in Dallas, a final hurrah! I needed things from Ikea and time with my ladies, the stuff with which you build a life. We shopped, saw a movie, gossiped. We ended the weekend at none other than The Cheesecake Factory. I looked through the menu (which took approximately 37 minutes) and thought, what the hell, I’m ready. Soon I’d be in L.A., where eventually I’d face far more frightening things...quinoa...vegan pupusas...kale. *shudder*  

It was time. 

We chose a couple slices to split, and suddenly the world opened up for me. Just a sliver, a cheesecake slice amount, but still. Things were making sense. I thought, what else have I been missing?!

Food has since elevated me. After my cheesecake enlightening, things got real. Malbec, fish tacos, eggplant parmesan. During my honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast I had mussels for the first time and thought very clearly: I am a woman now. The wedding was mere ceremony; I should say my vows again over this steaming bowl of garlicky shellfish. 

My journey of a thousand foods began with a single slice of cheesecake. When three wise women convinced me that I could do it; I could move across the country and make a delicious life, rich with experiences, and ripe with opportunities. I had new cutlery and stackable Ikea tupperware. I had the memories of that weekend, and a new favorite dessert. The world was my cheesecake factory, the menu vast. 

However. I remain steadfast in my opinion of kale. It’s just gross. We all know it.