The Pleasures of Adulthood With Turtle Cheesecake
Monday, January 18th, 2010
My childhood period was a little odd compared to most other kids. I preferred meat, fruit and even some vegetables to desserts. I suspect that many of you mothers and fathers might be wishing that you had a perfect child like I was. My preferences might have been related to the fact that my mother kept me on baby foods until I was twenty-eight. In retrospect, I now recognize that none of the [major babyinfant] food companies squeeze a pureed slice of a fudge brownie into a little glass jar.
My candy consumption was also limited. After I would come home from trick or treating every Halloween night, my mother would make me dump my goodies on the floor, where we would both seat ourselves, cross-legged. We would sort my collection into three piles. I didn’t really get to assign anything to a particular pile; I was mostly an observer in the annual ritual. Into one of those piles would go everything that was made by the generous Mrs. Robertson. Those went straight into the garbage, because Mom was sure that Mrs. Robertson let her fourteen cats walk all over the kitchen counters. The second pile contained a couple of apples and a small box of raisins. Those were deemed suitable for me. I can’t say for certain what happened to the third grouping–the one that contained all the candy, the caramel apples and the popcorn balls. As soon as the sorting was finished, my mom hastily took those into my parent’s bedroom. They never again appeared. The only time I ever was allowed to have candy was when I visited one pair of grandparents. (My other grandparents only tried to give me buttermilk. I resent cows to this day.)
In defense of my mother, I believe that this sort of behavior is taught in the top secret motherhood school. I noticed that when my son was growing up, his mother hid all his candy after Halloween, too. However my wife has never revealed the exact curriculum of this top secret school.
When I became a full fledged adult at the magical age of twenty-nine, I began to learn that applesauce, vegetables and meat in their natrual form do not really have the same texture. I also discovered the wonders of dessert in the wonderful form of a gourmet cheesecake. Well, I guess it really wasn’t gourmet. It came from a discount food warehouse, in a flimsy box with a cellophane peep hole that revealed the only attractive portion of the product. Remember that my taste buds had been accustomed to the miracle recipes of the baby food makers. To me, the cheesecake was the definition of heaven.
Later in life, as I belatedly went through my experimental wild years, I learned that cheesecake could taste much less like cardboard than my first sample. I also discovered that cheesecake can come in a variety of flavors besides blueberry.
Dessert is now my favorite time of day. My favorite way to complete a nutritious mean of two jars of beef, two jars of mashed peas and a pureed apple with cinnamon is with a slice of turtle cheesecake. Don’t allow this news to leak to my mother, though; she’ll just take it to her bedroom.
The saddest part of this story is that I don’t even know how to make a cheesecake. Please tell me if you have a good recipe. Make sure that your recipe doesn’t require using either an oven or a whisk. I do know how to use a blender, though, because I watched my mom prepare the Thanksgiving turkey one year.
Author’s addendum: I may have taken some creative liberties with slight exaggerations here and there, but I’m not concerned about being caught. My mother is still not sure what the Internet is.