Sunday, December 11, 2022

Eli's Cheesecake = home + love.

 
     Food and memory, comfort and happiness, are all bound up together. I can't eat a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup — not that I get much chance nowadays, alas — and not at some point think back to sitting on stools at the gold-flecked linoleum counter in our kitchen in Berea, home from kindergarten, confiding to my mother across the counter, eating my soup and sandwich. As to why that memory should linger for more than half a century, I would guess it is a combination of the gooey goodness of hot cheese, the tangy comfort of good soup, and the full attention of my adored mother enfolding me in a collective warm embrace.
     I don't know what you thought of when you saw the fabulous-looking slice of cheesecake atop today's blog, or featured in the Eli's Cheesecake ad that went up this week. But I was transported back to early October. My older son and his girlfriend had come into town for my book launch party — itself a great compliment, as the young people are loath to tear themselves away from the 24-hour-a-day celebration that is New York City, to visit what I know is, in their eyes, practically a flyspeck rural backwater where they roll up the sidewalks at 9 p.m.
     They were staying with us, roughing it, and at one point I passed through the kitchen, and there was Taylor, curled up comfortably in sweats and socks, enjoying a slice of Eli's Cheesecake — turtle cheesecake, to be precise.
     We have had an Eli's Cheesecake in our freezer for at least a decade. Sometimes two. Not the same cheesecake or two, mind you. They are purchased, a few slices eaten immediately, in joy, and then the rest returned to frozen slumber, where they wait until duty calls. Sometimes it's me, throwing caution to the wind. Sometimes a celebration erupts. Once, we had dinner guests coming and realized at the last moment, with horror, that we had not procured dessert. Bingo, four slices of hospitality, ready to defrost. Eli's Cheesecake is the fire axe behind glass for any host.
     I can't tell you how many times the boys have come home, dropped their bags (okay, more accurately, flung their possessions in a wide arc across the downstairs rooms. I'm not really sure how they do that. It's as if a dump truck backed up to the front door and tipped in a load of shoes and jackets and cables and socks and luggage). The freezer is yanked open, the big square brown cardboard boxes of Eli's Cheesecake pulled out, and set upon.
     That isn't the reason they come home. I hope. Not the only reason. I mean, it isn't the sort of question I could ever ask, or that, being asked, they would ever answer, at least not beyond the standard roll of the eyes followed by a beseeching look to their mother. Can't you do something about him? 
     It isn't as if I worry that, were they to come home and find the cheesecake not in the freezer, as always, as expected, they would slide the freezer door shut, wordlessly straighten up, shoot their mother a single, withering look, scrape together the enormous mound of shoes, jackets, cables, etc., splayed across our downstairs, jam the huge bundle under one arm, pull the front door open with their free hand while a sock tumbles to the floor, unnoticed, turn, regard us with mingled disappointment and contempt, utter a single disdainful syllable, sounding like "hoomf," then disappear into an Uber. 
     At least I don't worry about that much. But I sure don't want to find out.
     Anyway, seeing the young lady demurely poking at her Eli's Cheesecake with a dessert fork, engrossed in the New York Times, which we subscribe to so they'll feel at home, was vastly reassuring, that the canopy of familial hospitality had been properly extended, and the wordless lure of cheesecake, fusing it with home and welcome, properly communicated.
     So if you are a parent, and have ever had any kind of distressing encounter with your children, or find them not as quick to hurry to your side as would be ideal, the question, "Is there Eli's Cheesecake in my freezer?" should be foremost in your mind while assessing the situation. And if, God forbid, the answer is "No," well, there's your problem right there. The blame is yours alone. I'm not saying that it puts you in league with those negligent parents who let their kids play outdoors without coats, standing at the side of the road, peanut butter smeared on their faces, staring with bovine incomprehension at the passing traffic. Though it unquestionably does. I don't normally eat cheesecake for dessert, just as I don't put on my tuxedo to go to Sunset Foods. But like the tux, Eli's Cheesecake is always there, ready, the beating heart of hospitality, the lighthouse at the harbor, calling all ships safely home. Because my children know that in a world of confusion and disorder, where standards are abandoned and foundational beliefs crumble, Eli's Cheesecake will alway, always, always be there, ready to celebrate their return. My children, and now their significant others. They know that in their heart of hearts. Do yours?

It's not too late to repair the grievous neglect you have inflicted upon your family. You can decide which Eli's Cheesecake to order by clicking here.

      

1 comment:

  1. Those of you who can buy Eli's Cheesecake locally are very blessed. Unfortunately, that's not the case for me and the cost plus shipping just makes it too expensive for me. But, if you want to take pity on someone who has the hope of some day having another slice of Eli's Cheesecake before he passes on, I am more than willing to be the object of your charity.

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