"Ross is making us cheesecake," my daughter-in-law announced bright and early Saturday, as the snow gently fell. "The breakfast of champions."
"It sure is in this house," I said, approvingly.
My older son is a gourmand — he not only racks up Michelin stars like an astronomer on a clear night, but cooks and bakes. One visit he whipped up a croquembouche, which I couldn't pronounce, never mind conceive of preparing — though I ate some easily enough.
Not that he was "making cheesecake" in the sense of combining ingredients in a bowl and baking a cheesecake. That would be crazy, particularly when examples of the superlative cheesecake in the world, Eli's cheesecake, were waiting in the freezer, ready to be roused from their frozen slumber. I noted, with concern, that he chose to breathe life into their slices through the wonder of microwave technology.
Now microwaving is fine for, say, heating up yesterday's coffee. I did so this morning. But, as a semi-official representative of the Eli's Cheesecake Company — their 13th season of advertising on this blog began last week — I must express disapproval of the idea of thawing a cheesecake by microwave. The box instructs patrons lucky enough to find themselves in possession of an Eli's cheesecake to thaw it by either allowing the cake to sit in the refrigerator overnight, or by placing it at room temperature for three hours.
Strategies which posed insurmountable problems to a person, such as myself, who, inspired by the notion of cheesecake for breakfast, wanted cool and delicious Eli's cheesecake now. Not in three hours. And especially not tomorrow morning.
So I decided, against my better judgment, to experiment with the microwave method. My wife suggested the gradual approach. I put it for just 10 seconds. There was still frost on top. Another 10, and it seemed frozen. A third 10 seconds, which had to be sufficient.
I set it out with a cup of hot coffee. The tip was warm — not the ideal cheesecake experience. But the whole thing was not ruined — most was cold, though parts were still frozen. I still ate the slice in short order.
I would be ashamed, as a semi-official representative of Eli's, to admit this folly on my part. But I'm sharing it because I believe it speaks to an important truth. Two important truths, in fact.
"It sure is in this house," I said, approvingly.
My older son is a gourmand — he not only racks up Michelin stars like an astronomer on a clear night, but cooks and bakes. One visit he whipped up a croquembouche, which I couldn't pronounce, never mind conceive of preparing — though I ate some easily enough.
Not that he was "making cheesecake" in the sense of combining ingredients in a bowl and baking a cheesecake. That would be crazy, particularly when examples of the superlative cheesecake in the world, Eli's cheesecake, were waiting in the freezer, ready to be roused from their frozen slumber. I noted, with concern, that he chose to breathe life into their slices through the wonder of microwave technology.
Now microwaving is fine for, say, heating up yesterday's coffee. I did so this morning. But, as a semi-official representative of the Eli's Cheesecake Company — their 13th season of advertising on this blog began last week — I must express disapproval of the idea of thawing a cheesecake by microwave. The box instructs patrons lucky enough to find themselves in possession of an Eli's cheesecake to thaw it by either allowing the cake to sit in the refrigerator overnight, or by placing it at room temperature for three hours.
Strategies which posed insurmountable problems to a person, such as myself, who, inspired by the notion of cheesecake for breakfast, wanted cool and delicious Eli's cheesecake now. Not in three hours. And especially not tomorrow morning.
So I decided, against my better judgment, to experiment with the microwave method. My wife suggested the gradual approach. I put it for just 10 seconds. There was still frost on top. Another 10, and it seemed frozen. A third 10 seconds, which had to be sufficient.
I set it out with a cup of hot coffee. The tip was warm — not the ideal cheesecake experience. But the whole thing was not ruined — most was cold, though parts were still frozen. I still ate the slice in short order.
I would be ashamed, as a semi-official representative of Eli's, to admit this folly on my part. But I'm sharing it because I believe it speaks to an important truth. Two important truths, in fact.
First, most everything good in life requires planning. You, reading this, probably cannot eat some cheesecake now because you haven't any in your freezer, despite years of reading this blog and having the centrality of cheesecake to a life well-lived drilled into you. No shame there ... well, not too much shame ... okay, some shame because, really, aren't you paying attention at all?
No harm though — your current cheesecakelessness can be easily remedied by clicking on the Eli's web site and ordering one, or several, right now, whisked to your house through the wonder of dry ie technology.
But even if, like me, your freezer is well-stocked with Eli's, a second factor comes into play: Don't do things half-assed. Be patient. Do it right. A slice of classic Eli's cheesecake is a superlative sensual experience. One doesn't rush it. Screw microwaves. Wait. Be patient. Let it properly thaw, in the refrigerator overnight or, in a hurry, with three hours on the counter. What's your rush, bub? You'll be dead and forgotten soon enough. As will I, as will everybody.
But we are alive, right now, given a fleeting opportunity to live our lives to the fullest, and part of that is indulging in cheesecake for breakfast.
As part penance, part celebration, I removed a second superlative slice of classic Eli's cheesecake and put it in the refrigerator. There is thawing gradually, as God intended, even as I write this. Sunday is uncertain. I have to write a column after a week off, and that always is a lift. But there will be cheesecake, and that is reason enough to go on.
No harm though — your current cheesecakelessness can be easily remedied by clicking on the Eli's web site and ordering one, or several, right now, whisked to your house through the wonder of dry ie technology.
But even if, like me, your freezer is well-stocked with Eli's, a second factor comes into play: Don't do things half-assed. Be patient. Do it right. A slice of classic Eli's cheesecake is a superlative sensual experience. One doesn't rush it. Screw microwaves. Wait. Be patient. Let it properly thaw, in the refrigerator overnight or, in a hurry, with three hours on the counter. What's your rush, bub? You'll be dead and forgotten soon enough. As will I, as will everybody.
But we are alive, right now, given a fleeting opportunity to live our lives to the fullest, and part of that is indulging in cheesecake for breakfast.
As part penance, part celebration, I removed a second superlative slice of classic Eli's cheesecake and put it in the refrigerator. There is thawing gradually, as God intended, even as I write this. Sunday is uncertain. I have to write a column after a week off, and that always is a lift. But there will be cheesecake, and that is reason enough to go on.
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