An Ode to Cheesecakes and childhood
An Ode to Cheesecakes and childhood
I remember the day I was introduced to this intricate yet naive concept. The softness of the pale golden skin on your first bite, then as you go deeper, as if you’re biting into a delicate creamy sponge, and lastly, the crispy yet soft crust, painted in elegant ebony, a perfect finish to the bite.
I was waiting for my exhausting piano class to end, one of the many classes I attended against my own will. My fingers were moving with mastered efficiency but without any soulful intent behind them. Eventually, parents came to pick their children up one by one, except mine. Finally, 30 minutes later, I saw my dad with a huge grey umbrella standing underneath the rain. He didn’t have to wait for long as I’d already zipped my bag shut and worn my slippers before he could apologise. I just wanted to go home, so I pulled him by his hand and dragged him to the street where we walked in silence. The comforting pitter-patter of the rain made me forget to ask why he was so late. In the gloomy blue shadows, a glowing shop stood apart. The faint yellow light made it feel like it was from one of those special sidequests in games. Turns out it was a bakery, run by a small family living in the apartment above it. I scanned through the glass display, which had an array of desserts, but what caught my eye, to everyone’s surprise, was the New-York style based cheesecake. And the price? 80 rupees. Starbucks could never. I never knew what a cheesecake tasted like, so I thought I could try something new, which my dad immediately opposed to, since he thought I’d let it go to waste. My dad suggested (imposed) I try the apple pie, which didn’t look as cool as the cheesecake. Ultimately, I walk out with the cheesecake and my dad’s wallet, impatient to try the first bite. I sit in the backseat of our rusty Chevrolet, drop my bag in the side and bring the cheesecake to my lips. The divine entity’s fragrance filled up my nostrils, instantly blessing my senses with the forthcoming gastronomic ecstasy. I took my first bite and instantly felt my cortisol levels drop. The worries, the assignments, my dad looking for his wallet, all irrelevant, almost non-existent. I had transcended into this alternate world filled with giggles, sunshine and Dazai. I eventually came back only after the cheesecake was out of my body. The bathroom door shut behind me as I walked out smiling ever so bright, while the afterglow still clung on to me. This got me throwing tantrums every Sunday after the class, for that dessert wrapped in endorphins.
Cut to today, where I saw the cheesecake in Cravory, surrounded by flies. And I was instantly taken back to those good old days. Causing a tiny smile to crawl up my lips and onlookers to take a tiny step away from me. My friend would eventually look at me, waiting for my decision, since she’s well aware of my cult-like worship of cheesecakes. But I didn’t feel anything. Even the flies looked devastated. One of them sat in a begging position, desperate for me to buy the ridiculously overpriced cheesecake. Anyway, my friend paid for it and it turned out that I lost my appetite after one bite. It must have been so fulfilling. I sat there staring at the half-eaten slice, waiting for that same rush to hit. The giggles, the sunshine, Dazai. It never came. This experience reminded me of how we all end up growing up. Suddenly those favourite shirts and shoes don’t fit us anymore; you lose contact with your old friends, maybe even your favourite youtuber might be convicted of heinous crimes. The childish curiosity and energy seem to have died with naivety along the way. For me, growing up felt really scary in a sense where I silently yearn for those colourful eyes of a child that sees everything with such an exaggerated lens. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to a cheesecake that no longer tastes the same. Some small, stubborn hope that if I just take one more bite, I’ll feel it again. For my own sanity, I like to think that kid is still somewhere, in the back of a rusty car, windows fogged up, world reduced to nothing but cheese and cream. And maybe, the truth is, the cheesecake never changed. I did.