I’ve never liked cake very much. When I was a kid, my parents carved me a cake out of watermelon for my birthday, and I thought it was the best thing ever. As for the actually fluffy dough and icing, I didn’t need it, nor did I want it.
Until I had a mango mousse cake in a French cafe in Montreal last year.
The second slice of cake I had was a year later, in a Coffee Culture in London, Ontario.
I was there with a friend, who ordered the New York Cheesecake. Being lactose intolerant, I’ve never taken to cheesecakes, despite protests from many of my friends that they were heavenly. This time was no different, my friend in question made me try some of her cheesecake. It had the slight sourness of a cheesecake, which toned down the sweetness of the chocolate-y-ness of my cake, but it wasn’t a little piece of heaven by any stretch of the imagination
And then yesterday, I had my first, certifiable, heaven-on-earth cheesecake experience. It was like finding true love. The moment I put it in my mouth, there was a clap of thunder, a gong hit somewhere, and the world froze around me, but all I could feel was the mishmash of heaven on my palate. It was a standard chocolate cheesecake with glazed strawberries on top, but it was the perfect blend of sweet chocolate and cheese, with a smooth consistency and a slight woody finish. Sounds like it could be a wine, doesn’t it? If only.
The photo does not do justice to its heavenly-ness. But actually, this was my friend’s order, which I ended up devouring piece by piece. My original order was something called “Milky Way,” a giant of a chocolate cake, with four layers of mousse, a dark chocolate crust and a thick caramel glaze. It was so rich and sweet that I had to drink a full cup of water with every bite.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my coming of age cake story.