A long time ago, as a child, ‘dessert’ was a near mythological thing. There was ‘insert bland meal here’ and then, perhaps, some fruit afterwards.
But nowadays, I have become this ancient and wise being – and I no longer even consider ‘dessert’ to be an after-meal treat… Dessert is the exclamation point that you assign anywhere you like, in time and space. Dessert is a decision – a tightly held vision that focuses on the exquisite, and eschews labels.
Open up your eyes, your mind, your mouth – and allow yourself the sweet ecstasy of whatever causes your heart to beat faster. Most of the time, cake does very little for me – but if that’s the desire your heart shouts into the night, then by god find yourself the most wondrous purveyor of cakes, and become their best friend and client.
Life is too short to eat garbage sweets, just to scratch an itch, when there are life-affirming chocolates and pain-eliminating cheesecakes, just waiting for a stomachly home.
I miss Beard Papa’s eclairs, in San Francisco. The very definition of sweet, light, and simple – while being just a LITTLE bit decadent. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had incredible self-control… I’ve never eaten FOUR of them in one sitting…
Speaking of San Francisco, sometimes the line between meal and dessert can be blurred, in the most delicious of ways… The buttermilk pancakes with amaretto and brown butter golden syrup of The Cavalier – still call out to me, whispering my name on the wind, tempting me to crash against the rocky shores of their goodness.
But outside of regional delicacies, there is one classic stand-by, that I crave at least every other day… the pristine, perfect, milkshake. <sigh> They are out in force, and have some pretty amazing variations available at locations you might not find anything else worth consuming (I’m looking at you Carl’s Jr.). I’m not going to list my favorite shakes, because honestly, unless you are serving absolute garbage like shake-mix-from-a-bag, McDonald’s… You have a captive audience for what you are serving – I’ll hang out at a Steak ‘n’ Shake or Shake Shack… and if I want something creatively alcoholic and beautiful, I’ll grab a burger and shake at Holstein’s at the Cosmopolitan.
In summation – if it’s not actively killing you – on a measurable level – allow yourself the sweet pleasure of indulging in sweet desserts. Your future endorphin rush is already thanking me.
I’m the sensical turtle, and I am 43% milkshake.