Monday, November 26, 2007

4/12/07 - As requested. Told you it wasn't worth publishing. Only one of you though, so sorry to the rest.

IMG_0612Anyone for cheesecake?

There's still two slices left.



A long, long time ago in a building not very, very away a neighbour brought home two catering size cheesecakes. And so it came to pass that within that neighbour's house much cheesecake was had by all. And then it also came to pass that the house of the neighbour did rapidly tire of cheesecake and thus became newly generous with their neighbours. And lo there was much rejoicing in this household for we are all misers. And so we ate cheesecake and decided that perhaps it is better warmer, or cooler, or diluted. And so we later came to have more cheesecake, trying the other flavour this time, thus discovering that it is a truth universally acknowledged that the lemon one is less sickly than the caramel one (as borne out by the platter being more caramel than lemon when passed by the neighbour), but still an unsatisfying mix of sweetness and that cloying slickness of partially hydrogenated vegetable oil. And lo it was only eaten by those suffering illness, tiredness or failed culinary imagination. And so much relief emerged when it was realised that it could be taken elsewhere. And lo, although 'and so' would fit better, it came to be present at the haggissed evening. And so the Scots non-relatives opted for it to the dual delight and embarrassment of others (with those others having meringue, strawberries [yep, in November, yep, the SIL grew up a stranger to fruit and thus still can't buy it, yep, my brother muttered about them being as hard to cut as the swede] and goats' cream), though we did say it might be a bit sweet. And lo the Scots contingent, who we already know have a sweet-tooth-if-not-jawbone, did declare it to be "quite sweet", and she had the lemon one. And so it came to pass that the SIL made sure the cheesecake left the house with those it came with. And lo the confirmed owners were overwrought with happiness. And so the remains have sat in the fridge ever since, occasionally whittled by curious occupants who think to themselves that it cannot be that bad.

The worrying thing is that despite sitting unprotected for much too long it still looks new.

I think it must be like Marmite, which is too salty to rot. The cheesecake seems to be too sugary and too artificial for anything less than nanobots to gain a foothold.

So I ask again, anyone for cheesecake, or shall I shunt it off to the landfill, where it will be discovered by cetacean archaeologists many years hence, who will presume that Nestle made kilns?

And what-they-should-have-built-Chernobyl-from is about as exciting as life has been recently, because it's November and I'm busy being ill, so the highlight of the weekend was watching a film with the immortal line "Cut some capers man; use your bladder".

You know how it's really hard not to laugh when watching The Texas Chain Saw Massacre? Ditto for wicked, or possibly whimsical, Wicker Man.


mmmmmm cheesecake. My love for you will never die.
A. How'd you do that not-automatically-emailing thing? You've not even shown up as spam.
B. Not mmmmmm. Cheesecake by Nestle. Very, very bad cheesecake. Hygroscopic cheesecake. Uses-more-sugar-than-the-Barcadi-factory cheesecake. Gradual-transition-between-base-and-filling cheesecake. Nigh-on-unpalatable cheesecake. And still you have love for me? Odd boy.

Though if ever I meet you I will come prepared with a packet of pre-crushed Digestives (or I may be truly luxurious/profligate and use Hob-Nobs to make the base... except I'm guessing neither name translates).
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