It’s time for another bit of ancient webbery from the Kat Litter box! Continuing were we left off, this is from June of 2002 and a friend of mine who has since gone on to have many adventures with cake in amazing foreign places, helped me check out the new Cheesecake Factory restaurant at the Seattle Convention Center….
Let Them Eat Cake
originally posted: June 21, 2002
She places it down between us: black-brown and both as wide and as thick as an industrial door-stop. Three cream rosettes rest on the crumbling edge of the wedge. We stare at it in trepidation.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she chirps.
"Uhhmmm… yeah: two starving orphans with their own forks."
The waitress giggles and leaves us alone with the killer cake. I suspect her giggles are on account of our dismay at realizing we have just made a pact with Pure Evil. Is that a pointed tail I see flirting under her uniform? This cake may be the death of us….
This is the sort of dessert which one hopes for in childhood dreams of avarice. It is the chocolate cake from Hell, the contract-sweetener which induces the gluttons of the world to sign in blood, the camel-breaking calories of Faustian nightmare.
We stab it with our steely forks and hope it will remain inert. One never knows with a cake of this type; it might become ambulatory at any moment, in an effort to ensnare other victims. If it had eyes it would be looking lust and promise at us (of course what it is lusting for is our souls…). The pastry equivalent of bedroom eyes from a femme fatale (gateau fatale?).
In spite of valiant efforts, we just can’t kill the beast. Half of it remains on the plate after much forking-off.
Childhood memories of "starving children in China" make us wonder if we should ask for a to-go box to be shipped to some deserving country. Or possibly we should take it with us until accosted by a hungry homeless person, when we could turn it over to the needy. But is anyone really in need of chocolate cake?
But, in the end, we leave it behind. It is a far, far better thing to leave such temptation aside. After all, it might entrap less-hardy souls than our own and enslave them to an eternity of Chocolate Damnation. And what would they do to fight against it if they don’t have either milk or coffee? It’s straight to Sticky Chocolate Hell for them and we can’t be responsible for that.
Of course, I feel terribly guilty about not eating all of the cake, in spite of the constant battle to keep my waistline significantly smaller than my bustline (which is a considerable measurement). Should I have had the cake in the first place? Probably not, but that’s sort of the nature of sin: you shouldn’t have indulged in it in the first place. But, on the other hand, if I never indulged in any sin at all, I’d be a terribly dull person.
Maybe I should just eat cake and skip dinner… and guilt. Hmm….
Oh, demoness–er, I mean waitress… about that cake….