There was a knock at the door of the little house I lived in as a Carolina student. The little house on Rosemary Street was a renovated pony stable (think one small, very small, pony). There was a downstairs with a tiny bathroom, a sitting area, and a “kitchen”—a refrigerator, hotplate and toaster oven. Up a very narrow little staircase, there was a loft area for sleeping. It was small but lovely for an introvert who did not mind living alone and it was, if I remember correctly, $ 35 per month. Plus it was very close to campus. I had no need of a car (which was good because I did not have a car). I had a bicycle, a very old-school bicycle, that I painted red, white and blue and named Mesopotamia. I no longer remember why.
Back to the knock at the door. I opened the door and there stood Tom. I didn’t really know him but I knew who he was because we were in a class together. He was there to see a friend who needed a place to stay for a few weeks (it was originally supposed to be for a few days); she was a grad student and I had let her have the sleeping loft and I slept downstairs on a cot. The good thing about being young is that your body is fine sleeping in places where your older body would have to be hospitalized after one night.
Yes, back to the knock. There was Tom who said he was there to see Nancy (the friend that had taken over the loft area) and he brought a cheesecake with him. I laugh now. Both Tom and I laugh because that “cheesecake” was one of those no-bake Jell-o cheesecakes. Yes, to us, as Carolina students in 1970 that would have been gourmet cooking. Or at least gourmet assembling. This was decades before people in the United States began to take cooking as a serious art. Julia Child was just beginning her show on PBS and we were lightyears away from the Food Network or The Great British Baking Show.
So I have to admit that a handsome young fellow knocking on my door with a homemade cheesecake—even from a box— was quite impressive. But he wasn’t there to see me. He was there to see Nancy. Who wasn’t home at the moment.
I don’t remember if we ate some of the cheesecake or not. I do know I invited him to a party I was going to that night and he said “Yes,” and that was the beginning of my relationship with the handsome young man who would become my husband four years in the future.
But this post is not about love and marriage. It is about cheesecake. Perhaps that early Jell-O Cheesecake came to mind because I saw that Beaufort Grocery Co. down on the coast of North Carolina is serving Pumpkin Cheesecake. I am sure it is delicious because Beaufort Grocery makes the best cheesecake I have ever had. Their Key Lime Cheesecake is one of those desserts you never forget and would prefer not to share with anyone but just hog (hog being the appropriate word here) for yourself.
Now let me be truthful here. Not everyone loves cheesecake. I have two grandsons who do not like it. One, who is a teenager, just flat-out does not like cheesecake. He’s tried it; he doesn’t like it. The other grandson who just turned nine has never tried it because he thinks it sounds “disgusting” to have cheese in a cake. So, okay. Not everyone loves cheesecake.
I did not grow up eating cheesecake. I grew up in the south and I grew up with chocolate cake and pound cake and coconut cake and …well, southern desserts. Cheesecake was not a southern dessert.
I think I had it the first time at a Jewish deli in downtown Raleigh when I was in high school. I felt very exotic “dining” there with my friends, eating a pastrami sandwich, drinking Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry Soda and having cheesecake for dessert. It made me feel quite worldly.
In more recent years, I was introduced to Junior’s Cheesecake by my brother and sister-in-law on a trip to New York City. Our nephew Patrick flew in from LA and met us in New York for his birthday. His love of Junior’s cheesecake was contagious.
I also had a parishioner when I was the Dean of the Cathedral in Vermont who hosted a rehearsal dinner for his daughter’s wedding and ordered many, many cheesecakes from Junior’s as the dessert for the evening. He and his wife had lived in Brooklyn (home of the original Junior’s).
Tom and I have returned to Junior’s on our own (a great place to go after seeing a Broadway show—remember those days?) and I have also ordered cheesecakes from Junior’s through the mail. They arrive frozen and you can either put it right in your freezer for a later time or thaw it and get ready for indulgent deliciousness.
In the days when I used to bake and loved a challenge I made a triple layer cheesecake—plain cheesecake layer, chocolate cheesecake layer and a layer with ground, toasted hazelnuts in between. It was delicious but incredibly time consuming. It was in a Maider Heatter cookbook; I gave away all but three cookbooks when we downsized for our move here to Deerfield and didn’t save that recipe. We still cook but it is definitely on the simpler side. No more triple layer cheesecakes. At least not homemade.
So, if you are still searching for that perfect but slightly unusual Thanksgiving Day dessert, maybe try a cheesecake. It’s probably too late to order one from Junior’s or to drive down to Beaufort Grocery Co., but you might still find a pumpkin one at Trader Joe’s. Or if all else fails, try the Jell-o version. It might not be the tastiest or most impressive, but who knows? It might just be the knock at the door that leads to a very happy future.
An, I really want a slice of Key Lime cheesecake, right now!
I love this story! Happy Thanksgiving to you two!!