Cheesecake is the little black dress of desserts. It is a
go-to, a default, guaranteed by the FDIC up to the amount of $250,000 to be
awesome. But its reliable glory is also its greatest downfall. It can be found
in neat cubes, chopped out of its circular mothership in order to serve the
needs of a paper-lined grocery store sampler platter. Wobbly wedges of it are
served at awkward Christmas parties and interminable baby showers, glossed
with Technicolor fruit topping, and studded with candy buckshot.
At its best, it retains the tang of the cream cheese (and
sometimes sour cream) that comprises it. The fluffy interior, snowy white and
creamy cold, rests atop a golden graham cracker disc bound with butter.
I recall fondly a favorite franchise comfort dish of my
college years-the reluctantly prepared and insouciantly named
chimicheesecake. Along the lines of a
pancake taco, or a
peanut butter banana bacon sandwich, this was the
sort of thing that would be created in the amber haze of a hangover, throwing
every edible thing within reach into the microwave and hoping that once in your
stomach, it will soak up the remainder of last night’s liquid poor judgement.
Essentially a slice of cheesecake deep-fried and served up chimichanga style,
the chimicheesecake stands alone.
Little black dress of desserts? I can be found zipped into a
black dress 99% of the time when a night out is involved. And 99% of the time,
if cheesecake is on the menu, I will order it-fully aware that it shall make
zipping that dress up ever again a bit more difficult. Just like the dress, cheesecake relies heavily on accessories...
Remember when Angelina Jolie wore a black dress with a slit
to the Oscars and the world went crazy, and bottles of champagne exploded on
shelves, and her right leg had its own twitter account within minutes? Well I
experienced that this weekend. In cheesecake form, natch.
The Dulce Truck is a fluffy pink poodle of a thing, a
puffball kitten sitting amongst the serious machinery of trucks and tires and
tread.
I spent the better part of one second deciding what I would
order. It was listed without fanfare on the chalkboard menu, but I knew right
away that it was an Angelina-right-leg-twitter-account moment.
Vanilla Bean Cheesecake with Caramel and Bacon.
FLASHBULBS.
I was standing in line at another truck in Francis Marion park
in
Charleston,
but really I wasn’t there at all. From the moment it was handed to me, I was
wholly devoted to this cheesecake, its top a mirror of caramel, adorned with
oversized bacon confetti. It is the swankiest thing you will ever eat off of a
plastic fork. It is the most luxurious bite you can take while standing in
line. It’s Angelina Jolie in plastic weight loss pants and crocs.
This cheesecake is a three story establishment, and the
architecture of each level is without flaw. The foundation is creamy smooth,
freckled with vanilla seeds-cold to the touch, but warm on the tongue. The
caramel pool on top is not overly sweet, and provides a sticky surface to hold
the salty crunch of bacon tiles until you can get it into your mouth.
At a food truck event a few weeks later, with my friends
over at
www.foodmancingthegirl.com,
I suggested, nay
demanded that they
too tour all three floors of this cheesecake from The Dulce Truck.
And they
did! And I did again! And it was the loveliest of days, and we laughed and
laughed. That is what this cheesecake will do to your day.
It will make you forget the things that irritate you.
Like the
fact that I know that my dress zipper has a twitter parody account about me. I
KNOW it.
