Dessert

although I nearly went with “desert” and so now I must Google Fight to find the winner.

There’s a school of thought that says dessert should be like a delicate flower, unfolding its flavours on your tongue to round out the meal, to cleanse the palette and leave you feeling refreshed and ready to go on for an evening’s entertainment. Dancing, probably. I imagine the foxtrot.

I do not prescribe to that school of thought. Which is why my good wife and I found ourselves heading to Lone Star for dessert on date night.

Date night is cool. Every Wednesday we alternate with the parents of Number One Daughter’s best friend and either go out together from quality grown up consumerism OR mind their kids while they have a turn.

So far our usual haunts have become: wandering along Mission Bay eating ice cream (now too cold); going to Borders bookshop for coffee and a book each or my favourite, oh to hell with the books, let’s just get some sugar fat pods.

My wife chose the Longhorn Cheesecake for $12.00. It consists of “Kahula & Moro Bar” and is served with berry coulis and whipped cream.

When I picture a cheesecake in my head (in the comfort of my own home) I see a thin baked dessert that really does nothing for me. It’s a base, a platform for the injection of cream and some kind of fruit.

This was not that cheesecake. Instead it stood, a quivering mass of kilojoules at least a handspan tall on the plate. Sure, there was a token slice of kiwifruit and another of strawberry but it was there for one reason and one reason only: cellulite.

I am built of sterner stuff than my wife so I ordered the banoffie pie. From the menu:

“Homemade pastry pie filled with bananas, caramel, topped with sweet coffee cream & chocolate flakes. Legendary”

I have no idea about the pastry pie bit. All I could find were bananas and cream and ooey gooey caramel. Honestly, they should just give you a discount referral to the nearest coronary care unit because this thing was 98% cholesterol with a hint of irregular heart beat. Needless to say I finished the plate.

We’ll be back, but not on date night. Instead, we’ll take the kids along too. They deserve only the best.