Cakeism: Dear Lord fill my soul and arteries with sweet sweet love…
October 26, 2011 § 1 Comment
But listen. Listen – My fruit tart is singing! Please don’t say it was just a fruit tart – for fruit tarts don’t normally make me smile stupid like this. The strawberries, the kiwis, the rasberries and mandarines were mindblowingly fresh, and the custard – my god, an edible swimming pool in august. The whole thing was exactly what a garden on a swimming pool would taste like if it is translated into a dessert.
Hark the harold my cake sings.
Listen, going to Pastiche, is frankly the closest thing I’ve done to a pilgrimage in my life. It’s like going to church, but instead of bread and wine, you get cake. We worship at the altar of the old fashion coconut cake, and whisper prayers of faith into the depths of the banana cream pie. Our sermon? The beautiful crack sound that forms itself as the spoon hits the golden, caramelized surface of the butterscotch creme brulee.
I would travel 4 hours to Providence, trek over the supposedly famous river which I’ve forgotten the name of, pass street after street of Mafia operated restaurants – and behold, there it is – Pastiche.
Pastiche. Pas – teeeee – chhhhhhhhh. I would articulate Pastiche’s name like Humbert Humbert does Lolita’s.
Cakeism. My religion of the day.