Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I am lucky SH doesn`t like skinny women

posted Fri, 07 Sep 2007

I am still atoning for the evening when I persuaded SH not to get the dessert of Mississippi Mud Cake made with Valrhona Chocolate and topped with espresso gelato.

We weren’t five minutes out of the restaurant when he sighed wistfully and said, “I wish I’d gotten that dessert.” He has continued to bemoan the lack of that dessert since, even though I promised to make him an entire Mississippi Mud Cake when we got home.

I had been able to dissuade him with logic, but logic has nothing to do with the desire for dessert. I had pointed out that we had eaten only half our meal and that we had awaiting in the hotel a huge brownie, an Oreo-chocolate bar cookie, one of the two chocolate-chip cookies the hotel had given us upon checkin, and a dozen fig bars we had bought at a produce stand earlier that day (SH does not count fig cookies as cookies because they have fruit in them and because these were made with whole-wheat flour). We also had a pound and a half of cheese, three bottles of wine, and a loaf of bread from the same bakery whence the brownie. I also pointed out that $8 is a lot to pay for a piece of cake.

When we had supper with Luke and Kim, I kept my mouth shut when it came to dessert time. We were stuffed from the shrimp and lobster risotto and the steak (served with blue cheese mashed potatoes – yum!), but the dessert looked fabulous.

Yet SH decided on his very own that dessert wasn’t necessary. He decided this after telling Luke and Kim the entire story of my dessert fascism, but still, he didn’t get the dessert, which was good for me because when he gets dessert, it means I get to eat off his plate. My theory is that all the calories stay on the dessert-orderer’s plate, but observation has not validated that theory.

Last night, when we drove past Culver’s on our way to the I Tappa Keg party that was not to be because about a gajillion other people read the same story in the paper and by the time we arrived, the bar was full, SH noticed that the flavor du jour was Kit Kat. “We’ll have to try that after supper!” he said, apparently forgetting that we had already finished two pints of Kopp’s custard from his freezer in the past two nights and that we had gone to Leon’s the other night. I said nothing. Nothing. Everyone has to die from something and I suppose death by chocolate is one of the better ways to go.

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