We have loads of little secrets -- most of which we will never share. But today we've decided to disclose a tiny little one. Even though it may be a black mark on our reputation as normal bitches who like to self-medicate with a whole tub of ice cream.
The secret is: We're missing the sweet tooth gene.
Not to totally mislead you. We're suckers for a couple things: the best brownies in the world (we'd go so far as to call them erotic) that marry the rich, creaminess of chocolate with the zippy spice of red pepper flakes. We're also addicted to our apricot tart, an almond-infused cookie-style crust filled with simple cream custard, topped with tangy fresh apricots that caramelize and ooze yumminess during baking. To be perfectly honest, even though we're big-time bakers, unless our meal has been laced with garlic and onions, we seldom crave sweets afterward.
Mostly, we bake for the attention, the accolades, and the complete adoration that comes our way when we put a perfect apple tart or peach pie on the table. We just love being baking goddesses.
So trust us that when something makes us break out the mixer, it must look good. And the gazillion-layer cake recently pictured in the New York Times food section looks great. We've become obsessed by the alternating layers of soft white cake and fudgy icing. We're actually drooling on the keyboard right now.
It got us thinking: what about this cake has us hooked? And why is it we can't pass by fresh apricots in the store without swooping them up, heading home, and impulsively baking that tart? Is there a spot on the tongue that gets so riled up by those lily products (yes, scallions, chives, garlic are all part of the lily family) that it needs a sweet to balance it?
Could it be that by teasing our palate with opposite sensations we experience maximum pleasure?
Associative bitches that we are, this makes us think of the now troubled golfing god, Tiger Woods (caught eating one too many cakes). Perfect wife and kids, uncanny talent, hyper-controlled persona. When that man seeks opposite sensory directions he really changes directions. (No trashy porn for him...he goes straight to the source. Again and again.) And not to pick on just Tiger; let's not forget the countless other sanctimonious, "family-values" politicians caught bopping women (or men) they weren't wed to.
Like our need to be adored for our baking prowess, is it possible that for them it isn't just about the sex? If we're missing the sweet tooth gene and it keeps our cravings in check, what is it that they're missing that turns them into the flesh addict's equivalent of a chocoholic?
Like that gorgeous cake, life is multilayered. Trying to live in too controlled a way, avoiding the lusty, sneaky, bad-for-you treats -- well, that only fans the flames of desire. But by reasonably treating ourselves to opposite sensations we can achieve maximum pleasure. When it comes down to it, it's the contrasts that make life worth living.
So it's no surprise that we're pre-heating the oven. Just like our apricot dessert's sweet and tart palate pleasing, those fifteen layers offer the promise of a single delicious complimentary bite. Maybe we're craving the balance that those measured extremes provide. Or lusting for a sugar rush. Or -- let's be honest -- just seeking admiration for the perfect execution of a cake with such a high degree of difficulty.
No matter. For now the kitchen is the place where our fantasy life unfolds -- that is, our fantasy of being the next Iron Chef. (Oops! That's another one of our little secrets.)
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