In place of the cream cheese-sugar-egg bricks of your nightmares, Israeli cheesecake is light, tangy and airy, like a dip in a cool pool on a hot summer's day. I felt sorry for myself, for having to eat it, and sorry for others, for not knowing what a joy eating a cold piece of chilled Israeli cheesecake could be.īecause Israeli cheesecake is nothing like the cheesecakes of North America. There was no way that heavy syrup-drizzled baked monstrosity was the local version of my favourite confectionary creation. The first time I tasted cheesecake in the United States, as a 17-year-old girl on her first trip across the ocean, I thought they had got it wrong. And if you know Jack, you sure as hell don't know cheesecake. Well, my friends, I'm here to tell you that you don't know jack. In most cases, you stay away from it for fear it will go straight to your hips, your thighs, your stomach. Some of you may love it, but many of you don't. You are used to its baked custard texture, to the soggy bottom, to the heavy, cloying feeling it leaves in your mouth. ![]() You've had it a million times at breakfast buffets, brunches, Sunday dinners. Some of you may think you know cheesecake. Yet I manage to take it out safely, to rest it on the table undisturbed.Īs I take out a knife and cut out a big, tall piece of Israeli cheesecake, my lips curl into an involuntary smile: I can already imagine its tangy, cloud-like taste. ![]() I walk around in shorts and a tank top, my feet bare across the cold marble floor.ĭespite all this, beads of sweat gather at the back of my neck as I pull the Israeli cheesecake out of the fridge, my mind clouding with visions of dropped cakes and spilled disasters. The sun is beating through the side window, exposing all the dust bunnies that are making their way through the air, heating up the countertops. I'm in the small, cool kitchen of my parents' old apartment.
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