Thursday, March 07, 2013 – 67 views
— by charlesg
For those of you who may not be aware, strawberries are the fruit of the Devil. They are seeded evil, terrorists. I hate them. I hate them more than any other food. I hate the way dessert chefs assume you'd like a garnish of strawberry on your creme brulee, where they sit, bleeding onto your caramelized sugar, defiant, taunting.
I especially hate strawberry shortcake. I love whipped cream (although I am lactose intolerant) and shortcake. When you add strawberries, the shortcake and cream leech the putrid pink essence from the strawberries, destroying their own divine flavors. It is an act of confectionary suicide, a travesty.
I used to live in San Francisco, and my roommate at the time was a friend from college. He is an excellent baker, but a cruel, devious person. I loved that guy. One day we were in our living room, watching SportsCenter, and he was mixing up some brownie batter. From out of the blue, he says:
'Hey, I am going to take you out to any restaurant in the city you want to go to.'
The words hung in the air, a frisson shot through my body. My roommate, I neglected to mention, was also somewhat... frugal. I knew this was too good to be true. And of course, it was.
I replied with the only thing I could think of to say: 'Umm hmm...?'
"We'll go anywhere you want... no matter how expensive. You just have to eat a strawberry shortcake for dessert.'
Could I make a deal with the devils? Would I go through with it?
To be continued...
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