Last Desires

I knew it was there, waiting for me. Resting, calm, collected in its icy prison. The frost was necessary for sustenance, my sustenance. It had been a little more than a week when it was whole and perfect. Then piece by piece, sliced up. Carved by different knives in sharp, forced strokes. It looked battered at times by uneven cuts at the persistent hands of the tempted. A sad shadow of its past beauty. These defects I smoothed out at the next opportunity to attack, goodness and all. I could not deny myself.

This evening, I remembered the last odd shape that remained. My mum had thrown away the cardboard box and placed the last few slices of chocolate cake into tupperware. Dinner and fruit over, it was time to partake upon heavenly goodness. I knew it would be dry - that's what happens to cake left in the fridge. I thought of moistening the solid mass with drops of milk in the microwave. Instead, the couch potato, uncaring-of-decorum, gonna-be-watching-TV- by-himself Joe decided to drown the block of cocoa heaven in full cream UHT .

It was a case of ebony and ivory. A deep mahogany, too dense to float, swished about like an island in a sea of white. I was master of the tupperware, a god with a big mouth and yearning tastebuds controlling the destiny of this final portion of a $40 cake. Bruhahahaha, I went as I stabbed the cake. It resisted before giving in, as gushing milk penetrated the crevices and cracks I created with my stainless steel spoon. I thought of an appropriate utensil and a fork, I rationalized, would not do as a scoop to properly deliver the slowly browning milk mixed with overly-moistened cake to my mouth. The sweet tooth had to be satisfied adequately yet impatiently. Magically.

Stab, deliver and experience. Stab, deliver and experience. The chocolate was intense. Just as I remember two Saturdays when I took the virgin bite into its richness. The baker had feared it was too much and advised it was 2 million calories to burn off if eaten whole. Forwarned I was but no sweet tooth could resist the overdose of dark sugary pleasure. The heat of the tongue would melt the outer layer of chocolate around the cake, a soft liquid that spread so gently and smoothly. The rough texture of cake followed, contrasting beautifully. It would be a sin to swallow but the entire mouth would be overexcited if I didn't. And how would I take the next bite? The chemical content would hit the brain soon. Theobromine, caffieine and phenylethylamine would produce numerous highs between the exited neurons and send forth endorphins coursing through my greedy system. Ahhh...chocolate. Food of the Mayan kings and now, my tantalizing post-dinner treat.

The time spent in the fridge however did not bode well for quality. Lightly devoid of water content, the cake was crumbly. But it withstood my jabs with the spoon at first. In fact, I was putting too much strength into the affair and milk splashed back at me. The price of gluttony is very quickly one realizes is filth, the fat comes later.

Like with all dessert before a sugar junkie, it was over too soon. How I Met Your Mother was hardly halfway done but I had prematurely gorged on one of the best chocolate cakes I had ever eaten. Well, I am biased because a friend baked it but seriously it was damn good. I lay back on the faux leather, spent, dirty about the lips, and some on my t-shirt. It had been a good week.