From the Los Angeles Times
The happy childhood goes like this: My mother unwraps the silver boxes
of cream cheese as if they are presents. She beats the soft cheese –
the crack of eggs, a dust-storm of sugar – into pale snowbanks in the
bowl while she lets me crush the graham crackers with a hammer. I sneak
a few butter-laced crumbs and, later, watch the cooling cheesecake with
that wistful ache children can have about certain foods. Such moments,
repeated through the years, transform simple favorites into profound
emblems.
Cheesecake has that kind of power; it also has range. Stamped with an ancient provenance (Alan Davidson reports a description of a Roman cheesecake in Cato's 2nd century "De Re Rustica") and European pedigree, it's made with ricotta in Italy, quark (a fresh curd cheese) or farmer cheese in Eastern Europe. And the distinctive texture and clean flavor of classic American cheesecakes comes from silky smooth, creamy but tart cream cheese.
Wednesday was a special day in my house when I was a child. My father was a pharmacist, my mother stayed home to take care of us. To help make ends meet, he worked a second job on Wednesday evenings and Saturday afternoons at a local drug store in addition to his usual 9-5 gig at the local hospital. Thirty years ago being a pharmacist didn’t bring in the big bucks it does today and with four kids, he had his hands full. He was never home until long after dinner on Wednesdays and we were always excited for his return, partly because he brought with him our weekly chocolate treat – plain M&Ms.