Sod It. I’m Eating The Cheesecake.

I talk about food cravings a lot because I have them.

A lot.

Food is such a big deal with this disease. Everyone has an opinion, of course, and none of us are wrong. We are all doing our best to get through this crazy ‘life in the mast lane’ without triggering ourselves or starving ourselves to death. Some of us are luckier than others and some of us just say f*ck it, and eat the cheesecake, knowing full well what the consequences will be.

Or, if you’re British, which I’m not, they say ‘sod it’ and eat the cheesecake.

But this isn’t about the British or how they deal with food cravings. It’s about me and the stupid cheesecake that haunts my dreams.

It took me almost twenty years to get my mother in law to give up her coveted recipe for her infamous cheesecake. It took me another six months or so to realize it’s the same exact recipe on the Kraft website. She probably got it off the back of a package of Philadelphia cream cheese, the same way she got her infamous chocolate chip cookie recipe off the back of the Toll House chocolate chip bag.


It wasn’t long before people were raving over MY cheesecakes (and chocolate chip cookies) and telling me I should open my own bakery because they were that good. I didn’t argue, of course, they really were good. I made a wide variety of cheesecakes to please every palate including oreo cheesecake, salted caramel cheesecake and even key lime cheesecake (for the hubby).

My favorites were always the pumpkin spice cheesecake and the regular ole’ plain cheesecake with delicious, home made strawberry sauce.


I dreamt of eating it last night, or rather early this morning. I woke up mid-bite, my fork loaded with a gob of deliciousness smothered in strawberries and realized it was just a dream. That immediately put me into a really lousy frame of mind before I even got out of bed.

I wanted to finish that piece of dream-cake. Had I been able to indulge in my gluttonous dream, I would have been able to eat the whole cheesecake without fear of gaining a pound and without worrying if it would have triggered my mast cells into a reaction.

It would have been medically impossible, because they don’t dream!!

Or do they?


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