brit_columbia (brit_columbia) wrote,
brit_columbia
brit_columbia

A marriage made in Heaven

Hello readers and lurkers,

Don't get excited because this isn't a story update or anything. Well, it's a sort of general update on the non-writing aspects of my life. I've been working and dealing with family issues, plus my social life has been more active than usual.

I went to a wedding last weekend that featured the most amazing dessert buffet I've experienced in years! I still get excited just thinking about it. Everything was high-quality and elegantly beautiful. Not a banal, middle-class dessert to be seen. (Yes, I am a TOTAL dessert snob and proud of it!) No date squares. No Nanaimo bars. No two-bite brownies out of a bag. No indeed.

Instead, there were delicate little squares of multi-layered sponge cake separated by rich veins of buttercream frosting and fruit flavoring. They were all different. There was a low-slung, heavy, obscenely dark, flourless chocolate cake resplendently adorned with giant curls of dark chocolate. There were ornately dressed cupcakes in competing hues and personalities. There were baby macaron sandwich cookies in more flavors than I was aware existed. There were miniature, hand-rolled wafer cornettos filled with flavored creams. There were tiny little mousse cakes arranged in an inspiring mosaic of color. At one end of the table stood a huge, electric chocolate fondue down which rivers of milk chocolate cascaded and pulsed in a hypnotic rhythm of pleasure. I'm telling you, it was sort of like a meditation. I quivered, transfixed, at the sight of this... this work of ART of a dessert display!

By the way, for you fruit lovers, I will stoop and yes, I do mean 'stoop' and not 'stop', to mention the two enormous bowls of cut fruit flanking the chocolate fondue, since I am aware that the world is full of people who think nothing of sullying the smooth, rich purity of chocolate with the icky, sticky tartness of fruit. Which reminds me, there were also chocolate dipped strawberries nestled among the cakes. Those of you who have been reading this journal for a while will perhaps recall that I (to put it mildly) hate fruit, so naturally all that fresh fruit on the dessert table was safe from me. Not even the misguided application of chocolate can make it palatable. But, happily, there were more than enough other desserts to satisfy me.

Let me just pause here to thank God yet again that I had a chance to investigate the dessert table before I went to the dinner buffet. Once I had seen those exquisite offerings, there was no way on earth that I was going to allow food like meat, bread, potatoes, or rice to occupy any of my limited and suddenly valuable stomach-real-estate. I dutifully helped myself to a plate of salad (for the enzymes, you know), ate it impatiently, and then rushed off, still chewing, to the dessert table. I returned with a large plate containing about a dozen different treats.  My poor, innocent husband stared at it in shock and said, "Are all those for you?"

Yes, yes, I know. Believe it or not, I am no longer surprised and annoyed when he asks such foolish questions, like I was back in the heady, early days of our courtship and marriage. I have finally accepted the truth, which is that no matter how much I love him, my darling is still... a man. And the aforementioned question is a classic example of the kinds of mind-blowing things they say. I mean, 'Are all those for you?' ranks right up there with "Are you going to have a second glass of wine?" and "Did you eat that whole pizza?"

Sweetie, this is me. Come on, how long have you known me? Wait, don't answer that question! I would prefer not to know if you have any trouble doing the math.

Anyway, I certainly wasn't about to waste time getting into a lengthy discussion with him, so I just said, "Yup!" and dug in.

He persisted. "But-- but that's a huge plate of dessert! What will people think?" He looked around nervously. 

I can assure you that absolutely no one was paying attention to what was on my plate because they were all far more interested in what was on their own. I knew there was no point in mentioning that, however, so all I said was, "They'll think I brought it for us to share!" I then handed him the extra fork that in my infinite cunning and infinite knowledge of him, I had had the foresight to pick up. I gave him a meaningful look and added under my breath, "Don't touch anything! They really are all for me."

I then proceeded to eat everything on my plate except for half of a piece of very dark chocolate cake, which was actually too intense for me, and half of a cupcake with cardamom-flavored cream cheese frosting, which, although very tasty, was ultimately a tad too large and filling. I generously offered both to my husband, but for some mysterious reason, he declined.

Now before we go on,  I would just like to assure you all that had those been the last twelve desserts on the face of the planet, I most certainly would have shared them with my hubby. But since I had just come from a table laden with scores of similar offerings, I felt there was no need for either of us to worry that he somehow wouldn't get any.

Some time later, happily replete, I suddenly thought that I ought to go and take a photo of that dessert table so that I could relive the joy of it for years to come. I wriggled my hand into my husband's jacket to retrieve the camera and strolled to the sacred shrine.

Well! Imagine the diametrically opposing levels of delight and dismay that surged within me when I discovered that all of the desserts I had partaken of earlier had disappeared, and a completely new batch had arrived.  Wait... are you having trouble with the 'dismay' part? I do understand-- I did, too. The problem was that I was full. How on earth was I to do these new desserts justice? They all but preened flirtatiously under my admiring gaze. What to do, what to do?

I used my hubby's camera to film a little movie. Then I tucked the camera and its precious cargo under my arm and chose four more desserts, of which I enjoyed all but one. Then I danced for the next forty-five minutes! You can perhaps understand why.


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