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In the early 90’s my family spent a year in Timisoara,Romania, while my dad was taught in the local university. My Mema decided that it was necessary to come to visit us, and when she arrived, she also felt it necessary to make us a cheesecake (a delicacy we had apparently been deprived of).
Upon her trip to the market to pick up ingredients, my Mema discovered that there is, in fact, no Romanian equivalent to cream cheese (a fairly crucial ingredient to cheesecake). Being the determined woman that she is, my grandmother was not discouraged. Instead,in the spirit of diplomacy, she asked the man at the cheese stand to point out his favorite kind of cheese. With great satisfaction, Mema triumphantly returned home and made her cheesecake. One bite, and we all knew something was VERY wrong. Upon discovering that the selected cheese was, in fact, of the garlic goat cheese variety, Mema, again unfazed, decided to cover the cheesecake in chocolate (more recently I have decided this was comparable to putting on perfume over body odor from not bathing in two weeks).I feel like this goes without saying, but this was ONE OF THE MOST FOUL things I have ever ingested. Declaring the failed dessert inedible, my mother, sister, brother, and I had to return home to the states while my father finished up a few things in Romania.
When my father made it home, my mother off-handedly asked, “So what did you ever do with that cheesecake?” To which my father, quite pleased with himself, replied, “I dropped it off at the orphanage!”
I believe that this story illustrates two things about my family quite well. 1.) My grandmother is crazy. 2.)My father was, and continues to be, the most well-intentioned yet oblivious man that ever thought to do a good deed.
Thanks! Evangeline Mee