The Incident of The Missionaries and The Cheesecake

We have this really cool missionary serving in our ward right now. He comes from a troubled family background and has an amazing attitude despite this. He and his last companion will have baptized three people this month, which is unprecedented in this area of the country. He was just asked to train a new missionary even though he himself has only been "out" for four months!

So, since I like them so much I invited them to dinner this Wednesday. I always ask them what they want instead of stressing out about it (because I stress out about things like that). He told me he didn't care so much about what for dinner but requested a cheesecake for dessert. Done, I told him, and come hungry.

I researched cheesecake recipes, for a really long time.

I bought the fattening ingredients Monday night despite sub zero temperatures (with the wind chill), a HUGE snow storm, and exhaustion from a long night with the baby. I only slid through one stop light on the way home.

I took out the cheese and the eggs to bring them up to room temperature in plenty of time.

I started making the cheesecake Tuesday morning to give me plenty of time to go slow, to cook it thoroughly, and to chill it appropriately. Mixing the ingredients took about two hours--going slow, making sure to scrape down the bowl and my beaters after each ingredient addition.

When I poured the batter into my spring form pan I wondered how I could wait until the next night to eat it up while noting the amazing smooth consistency. It was perfect, I knew, and I had done a really good job.

I slid the sheet pan, with the spring form pan on top, into the 500 degree oven very carefully. I watched as the top baked into a beautiful golden brown. I turned it halfway through the baking time and began checking the temperature at the end of 100 minutes. It wasn't coming up to temperature and after 5 or so checks I began to worry (my oven does not come up to temperature I've discovered and an oven thermometer has helped greatly). The rack, positioned in the middle of the oven, wasn't gliding out smoothly during each check and so instead of pulling it out I began just sliding the sheet pan out slightly.

While conducting what would be the final check the sheet pan began to teeter. I only had one gloved hand and it was occupied. I watched my cheesecake topple over the side of the rack and spill out on the oven door.

There was no screaming since my children were asleep in their afternoon naps. So I laid on the cold tile kitchen floor with the oven still standing open and cried. And cried and cried and cried. I cried all afternoon. And into the evening.

When L came home I asked him to take Hip to the store to replace the ingredients. I could make another the next day, though that would mean I would be cooking all day long.

While L and Hip were gone there was a knock on the front door. It was the missionaries and there I was in my pregnancy sweatpants, puffed up eyes, and greasy hair holding a fussy baby.

"Uh, are you here to eat?" I asked.

It was discovered there was a miscommunication. They had down Tuesday as meal night. I told them they had to stay because it was probably L's mistake (turns out it was mine! He told me later he thought it was Tuesday and since I am "never" wrong he didn't think to argue with me).

The missionaries were uncomfortable because I was home alone, and Poquito apparently does not count as a suitable chaperon for the missionaries. They left in a hurry. And I felt terrible.

I called L in a frantic and he called them and they waited across the street until he got home and I fed them the enchilada casserole I had made. Unfortunately this is what I fed them the last time they came for dinner. I showed them the pile of cheesecake and explained the disaster. But, since I had more ingredients for a new one and since I still had the ingredients for the dinner I was going to prepare, we agreed they would come back Friday and have the "real" meal. I have another cheesecake in the oven right now. Pray I don't screw this one up, or else I'm gonna give up, permanently.

P.S. We ate the ruined one, and shared with our neighbors (and forced the missionaries to take some) and it was DELICIOUS, like restaurant quality--no kidding.