The Nasty Business of a Bodyguard by Elijah Douresseau

Author:Elijah Douresseau [Douresseau , Elijah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-15T22:00:00+00:00

Historically Speaking…

Alvin did not enjoy cheesecake for a long time. It was an acquired taste he lost and reacquired after a traumatic encounter.

He had just warmed up to it, as a child. His preschool had gotten a generous inventory of it out of nowhere. So every other day for snack time, cheesecake.

Plain cheesecake.

The young boy could not stand the texture. At his several years of life, he understood cheese to be a lovely, savory thing he did not already enjoy eating cold. Let alone, as a cold snack all by itself.

Alvin could not stand when his cousin would nearly put up a fit for a slice of American cheese after church, if the service would go on longer than usual. Of course, his aunt had two slices waiting in a cooler knapsack. Every Sunday, without fail. One for after church, and who knew when the other slice was devoured, strip by uneven strip.

As far as Alvin was concerned, American or swiss cheese, the two most present cheeses in the boy’s life – up to that point – was best as a melted square on a slice of white toast. Wheat toast was only a terrible substitute at four and five years of age. It lacked the hint of butter that white bread had to it. Wheat also was not as good with eggs – which smelled good as they cooked, but had an elusive mouthfeel to the little boy. He still mostly enjoyed consuming them.

Cheese was supposed to be salty and be in minimal form. Sliced or nothing. Imagine Alvin’s confusion at the first sighting of cheesecake. The teachers were not the types to tolerate or reward too much curiosity. You got one question – “What is it?” – and you had better have kept the reluctance out of your voice. That was it. Whatever answer you received, you were expected to eat the manifestation of it afterwards. Eat it all.

Sweet cheese – softer than the sliced stuff, much colder than refrigerated cheese. And then, in nightmarish fashion, it took the form of cake. But it had the consistency of ice cream.

It was not elusive in the same way eggs were for Alvin. Eggs came in different forms and the different shapes made the shelled protein taste different. He hated when eggs had the yolk in the middle, only to bleed liquid, meat-tasting fluid onto the rest of his breakfast. But when it had a golden crust, or when it was scrambled into a fluffy bush of yellow and white, with black speckles, eggs were perfection with toast and grits and sausage.

Young Alvin could explore the depths of the different textures of eggs forever. He never wanted to eat them alone. It had to have a crunchy companion in the form of bread, but there were so many subtle recipes for what every adult could cook, as far as he could tell. So when the time came, he took the very first thing he was put on assignment to learn to cook – eggs – very seriously.

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