Jack - Citrus Cheesecake
It’s about 7:15pm on a Sunday; Jack (he/him) lines up his mixing bowls and ingredients to cover half the counter, the rest of the space is filled in with his roommate Shalfi’s (he/him) cutting board and growing mise en place for the night’s dinner on the left, and small piles of groceries I brought for the weekend take up any remaining real estate. This is a kitchen I’ve spent many hours in, first when we were roommates here a few years ago, and now as a frequent weekend and sometimes weekday guest. We settle in for a long night of baking – Jack’s picked a citrus cheesecake, a decidedly slow dessert to make. I’m surprised by the recipe choice, since I already know that the oven in this kitchen only sort of works: it’s a 1960s standard that has received no repairs or maintenance in at least the last few decades. Even if the oven can manage to evenly bake this cheesecake, I can already tell I won’t be able to stay awake until it’s been cooled and decorated.
Jack gets to work, first pre-baking the crust before mixing the filling. Since he was in middle school, he’s used baking as an outlet to show care for others in his life and as a way to access desserts that weren’t available at home. From preparing a special treat for holiday dinners to impressing a new date with a bake that meets all of their dietary restrictions, Jack is willing to follow a recipe to the T, even when the steps are tedious. Killua, Jack’s cat, makes a swipe for the counter and is subsequently banished from the kitchen. A “Home Alone” system of barricades at the doors keeps him out for a while.
We take a quick journey outside for the lemons and oranges needed later on in the bake. It’s already dark out, so avoiding the thorns on the lemon tree isn’t really viable: a small tax to pay for fresh citrus. Back inside the kitchen, activity swirls. It’s dinner time, and Shalfi’s cook is at full boil: multiple pots and pans on the stovetop vie for attention. Jack discovers that he’s either lent out or never had a hand mixer in the first place, and opts to mix with his own hands.
This is one thing that makes baking at home different from at work, where Jack prepares breads and pastries for a national chain bakery. There, everything is prescribed and broken down to the letter of which tasks are to be completed and in what order, with corporate edict seeming to slowly push the in-house bakers out of the production line as much as possible.
The cheesecake goes into the oven, and the part I'm most worried about is up next: pouring the water bath. He has no issues with this and it goes perfectly; we wait. And then the timer goes off: the water bath has evaporated entirely, and the cake is nowhere near done. Step and repeat for what seems like forever, and finally just around midnight the cheesecake comes out of the oven. It still needs to cool before the citrus glaze can be added, so I fall asleep on the couch, and we set alarms to finish the recipe in the morning before our next appointments.
In the soft light of a new day, freshly peeled and zested citrus swirls together with sugar and egg yolk on the stove to form something right between a curd and a glaze. For some reason, the recipe yields about three times as much as could possibly sit on top of the finished cheesecake, something we realize as it pools on the countertop. Killua the cat, no longer constrained to the living room, watches with intrigue as the finishing raspberries are placed on top for a pop of color and a sour flavor contrast. Reunited in the kitchen, Jack, Shalfi, and I start our Monday morning off with a slice of citrus cheesecake. Somehow, despite the bake time taking twice as long as called for, it’s perfect, not even burnt at the edges. Everything in the batter was mixed evenly through the unorthodox hand mixer, the citrus curd topping is tart and vibrant, and the raspberries provide some freshness to what can easily be a very dense treat. It may not be the breakfast of champions, but it’s a perfect breakfast to share with my little family before we start our weeks.
