The Sweetest Thing

Once upon a time, there was a cinnamon roll.  So large that its inch-thick icing oozed off every edge of the dinner plate it sat on, so irresistible it caused grown men to get googly eyed and grab their chests as the imaginary artery blockage began from just one glimpse of this temptress of a breakfast pastry.  As it wove its way through the crowd of drooling patrons, it plopped a seat right in front of a lucky blonde girl with pigtails long enough to propel a helicopter.  And that girl…was me at age 7.

I was warned not to eat too much.  Taunted by tales of sugar comas, the unbearable indigestion that would follow consuming the entirety of this decadent feast.  But I simply did not hear these omens over the “Hallelujah” chorus that was ringing in my ears with every bite I took.  That is, until disaster struck and I was too full to be moved from the booth.  The stomach pains set in and no amount of Tums or ginger ale could cure me.  Laying in bed the rest of that afternoon, you’d think I’d be full of remorse and would want to take back each and every one of those bites.  Rather, it was the day that I realized how chronic a sweet tooth I had, for I couldn’t help but ponder the next day that that cinnamon roll and I would meet again in a union so sweet it would give the Easter Bunny a cavity.

“Dessert Junkie” is understating it.  When you feel the need to indulge in a sweet treat after every lunch, when you compulsively lick the melted butter and brown sugar out of the bowl as you make cookies until there’s hardly enough left to continue making the batter, when you are unable to carry on conversations if a dessert is placed in front of you, when you polish off a box of popsicles sitting on your porch…you’ve got yourself a helluva problem.  It’s a marvel that I do not weigh 400 pounds and am not competing on Biggest Loser.  I’m lucky this running thing is working out so well (see Run Forrest Run).

After all this, I’m sure it’s no shock that my new favorite place in San Diego is Extraordinary Desserts…or as I like to call it, Heaven.  Never, in my entire life, have I seen a more decadent, extravagant, stunning array of indulgence.  I literally did not know what to do with myself upon arrival.  I was ready to clear out my bank account and take all those goodies home with me to have myself a party.  But no.  I was in the presence of company and I had to reel in my Id instincts.  I may has well have been deciding on my future husband, because that is how paramount this decision felt.  I stood there, for a good 15-20, hemming and hawing over the Zebra Brownies, the Shangri-La Cake, the Nectarine Crostada…when the Lemon Berry Pavlova called my name.  And then there was no turning back.  I relished each and every bite…and it was a true match made in heaven.

Will I be returning to Extraordinary Desserts?  Heck to the yes.  On a regular basis?  DUH.  Will they know me by name? No doubt about it.  If I were you, I’d invest in some stock, pronto.