“The most important economy, the only reasonable one, is to make life pleasant for all, because the man who is satisfied with his life produces infinitely more than the man who curses his surroundings.”
― Pyotr Kropotkin, The Conquest of Bread

Now you know where I’m loosely pulling the title from—a quote that marginally relates to the topic at hand from a book that, presumably, neither of us have read, but perhaps you at least have the excuse of not having a copy on your bookshelf collecting dust from two springs ago.

The previous passage has also collected a fine layer of digi-mites, rotting in my Docs as I was tinkering around with the idea of writing for the love of food, partially in inspiration of—and protest against—an increasingly emaciated luminary class.

Whispers of jokes from last year about a thick Chicago dog and even thicker accents during Sunday Mass in the wake of the slain Pope* and his replacement being one of Chi-town’s finest something-or-others, rattle in my head as I reflect on the skeleton frame of what became this column. Most of it was ambitious at best, illegible scrawling at realistic, but no first draft is Ibsen.

I was inspired to go back in the archives while imbibing in a tiramisu at the suggestion of a stranger at Caffe Aroma.

I was seated beside an older, stoic man with a burly beard and respectable ponytail, which is hard to come by. Growing up on the cusp of the Stranger Danger movement, I am slow to make random conversation, so we sat in silence, him typing away on a tablet, and me trying and failing to write jokes.

Suddenly, a plate of hedonistic desire appeared in front of him, his composure changing from almost stern to pleased as punch.

I commented, “That looks awesome.” He looked over for a moment, smiled wide with wine-stained teeth when—and this is absolutely true, Dear Reader—I had only seen him take a scant sip of water within the last hour we had sat beside each other.

Still grinning vermillion, Caffe Jesus replied, “if it’s good,I’ll let you know.”

Immediate confirmation of quality spread across his face upon first bite, but I was already ordering a slice before the fork hit his lips. Budget constraints and a Guinness at Beerkeep I already promised myself prevented me from indulging on the Caffe Red.

The tiramisu was homemade by one of the baristas, served with a healthy dollop of whipped cream when requested. The lady fingers were properly soaked with espresso, and maybe I imagined  it whilst thinking about later plans,  it seemed to have an element of rum that perfectly complemented the sweetness of the mascarpone. The dusting of cocoa added a welcome bitterness, and the portion was hefty.

Caffe Jesus said to me mid-bite, “What’s good about this is you only need one slice.” I concurred. This dessert had everything you could ever ask for, and then some.

I put my dishes away and sat in Bidwell Park for a while, reflecting on the tidbits of humanity that can be carved out of an otherwise sterile existence.

I thought about how many missed interactions can occur when we abstain from any and all excuses to be indulgent. One of my professors said today, “We have a pleasure deficit in society,” and to add on to that, it feels like we are rewarded socially for masochism. There are think-pieces lambasting the Sweet Treat, I am sure of it, but I wouldn’t have had the same experience if I asked the barista about the tiramisu’s macros.

It is a goal for most everyone to find ways to improve themselves and their surroundings, and for some, that looks like having a disciplined mindset around food. I don’t subscribe to that. I know what I look like, and I know how to move my body when the ish-nay hits the fan. If it came down to it, I could carry my lover out of a burning building, and that’s good enough for me.

I went back to the patio area, and saw Him enjoying the sun with some shades on. I sat beside him, and false-started a conversation by turning around right as he took a phone call. Social awkwardness be damned, I introduced myself, and he told me his name was Marty. I thanked him for the recommendation, and he took his sunglasses and spoketh thus:

“You know, after we ordered the tiramisu, people started ordering it like crazy. We sold out the entire pan. We had a good dessert, and now the barista looks good in front of her boss. All because,”—he chuckled a bit here— “ All because I had an edible earlier and decided tiramisu sounded good.”

Tiramessiah on the Most High.

*A joke personally made and views my own, not a reflection of The Record.