Last night, Anita and I were in one of those moods – hovering halfway between wanting to have crazy adventures and just curling up in bed. We opted for leaving the house but didn’t want to do anything too strenuous – her being sick and me feeling a bit woozy from my myotherapy appointment (for those who asked – myotherapy is a treatment that concentrates on the muscles and soft tissues, so my therapist does sport massage but also gives me stretches and exercises and looks at the causes and prevention of problems).
So we drove around a while, fell in love with a boy we saw on a tram and followed it but lost it again. We had options, squillions of options but decided to head to our fave cafe in St Kilda.
We’ve been going to Monroes for years. When everything else in St Kilda gets glossy and yuppied up, Monroes has stayed the same. So we thought. Last night they were in mid-renovation. Why, people, why? They have plenty of customers and things are fine just as they are. Do we really need another “hip” eatery on Fitzroy St filled with hideous yuppy try hards?
The guy on the cash register told us we could still go there even if it wasn’t daggy, but the question is – will we want to?
I used to love St Kilda. I lived there for years and never wanted to move. Now I want to leave after 15 minutes. It’s an awful, awful place. Every thing I loved has been torn down or destroyed.
Anyway, I digress. I wanted to talk about the tiramisu we had. I’ve not eaten tiramisu for … well at least 18 months. I love tiramisu, and to make it worse, I have a scene in my novel where one of the characters is tempted by tiramisu. I’ve had to rewrite that scene a hundred times and, every time, I try to convince myself to just do a little research. If I could smell the tiramisu and see it and taste it, I could write so much better. But I’ve resisted.
Last night we decided to go for it. The trouble is, we discovered, we didn’t really want tiramisu. Well not just any old tiramisu. We wanted the tiramisu from the cafe next door to the shop where Anita used to work. That cafe closed down about 5 years ago. That tiramisu no longer exists.
Sure last night’s tiramisu was good – the creamy part especially, and it was fresh, freshness counts for a lot – but it wasn’t great. It lacked something – the melange of cake and espresso and mascapone and liqueur just didn’t tie together exactly right. Tiramisu is a balancing act, the whole has to be greater than its parts.
I should just accept that the only true perfection now lives in my memory. I could go on a quest, sampling tiramisu all over the city, but that would only lead to a massive weight gain and disappointment. I’d come away feeling empty and let down and cheap. If I can’t have the best, I don’t want it. Maybe I’ll never eat tiramisu again.
PS. I forgot to mention this about my trip to St Kilda: you know your skirt is short and slutty when the street hookers all have more coverage than you do!