Mouthwatering Cakes, Please Stop Following Me Around the Internet
Goldbelly.com, I’m begging you. Please. Stop. You’re killing me.
Dear Goldbelly,
You’ve got to know I’ve gained nineteen pounds during COVID. You’ve got to know I’m stuck at home, self-isolating as I wait for that last Moderna shot to make me fully vaccinated. You’ve got to know I’m missing my hometown of Los Angeles so much, and that’s why you keep showing me ads with those adorable little Cakewiches from Cake Monkey on Beverly Boulevard, and the irresistible Burnt Ends BBQ kit from Ugly Drum.
I respectfully request you quit toying with my deep-seated food cravings or else I’ll need to ask my nutritionist to send a cease and desist letter.
Sincerely,
Me
Over the past few months, I’ve met a new definition of the Devil, as in the Devil made me do it. Or eat it in my case.
Before last Christmas, I’d never heard of Goldbelly.com, the website that connects foodies with a curated list of celebrity chefs, bakeries, restaurants, and delis, all of which will supply them with their drug of choice, shipped to their doors from across the U.S.
Then I participated in an online Secret Santa exchange for which my gift giver sent me a package with no markings other than a return address in Manhattan. I’d vowed, before participating in the exchange, that I wouldn’t open my gift until Christmas, but the box was labeled with a giant red sticker that read PERISHABLE.
Curious about what was inside, and concerned the contents might spoil before the designated day, still more than a week away, I did a Google search on the return address. It turned out to belong to Ladurée, a garden café in Soho in New York, which is a U.S. satellite for a famous macaron shop in Paris, France.
Okay, so I’m one of the freakish few who doesn’t like macarons (it’s the meringue, I’m not enthusiastic about whipped and baked egg whites), but I rationalized opening the package early, based on the PERISHABLE sticker alone. I was pleasantly surprised to discover my gift included sugared almonds and Roi Soleil tea sachets, both in small, exquisite boxes that were keepsakes in themselves.
