Manhattan to Brooklyn via the O Line

My journey to the best damn oreo cheesecake ever.

When I moved to Manhattan years ago, I took my first trip to Brooklyn for a friend’s birthday. Two hours later I was still stuck on the R-train underground. By the time I resurfaced the R had run on the D line and I was nowhere near where I was supposed to be. The next time I was dragged to Brooklyn the trains were surprisingly fine, I arrived on time and where I was supposed to be. Maybe Brooklyn wasn’t so bad? Little did I know the trains would stop running at 10pm and I would be trapped in the middle of Sunset Park (this was before Park Slopers had infiltrated the area and before Uber existed) with a cab driver demanding $100 to get back to the UES. I was horrified — in this terrible borough the trains actually *stopped* running. Was this New York or New Haven?!

For the first five years I lived in NYC I hated Brooklyn based on those two experiences, completely legitimate, I thought. I moved to Queens — QUEENS — before the thought crossed my mind to ever go back to Brooklyn. In those five years I missed birthdays, family events, even a wedding. I would rather travel to my parents house in their small, conservative, preppy town in CT — as a brown lesbian — than go to Brooklyn.

Five years into living in NYC, I started a new job down by the WTC and my new coworkers were amazing. They were smart, they were funny, we all clicked. But they lived in Brooklyn. I judged them. HOW could such logical, intelligent people live in such a terrible borough that was impossible to get into or out of?!

Fast forward to one of their weddings — there was no way out, I had to go. I was *IN* the wedding. So fine, sure, I’ll GO to Brooklyn this ONE time. They were providing cab rides for all of us in the wedding so there was no way to be stuck at the end of the night. When the wedding ended, we went out in Prospect Heights. As per the end of every wedding we were all drunk and hungry. We stumbled into a bakery that happened to be open and not knowing what was about to happen, I innocently ordered Oreo cheesecake.

Rewind 25 years. I’m first generation, with Indian parents who regulated anything and everything they could. SUGAR was the number one enemy. No Capri-Sun’s for me, no Ho-Ho’s or Pixie Sticks. We didn’t have dessert regularly. None of that bothered me, because all I wanted was Oreos. Why? I have no idea but they were my emotional oasis. When I went to my friends houses my parents would send me with notes telling their parents I had allergies and I shouldn’t eat. In our family you were only rewarded for doing well in school or if you ended up in the hospital. Every time these things happened we could choose one dessert (it had to be food, we ARE Indian…) for one night. My brothers reward: Apple pie. My sisters: Brownies. My reward was always Oreos.

#bliss

I prayed to break my arm; to need a tonsillectomy; for my Achilles’ tendon to rupture. I wanted to make High Honors (a hospital visit was more likely).You got an A in AP Biology? OREOS! You got your appendix out? OREOS! You got into an Ivy League university? DOUBLE STUFFED OREOS.

So, back to terrible Brooklyn in 2005. To my friends wedding. Back to the Oreo cheesecake that I knew would be disappointing (was Brooklyn ever not disappointing?). I sat down and was deeply saddened by how small it was — but I’m an optimist, I told myself ‘size doesn’t matter’. I took a bite and almost passed out. It was creamy. The Oreo crust was perfectly crunchy. There were big pieces of Oreos in the cheesecake itself. It was the best cheesecake if ever had. Hands down. No comparison. My tastebuds exploded, rejoiced, cried out for more. My heart expanded.

I thought of all the B+’s, the sprained but not broken ankles, the college acceptance letters that weren’t from Ivy League schools — all those times I just missed my chance at my beloved dessert. This Oreo cheesecake in Brooklyn, made up for all those narrowly missed opportunities.

I’ve been a Brooklyn resident for 4.5 years.

#oreo #cheesecake #nolita #bayridge #littlecupcakebakeshop

A photo posted by Little Cupcake Bakeshop (@littlecupcakebakeshop) on May 19, 2013 at 7:02am PDT

The only place I go for Oreo Cheesecake

The Little Cupcake Bakeshop
598 Vanderbilt Ave

Sunitha Menon moved from NYC to LA and misses her best buddy, who penned this homage to Woodstock.