By Justin Blessinger
Oh, you naughty thing. Your golden skin, firm yet yielding to the touch. Your aroma, intoxicating; I’m awoken from my mid-morning near-slumber by the thought of you, and I pursue. I long to . . . I long to . . . I long to smother you in cream cheese and wash you down with hot coffee.
What? Stop looking at me like that. Hypocrite. As if you haven’t, well, even looked. Heck, you’ve given in! Don’t give me your piety. Carbs may be the devil, but he’s one damned tasty fellow.
I came to DSU in 2003. There was no coffee shop at that time, let alone that sultry den of brews we now enjoy, their wares on shameless display for any passer-by to ogle. You could get a pre-wrapped bagel in 2003 from Aramark. It came prewrapped with your choice of bacon, sausage, or ham. And a few years later, some kind soul added a coffee kiosk, of uncertain hours, coffee that was merely adequate, and selected shortening-infused bakery goods.
Oh, those were dark years. I wandered, lonely and hungry for bagel utopia. Travelers from far off lands would speak of exotic, forbidden delights. One trembled just to shape the words on our too-domestic tongues, numb and dully sated by chislic, fried walleye, and kuchen. Yes, kuchen. It’s South Dakota’s state dessert, so don’t give me that blank, bovine stare. It’s rendered us all thick-minded and wide-butted! You think I’m kidding? I was skinny in 2003. I could render myself invisible at a crowded CIA convention just by turning sideways. But after ten years of Dakota cuisine, my wife has to butter the doorway and throw a Twinkie outside to get me to leave for work!
And we’re all out of Twinkies now. And just in time, too, because Einstein’s is in the building. Check her out at your peril. But that blond number? The one with Asiago . . . a little spicy, but that’s the jalapeno spread talking. Keep your eyes off her. She’s mine.
Featured photo taken by Dan Crisler