I used to bake about 2 cheesecakes a month. Just for fun. I got quite good at it.

One time, I brought a cheesecake to the same potluck my friend Jef brought some garlic bread to. We sat next to each other, he noshing on a piece of garlic bread, I noshing on a piece of cheesecake. We're both very fond of garlic.

As I was coveting his garlic bread, it hit me -- an idea so terrible it must be lived out. Garlic cheesecake.

It was surprisingly easy to make. Follow normal cheesecake recipe, except add minced garlic to the mixture before pouring it into the pan.

Jef wanted to taste it, too, so I brought it to the next place I'd see him, a big New Year's party with all of our friends. But before I could share the travesty with everyone, my friend Holly called and asked for a ride. I tucked the still-covered cheesecake into a hidden corner, and left to pick up Holly. Except she was actually already at a seperate really interesting party, so we stayed there an hour or so before making it back to the original party.

When I got back, there were lots of plates of cheesecake strewn around with only one bite taken out of them. And everyone at the party wanted to kill me. It seems a whole herd of stoned people had arrived at the party, unwrapped the cheesecake, eaten slices, and wandered about the party telling everyone it was the best thing they'd ever tasted.

The only sober people at the party who didn't want to do grievous bodily harm upon me were the two pranksters among my friends... who were bowing and saying, "we're not worthy"

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