The other day while in a chat room for Navy people, I had a conversation with my neighbor that ended up with me wanting a cheesecake. A Bailey’s chocolate chip cheesecake.

I have tried for 3 days to get this cheesecake made. The first day my head was hurting so I lay down instead of cooking. Wednesday I was rarin’ to go but I couldn’t find the bottom of the springform pan I needed. Yesterday though, I stopped on my way home from work and bought a springform pan and came home and Anja and I made the most delicious, gigantic, yummy, gorgeous cheesecake.

There was too much batter than what would fit in the pan (it’s huge!) so there was probably a cup of batter left, and of course Anja was helping specifically so she could lick out the bowl when it was done. She had a few spoonfuls before I could get to the bowl, and oh my god, I hope I didn’t get my kid drunk.

Excitedly, I put the cheesecake into the oven and set the timer for 1 hour, 30 minutes with a pan of water in the bottom rack as recommended. After an hour, I peeked in and it was spectacular! It was rising and starting to brown beautifully. About 10 minutes later, I peeked again, and even prettier! Puffy galore! And then 10 minutes later, which was 10 minutes before it was done, I clapped in excitement as I gathered B and the kids around the oven to take one last peek. I opened the oven, and the scene that met me next was reminiscent of my childhood bedroom.

My cheesecake exploded.

There was cheesecake all over the oven. It was on the ceiling of the oven, on the floor, on the shelves, in the water bath. It. Was. Everywhere.

So close, and yet so far, and yet so not worth throwing away. So what if it was a little bit not quite done, I just let it cool off and stuck it in the fridge where I’ve been nibbling at it throughout the day. At least it tastes good. Even if it doesn’t look so good.