Valentine Pits
Struggling from another night of sipping too much Ouzo, Peter Bakas hated working on Valentine's Day. Didn't make sense. His Greek bakery always had a long line of love-starved customers waiting to get into his shop at 6 am. Braving the bitter February wind slicing through the intersection of Ditmars and Steinway in Queens, was worth it. His pastries were to die for. Especially his Cherry New York-style cheesecake. It'd sell out by 7 am.
But today, the jangle of the Parthenon bronze bell above the doorway announcing the arrival of his first customer made Peter's blood curdle.
"Ahhh Peter, it is you. Yaso, young brother, Yaso!" taunted his big brother, Atlas, his obnoxious entourage of handlers trailing behind him. Atlas Bakas was in Manhattan to host a taping of "The Great American Baking Show." While in town, Atlas just had to visit Peter in his tiny bakery.
"So many customers, Peter, so early in the morning. You have done well. Not like Father expected. He never believed you had the talent to master the family cheesecake recipe.
"I know Atlas. He told me many times. You were the one with the talent."
"Yes, it was my fate, I'm afraid. I've become a world-famous baker. And you, my brother, well you make sad little sweets for New York peons who have never experienced anything better than an over-glazed, day-old Dunkin' Donut. But let us not talk of such things. Give me your best, Peter! Your Cherry New-York Style Cheesecake. One whole cake for my friends and I, right this minute. I insist."
"Of course, Atlas. It shall be done. Smothered with my special cherry topping."
"Wait. You have cooked something special?" Atlas asked, his bulging belly and fat cheeks jiggling uncontrollably as he turned to his staff to make sure they were laughing and ridiculing Peter along with him.
But Peter had made something special. He knew Atlas would visit him this Valentine's. Peter had decided today would be the last time Atlas would mock him in his bakery, in front of his staff, with all of his loyal customers watching through the window.
"Wait. This is remarkable brother! The decadent cheesecake, the superior crust, the irresistible cherry topping, all as advertised. I did not expect this."
Coughing and short of breath, presumably because of scoffing down Peter's cheesecake so quickly, Atlas issued a command.
"Staff, buy one whole cheesecake for all the poor souls still waiting outside. And retrieve the precise recipe and purchase every single jar of my brother's homemade cherry topping to bring with us. We will feature my brother's special dessert on "The Great American Baking Show." We will make Peter's dessert a New York phenomenon!"
And so it was. Every shivering customer in line that Valentine's Day went home with a full-size, New York-style cheesecake and a jar of Peter's cherry topping for their families. After watching Atlas promote it on his show, Peter had to hire a hundred new cooks to keep up with the demand for his New York-style cheesecake. He also sold every single jar of that special cherry topping he had painstakingly crafted for his brother's visit.
New Yorkers couldn't get enough of his New York-style cheesecake, especially with heaping helpings of his cherry topping. It was killer. The more, the better.
Yet after a few days, demand fell off. Atlas and his handlers were the first to perish. Peter discovered many of his best customers and their family members were now deceased. Local news outlets announced that thousands of New Yorkers had died from unexplainable causes.
Peter sat down for a final piece of cheesecake, the last of his cherry topping oozing off the side of his plate. He had only meant to murder Atlas on Valentine's Day, not half the population of Manhattan. How was he to know everyone would fall in love with the zingy taste of his freshly crushed cherry pits producing a tad too much hydrogen cyanide?
The Parthenon bronze bell above his bakery doorway rang for the last time. It was the producer of "The Great American Baking Show." Much too late, of course.
