It all started when I read the post in which Elise wrote about her friend’s cheesecake, purportedly the perfect cheesecake. This claim, in and of itself, did not get my attention. Lots of people claim to have the best cheesecake in their repertoire, but usually their recipes are loaded with things that I don’t consider appropriate for cheesecake. Zests and spices have no place in the realm of classic. Don’t even bother to mention pumpkin, liquors, and chocolate. All those things are good, no doubt, but they do not belong anywhere close to a classic cheesecake. I like my cake bare bones—just cream cheese, sugar, eggs, and vanilla. I’m a cheesecake purist.

But this cheesecake of Elise’s young friend, Audrey, was remarkably similar to mine. It was the same ingredients mostly, just in different proportions and with some interesting techniques, namely, double-wrapping the pan in foil and baking the whole cake directly in a large pan of boiling water. Clearly, I had to give it a go.

So I did. And I liked it. I like it a lot. I liked that the crust was just on the bottom of the pan, not running up the side like the crust in my recipe. With less crust, more of the pan was available for the creamy cake. This was a very good improvement indeed.

I liked that the cake had heft. Just holding the pan in my hands, I could tell it was a cake to be reckoned with.

And the cake itself was creamy and very dense.

I liked—no, loved—the tang of sour, thanks to the addition of sour cream to the batter.

The cake wasn’t as sweet as mine. I liked that, too.

But there were things I didn’t like. I didn’t like that the crust was so soft and dry, and there was still too much of it. I was on the fence about the almost straight-up sour cream topping—could there be such a thing as too much sour cream? And I wondered if the cake might be missing some lightness due to the fact that the egg whites weren’t separately whipped and then folded in.

Clearly, I was left with no other option. I had to make another cheesecake.

(Of course, this whole question of which cheesecake takes first place is really just an exercise in hair-splitting. When it comes down to it, you can’t go wrong when you take a set of beaters to cream cheese, sour cream, and sugar. But I’m wanted to get it as right as Right could possibly be.)

The second time around I used my recipe, but with some changes. I cut back on the amount of crust, patting it just on the bottom of the pan, and I adding a half cup each of sour cream and whipping cream to the batter. I used my recipe for the topping, too.

The result? I’m not sure! Last night, after doing some solo analyzing during the afternoon, I begged and pleaded with Mr. Handsome till he agreed to do a taste test with me. (The trials I put that man through!) I put a fraction of a tiny little sliver from each cake on two plates, Audrey’s cake on one side, my played-with classic cheesecake on the other. We nibbled. We pondered. We contemplated. And I peppered him with questions, milking him for all the feedback he was worth.

What do you think of the cake, the inside part? Which one is creamier? Which flavor do you prefer?

And, What about the crust? Do you like the softer one, or the crunchier one? I think I might actually like the softer one after all!

And, How about the topping? You like the lighter one? Really?

He gamely answered my questions, doing his best to help meet my deep-seated need to find cheesecake perfection. Once he sighed heavily, contemplating the cost and calories loading up the fridge, and then said, “Well, pack up a big slice and I’ll take it with me to work tomorrow to share with everyone.” I poked him in the ribs and hissed, “You secretly like it that your wife is going to figure out the best cheesecake!” and he grinned sheepishly.

In the end, we drew completely different conclusions. He thought Audrey’s cheesecake was lighter and I thought Audrey’s cheesecake was denser. Clearly, he was confused, so in the spirit of rigged taste testing, I scrapped my husband’s opinions and went with my own. Here’s what I think: Audrey’s cheesecake really is perfect.

There is still too much crust and the recipe makes too much sour cream topping (put the extra in the Sunday waffles), but. But.

The baking method, poaching the cake, is brilliant. It gets the cake as moist as moist can be. I think it’s a mistake to whip the egg whites the way I’ve been doing all along. It adds too much air and makes the cake almost crumbly. I like that she uses less sugar and adds sour cream—this is not a confection you are indulging in, it’s a cheesecake all the way, baby.

Most of you probably think that I’ve lost all of my senses, obsessing over cheesecake like so, but I beg to disagree. If I was truly crazy, I would make a cheesecake yet again—Audrey’s recipe but with a few tweaks (mostly the crust and topping issues)—so that I could give you The Final Perfect Cheesecake.

But I’m not that crazy. What I’m going to do is give you The Perfect Classic Cheesecake recipe as is, with a few of my changes written in. And while I’ve never made the recipe exactly how I’m writing it out, I’m certain it will be absolutely fine. I ought to know, after all this excruciating scrutinizing.

Oh yes, just one more thing.

The raspberry sauce is not to be missed. At first, when my mom heard I was making the sauce, she pooh-poohed me most vigorously.

Cheesecakes don’t need sauces, she lectured. All that fruit is just peripheral. It detracts.

Later, after I sent some cake along when we met to fetch back the little kids, she actually got to eat some. When she called me next time, she was singing a completely different tune.

The Perfect Classic Cheesecake
Adapted from Elise’s friend Audrey’s recipe over at Simply Recipes

This cake improves with age. Make it a day (or even two) ahead of time.

Prepare the pan:
Set your 10-inch springform pan on a large square of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Gently pull the piece up around the outside of the pan. Repeat with a second square of foil. Crimp (scrunch, press, and fold, whatever works) together the two pieces of foil. Be gentle—any holes will prove disastrous.

For the crust:
1 3/4 cups graham cracker crumbs
2 tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons butter, melted

Stir the crumbs and sugar together. Using a fork, mix in the melted butter. Poor the crumbs into the baking pan and spread them around evenly. Using your fingers, press the crumbs down firmly. Bake the crust at 350 degrees for 10 minutes.

For the cake:
2 pounds cream cheese
1 1/3 cups sugar
pinch of salt
4 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
2/3 cup sour cream
2/3 cup heavy whipping cream

Cream together the cream cheese, sugar, and salt. Add the eggs one by one, beating after each addition. Beat in the vanilla and sour cream. Beat in the whipping cream. Pour the batter on to the baked crust.

Set the cake on another pan, one that has sides, and fill the outside pan with boiling water. You want the water to be about ½-inch high. Bake the cake at 325 degrees for 1 ½ hours. When done, the cake should still be a little wobbly in the middle.

Prop open the oven door just an inch (I wedge it open with the handle of a wooden spoon) and allow it to cool for another hour. Remove the cake from the oven and its pan of water. Remove the foil wrapping. Tent the cake with a clean piece of foil and chill it in the fridge for a couple hours. When the cake is completely cool, spread with the sour cream topping and return to the fridge to chill some more. To serve, run a knife around the edge of the cake before removing the sides. Serve with raspberry sauce.

For the topping:
2 cups sour cream
1/3 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 recipe of raspberry sauce (recipe follows)

Stir together the sour cream, powdered sugar, and vanilla. Spread it on top of the chilled cheesecake. (You will probably have extra.)

Raspberry Sauce
12 ounces (not quite 1 quart) frozen (or fresh) red raspberries
½ cup sugar
½ cup water

Put all the ingredients in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Mash the berries with a potato masher or the back of a spoon. Stirring frequently, heat the sauce to boiling, and then reduce heat and simmer for about five minutes, or until the sauce is starting to thicken. Cool to room temperature and store in a covered container in the refrigerator. To serve, apply liberally to cake.

This same time, years previous: learning to draw, snow play, a bedroom birth,

In the shower yesterday morning, I found myself thinking about attachment theory and attachment parenting. Is there a difference between the two?*

I googled it, and from a quick skim-through, I’ve determined that attachment parenting is relevant to the beginning stages of attachment theory, in two ways. First, the early years are where the attaching starts (umbilical cord to infinity and beyond!) (sorry, Buzz Lightyear took over the keyboard there), and second, attachment theory kind of (maybe?) started with attachment parenting and then evolved and shifted into an all-encompassing attachment theory.

I probably have that all wrong. Don’t quote me.

I do feel like I have a semi-firm grasp on what attachment theory is since I took a class under a (spectacular) attachment enthusiast. And I’m quite familiar with attachment parenting—I read lots of those books back in my lactating-and-bed-sharing prime. But what I was ruminating over in the shower was how I think that attachment parenting lacks attachment theory’s big picture and thus it kind of bottoms out in the preschool years. Or at least, from the books I’ve read and the ways I’ve observed it in action, it appears to bottom out then. But this can only be expected when the whole thrust of the theory is aimed at a particular stage of the game. Kids need us to be there for them at all stages of the game, just in different ways.

As children get older, the attachment theory question—Will You Be There For Me When I Need You?—becomes more emotional, more fraught. Being present to set limits, encourage, challenge, guide, and teach doesn’t always give us the warm, cozy feelings that we got when toting Junior around in a sling. We are required to look through all the messy behavior—the tantruming, back-talking, eye-rolling, arguing, teasing, lying, hyperactivity—and ask ourselves, “What does it mean to ‘be there’ for my child right now?”

The answers are no longer as simple as a bared boob. And sadly, there isn’t much oxytocin involved.

That’s what I was thinking about while I got my shower yesterday morning.

*For those of you who are on unfamiliar territory with all this attachment lingo, here are a couple definitions (totally in my own words).

Attachment parenting is the belief that kids need to be attached (in a very physical sense) to their parents. This closeness provides security and gives the strength to come into their own as they mature. Or something like that.

Attachment theory is the belief that at every person’s core, there is a need which can be summed up with this question: will you be there for me when I need you? When we feel that answer is ‘yes’ (from whoever it is with whom we are relating), then we feel attached and secure and can function in a healthy way. When that answer is ‘no,’ watch out.

This same time, years previous: bean-y advice