There’s a reason I drink wine. It’s the same reason I go for walks and listen to the same comforting records over and over again. It’s the reason I lose myself  in perfecting cinnamon bread recipes and hide little slices of  blood orange cheesecake in the back of the fridge. 

Kids. The reason is kids. 

Let me be clear: Mothering is one of the highest honors of my life. It’s full of surprises and joy and tears burning in the corner of your eyes because you didn’t know a tiny person could make you laugh so hard. It’s rich and life-giving, and I wouldn’t trade these days for all of the long legs, designer handbags, and front row tickets to Hamilton that the world has to offer. 

But there’s also endless laundry. There’s sassy toddlers who spend a week’s worth of dinners in time out. There’s blueberries smashed in the seat cushions and about one million questions that start with “Why?” and end with absolutely nothing of importance. This work that we do, Mothers- this beautiful, repetitive, insanity-inducing joy of our lives is, quite often, a literal and proverbial poop show, and you’ll never guess who gets the backstage pass to the whole thing. 

Yup. It’s the same person who shoves peas into chubby cheeks and clips microscopic toenails. It’s the person who loses their last French fry to a quick-handed toddler. It’s the gal who sorts through the trash to find the various remotes, sippy cups, and shoes that someone “hid” in the garbage can. A mother’s list of responsibilities is only outmatched by the number of tears they wipe and tantrums they tame, and we somehow trick ourselves into signing up for it again and again and again.

Brett and I recently started talking about the potential of growing our family in the distant future. Sometimes the thought of taking on one more human makes me absolutely choke on my own spit. If I have to listen to one more person whining at the dinner table, I will face-plant in my plate of spaghetti. But still, there are intangibles to mothering that make it irresistible.

Sometimes I observe my two children from afar as if the whole thing is happening in slow-motion, black and white. I see little faces wrinkled with smiles, heads thrown back with laughter. They move wildly, chasing each other around the kingdom of our backyard like they could run anywhere in the world. Suddenly, they turn. We lock eyes, and no sooner than a whispered “Mama” unfurls in the wind, they’re running towards me- arms open and voices shrieking into a knock-you-over kind of embrace. This is the trade we make for broken dishes and a thousand dirty socks: the remarkable sound of little voices whispering your name. The chance to be loved back.

I’m not sure how to transition into this blood orange cheesecake. My kids are awesome. Motherhood is hard. Blood orange cheesecake takes the edge off. Does that suffice?

This recipe was adapted from a blog favorite, my Meyer lemon cheesecake. You guys go crazy for that thang, so I knew I had to create more cheesy, citrusy goodness. The result is this head-turning, creamsicle-colored blood orange beauty that is sure to beat the pants off of any other dessert in your fridge.

To make it, we start with the crust. Crushed graham crackers, brown sugar, and cinnamon are mixed together to soak up a pool of melted butter. Press the mixture into a 9″ springform pan and bake it in the oven while you get started on the filling.

Cream cheese and sugar are creamed together until light and fluffy. Next come a few eggs, some heavy cream, and the blood orange juice and zest. Take care to not overwork your batter, and be sure to incorporate all of the little bits of cheese and zest. No one wants a clumpy cheesecake. Bake the whole thing in the oven until jiggly but set around the outer edges.

I like to take a few precautions with my cheesecake. First, I always prepare a water bath. This will ensure that my cheesecake bakes evenly and avoids any major cracks in its top. Second, I triple layer the aluminum foil around my pan to ensure that no water leaks into my pan. Even supposed “leak-free” pans have sprung a leak, and I promise, nothing is more demoralizing and wasting all of your precious blood oranges on a soggy cheesecake. And finally, I let my cheesecakes cool in phases to prevent any major structural damage. This includes a brief stint in a hot, but turned off, oven, a rest on the counter, and a long chill in the fridge.

This blood orange cheesecake is sweet and tart, a brilliant ode to that stunning winter fruit. Pick up a bag of blood oranges at your market and give this recipe a try! I hope y’all have a great end to your week.

If you like this blood orange cheesecake, you should try:

Blood Orange Bundt Cake

Meyer Lemon Cheesecake

Brown Sugar Cheesecake with Oatmeal Cookie Crust and Butterscotch Sauce

Orange Cardamom Rolls

Peanut Butter Chocolate Cheesecake

 

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