You can’t make this up. While sitting by the computer and finishing off the cheesecake from yesterday’s party, I go online, and there’s the online River Reporter.  I click on it and the first thing I see is National Cheesecake Day, held annually on July 30.  

There are days, and then there are days. And then, there’s National Cheesecake Day. The one day a year when we, as a nation, collectively say, “You know what? I think I’ll eat an entire cheesecake today, and I’ll probably do it alone in my kitchen at midnight with no one watching.  

I get it. There’s no shame in this. You’re not alone. We’re all in this together. Cheesecake lovers, unite!

First, let’s talk about why cheesecake is the epitome of desserts. It’s creamy. It’s decadent. It’s like biting into a cloud made of cream cheese and dreams. It doesn’t matter if the toppings are blueberries or strawberries, or if you’re a traditionalist who believes in the plain New York-style cheesecake. You’re not just eating a dessert; you’re indulging in an experience. One moment, it’s a vanilla, silky dream with a buttery graham cracker crust, and the next, it’s a chocolate lover’s dream with a rich, cocoa-infused base and a topping that’s so gooey it might make you believe in magic. It’s dessert and a therapy session all in one. I’m also sitting with my can of whipped cream to top it off.

But there’s more. “The Midnight Cheesecake Craving.”  It’s a well established phenomenon, especially on National Cheesecake Day. You’re going about your normal evening routine, feeling good about your day’s healthy decisions, maybe you did some exercise, maybe you ate a salad (or not, but let’s pretend), and then it happens. The thought crosses your mind, quiet but undeniable: “What if I have a piece of cheesecake?” 

Before you know it, your stomach is doing backflips, and you find yourself creeping into the kitchen like a shadowy figure, wearing a look of intense determination. The lights are dim. You approach the fridge like an archeologist discovering a lost relic. This isn’t just a slice of dessert. No, this is an opportunity. A moment in time when you can make the wrong choices feel so, so right. 

You cut a slice, carefully, like you’re handling a piece of fine china, because of course you’re not just going to tear into it. This is cheesecake. This is sacred. As you bring that first bite to your mouth, the sweetness hits your tongue and you experience something close to transcendence. For a brief, shining moment, you are one with the cheesecake. You don’t have to share it with anyone. You look around cautiously, as if someone might burst through the door and call you out for your late-night indulgence, but no one is there. It’s just you and the cheesecake. And perhaps, just perhaps, you might eat the entire thing. But again, there are no rules on National Cheesecake Day

Of course, there is a dark side to this cheesecake love affair.  Once you’ve had your fill (or, let’s be honest, eaten the entire cheesecake), reality sets in. The guilt begins to creep in.. “What have I done?” you ask yourself. I don’t even want to read my diabetic meter. But here’s the thing: You can’t let that voice stop you from enjoying the full glory of cheesecake. The guilt will pass. The scale will eventually forgive you. Besides, life is short, and cheesecake is long. Or at least, it feels like it should be longer because once that cheesecake is gone, the void it leaves behind can be crushed. But that’s just the nature of the beast. I also have the stationary bike to ride to lower my sugar, and if all else fails, the insulin pen is in the frig. 

You know what? Cheesecake doesn’t even care if you don’t have a reason to celebrate. Just pass me the whipped cream and the chocolate syrup   So, let’s raise our forks to cheesecake, the one dessert that always delivers, no matter the occasion, the time of day, or the number of slices we’ve had. And on National Cheesecake Day, we don’t just eat it. We celebrate it. The next day maybe, just maybe, we’ll exercise it off and then look to see if there’s any cheesecake left.

When Michael Kossove isn’t sneaking cheesecake, he’s a professor emeritus and an adjunct professor of microbiology at Touro University’s School of Health Sciences.