In which I gorge on middlebrow cuisine at the Cheesecake Factory
July 25th, 2010My English friend Matthew and I found ourselves in Boston at the same time last week (he visiting from London, I from New York) and made plans for dinner, and Matthew (for his own reasons, as a lover of all things American) suggested the Cheesecake Factory, an experience he’d never had before. (Obligatory Wikipedia link here, in case any Martian archaeologists are reading this; surely nobody alive in America in 2010 will need to click it.)
As a devotee of The Big Bang Theory, Matthew was curious about the Cheesecake Factory. As someone who’s game for anything, I agreed, and (bracing ourselves for the ridicule of our mutual friends, which did indeed forthwith rain down upon us), we met in front of the Prudential Center branch of America’s favorite sitdown gorgefest about 8:30 the other night.
The last time I set foot in a Cheesecake Factory was about 7 years ago for lunch at the Sherman Oaks Galleria, and the last time I ate in one for dinner was, what, 20 years ago? I hail from that suburban-escapee American social stratum in which the people over 60 (and a few of the younger set who never quite grew up and broke away) enjoy the Factory non-ironically, and the people under 60 sneer at it ceaselessly and set foot in it only when invited by an elderly relative. But I might have to change my tune.
Commercialized? Sure. My cocktail was watery. The menu was too long, covered in advertising, and a bit pretentious for what they’re serving (which you might call “large-portioned high-middlebrow American festival cuisine”). But I’m afraid that with those, I’ve now exhausted my complaints.
I ordered corn fritters, and a chicken cutlet dish with a fake Italian name that came with a football of mashed potatoes and a garden’s worth of asparagus. Matthew had the hibachi steak — which came with a like portion of potatoes — and a ten-pound vegtable salad. And I must say that everything was delicious. The portions were gargantuan, with enough chicken and potatoes on my plate to feed three hungry adults. The corn fritters were absolutely perfectly done, light and fluffy — the sort of dish I’d try and fail to duplicate at home. The chicken cutlets were pan-fried light and floated on an unimpressive but inoffensive sauce. In fact, there was nothing served to either of us that I wouldn’t consider ordering again, which is actually pretty rare when you think about it. In fact, typing this right now, I’m getting hungry.
Incidentally, we skipped the cheesecake, having each consumed about 2,000 calories by the time the dessert menus came. So I guess I’ll have to go back.










Older Entries




