The Cheesecake Factory Must Die
<p>Warning: I am about to vent.  If splenetic ranting is not your<br />
thing, back outta here <em>now</em>, for I am seriously pissed off.</p>
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<p>I&#8217;m four days into an intense seige of work at an<br />
I-can-tell-you-but-I&#8217;d-have-to-kill-you location in suburban New York,<br />
toiling away at a worthy cause.  I&#8217;ve been at it for twelve hours, and<br />
I am truly ready for a decent meal. (Lunch was skimpy Japanese.) My<br />
colleagues and I send out for a massive order of comestibles from a<br />
place called the Cheesecake Factory.</p>
<p>The Cheesecake Factory is a chain joint, but the locals think it&#8217;s<br />
OK.  And indeed my &#8220;Ton O&#8217;Fun&#8221; burger is reasonably well made, if of a<br />
size I normally associate with minor planetary bodies.  One of my<br />
colleagues looks at it and mutters in a nearly reverent tone &#8220;Arteries<br />
be <em>damned</em>!&#8221;  This fails to disturb me.  I consume it with<br />
glee.</p>
<p>All goes well until I come to the alleged cheesecake.</p>
<p>At this point I need to explain that I take my cheesecake pretty<br />
seriously.  Given that I am averse or allergic to most forms of<br />
cheese, this might strike some as mildly odd &mdash; but it&#8217;s the<br />
molds and fermentation products that make me go ick, not the dairy<br />
proteins or lactose.  Cream cheese and I get along just fine, and one<br />
of my favorite dessertlike things is a good old-fashioned<br />
cheesecake.</p>
<p>By &#8220;good old-fashioned&#8221;, I mean what is sometimes called the New<br />
York style &mdash; immensely rich, made with pure cream cheese. It is<br />
not &#8220;lite&#8221; or &#8220;fluffy&#8221;; indeed, it rejoices in a density only slightly<br />
less than that of neutronium.  Your true cheesecake is flavor-dense as<br />
well, requiring no silly embellishments like frosting or fruit sauce;<br />
this cheese stands alone.  Though there is sugar in it, sugar should by<br />
no means dominate in the flavor, which should rather be savory and<br />
subtle.</p>
<p>The most important test for a proper traditional cheesecake is<br />
simple.  Stick a fork in it vertically.  A metal fork, not a silly<br />
lightweight plastic one.  Now take your hand off the fork.  If it<br />
falls over of its own weight, tearing a messy divot in your dessert,<br />
the cake is fake.  A true cheesecake supports the fork indefinitely<br />
without so much as a quiver. Another test is the texture.  A properly<br />
made cheesecake shows a distinct grainy texture when cut with a fork,<br />
slightly moist but not expressing liquid to the surface.</p>
<p>Color is also significant.  Your good cheesecakes are usually pale<br />
yellow rather than white.  The truly superior ones tend to have an<br />
ever-so-faint, nigh-indetectable bluish tinge. I have studied these<br />
nuances with attention and care.</p>
<p>I&#8217;m ordering from an entity called &#8220;The Cheescake Factory&#8221; in the<br />
New York heartland of the cheesecake. I order the variety labeled in big<br />
bold letters &#8220;Traditional&#8221;.  And what do I get?</p>
<p>A vile, revolting, over-sweetened, bland cheese gelatinoid thing so<br />
lacking in integrity that it slumps on the plate.</p>
<p>OK, I&#8217;m cool with free markets.  I&#8217;m even cool with free markets<br />
when they produce lowest-common-denominator results I don&#8217;t happen to<br />
like.  It may be that most of the consumers out there adore the gooey<br />
studge that the soi-disant &#8220;Cheesecake Factory&#8221; passes off as<br />
cheesecake.  If its crappiness were confined to atrocity-of-the-week<br />
flavors like &#8220;Coffee Heathbar Crunch&#8221; or &#8220;Craig&#8217;s Crazy Carrot Cake<br />
Cheesecake&#8221;, I could sigh in resignation at the wretched tastelessness<br />
and endure it nevertheless.</p>
<p>But, dammit, advertising the characterless pile of goo they gave me<br />
as &#8220;traditional&#8221; is <em>fraud</em>.  And it&#8217;s not a harmless fraud, it&#8217;s<br />
an act of subtle but damaging violence against good taste.  It<br />
de-educates the palate; it lowers everybody&#8217;s standards until we lose<br />
the capability to tell the real thing from a puddle of ersatz shite.<br />
This is how civilization ends, not with a bang but with a jingle.</p>
<p>Don&#8217;t get me wrong.  I&#8217;d rather live with bad desserts than have<br />
anybody&#8217;s culinary standards, even my own, rammed down peoples&#8217;<br />
throats in the name of &#8216;civilization&#8217; by some snotty academie of<br />
iron-fisted connoisseurs.  Civilizations can die that way too,<br />
constipated on their own stuffiness.</p>
<p>But when some soulless android of a chain restaurant designer<br />
willfully perverts the meaning of &#8220;traditional&#8221; so he can sell dreck<br />
to the ignorant with the illusion that said dreck is just like what his<br />
Yiddish grandma made, that&#8217;s where I reach my limit.  The Cheesecake<br />
Factory must <em>die</em>.</p>
