The Cheesecake Factory
Something about angsty teen movies makes me want to shove my face with mini burgers and cheesecake in a dark, noisy environment. As you might recall, when I saw what Gabi calls “Nick and Norah’s Movie for Patrons of Urban Outfitters” I went to the Cheesecake Factory immediately after, only to discover that it was excessively bumpin’. So last night after seeing the teen vampire romance “Twilight,” I bravely endured the table wait to get what I wanted. Just like Mormon vampires wait for true love before making their mortal girlfriends undead!
So after 20 minutes killing time at Borders, we finally got seats in the bar area, in between an obese mother-daughter team who had just gone holiday shopping and a greasy looking businessman explaining the importance of education to his seven year old daughter (“It’s ok if you want to be a photographer, but with an MBA…an MBA… you can be a photographer and make money.”)
As we waited for our food, I isolated the things I dislike most about CCF:
1. There are advertisements for Florida-based jewelry stores in the menu.
2. It’s unclear whether the decor is faux-Egyptian or a faux-Art Deco take on faux-Egyptian.
3. There are more Bristol Palin-style bang-bumps (Ya know? Like what I did in 2004 when my bangs got greasy? But some people never stopped doing it?) per square yard than anywhere else in the continental United States. I blame the fact that we were in the biggest mall in Rhode Island.
After the food came (I got a burger with carmelized onions and mushrooms) I pondered its redeeming qualities:
1. The portions are obsene. My burger was so big that they served it on two rolls, meaning that I stuffed myself like nuts and still had food to take home and eat while I’m watching Laguna reruns the next morning.
2. There are so many delicious types of cheesecake that you could go every week for a year and still eat a type you like. Kat and I split the dulce de leche cheesecake and were not disappointed.
That leaves us with a 3:2 liability/asset ratio: far from ideal, but not quite Outback Steakhouse caliber.
Marisa
