Fight With You At The Cheesecake Factory, You Know I Hate It There

Anthony92931, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

“Why you gotta fight with me at Cheesecake?” Drake asked in his song “Child’s Play”, “You know I love to go there.” Well, I’m not a big fan of half-mumbled autotuned rap either, though I can appreciate it from time to time, so I reckon we aren’t destined to be best friends anytime soon. So it goes with the disappointments we have to live with in life…

Anywho…yes, it is true: I do not care for, enjoy, or want to ever again go to The Cheesecake Factory. Even though I can appreciate it parts of it from time to time.

Logically, I should like The Cheesecake Factory. I love good cheesecake above all other desserts, even my beloved and adored apple pie. And you have to understand I love me some apple pie. The food is almost all made from scratch to order, something I greatly appreciate as a food lover, amateur cook, and writer of edible things good, bad, and the “my God what was that” in the culinary world. The company consistently ranks high on the “Best Places to Work” lists and apparently treats their folks well. The fact that the general public LOVES them some Cheesecake Factory is indisputable. The company is consistently one of the most profitable restaurant chains, and even during the heart of the pandemic/lockdowns in 2020 managed to break even despite their in-person dining being closed. Their current financial upswing as Covid-19 related restrictions ease seems to proport a quick return to moneymaking form. Cheesecake Factory even has a compelling back story, of a son — current CEO David Overton — taking his mother’s small, defunct cheesecake shop which she had relocated to her basement to supply other restaurants, and building an empire from it.

That’s all sorts of good stuff. All the parts of which I respect, praise, and admire. So if you want to label everything that comes after this sentence as a “you problem” in what I saw about the sum total of those parts that make up The Cheesecake Factory, you will get no argument from me. If you want to add me to the Unified Explainer Flow Chart of Privilege for the uppityness of declining a meal inside the eclectically decorated halls of Cheesecake Factory, be my guest. Nevertheless…

I hate going to The Cheesecake Factory. Loathe it. Dislike it entirely. Can think of several things involving not-inconsiderable amounts of physical pain I’d rather be doing.

To be clear it isn’t the food part, or the cheesecake part in particular, that I have issue with. It’s the factory part. Because that is exactly what we are dealing with here. Now let’s be grownups; almost all chain restaurant establishments in America are built to be money factories producing profits, at least if they plan on being around for more than 10 minutes. I have no snobbery towards chain restaurants, which I frequent with friends and family as millions of Americas do, because they are readily available and my own preferred family-owned local joints are fewer and further between. Also, I wish Cheesecake Factory no ill will. The restaurant business is HAARRD, very hard. It’s hard work, grueling hours, slim margins, and a metric ton of people problems. And that’s before you even get to the food which, as consumer products go, is hard to get right on a good day and highly subjective to what people think is and is not good. That David Overton and his company have so mastered it both in a business and branding sense is truly an amazing achievement. But with great success comes greater problems to solve. More cheesecake, more problems, if you will.

Instead of an extended bloviation of grievances, perhaps a comparison would be more productive. With great food, excellent customer service, and an absolute machine-like efficiency of operations also comes long wait times, pressing crowds, and always, always, always spending more money than you intended to going in. I will yield once again to noted Cheesecake Factory expert Drake, who explained “This a place for families that drive Camrys and go to Disney”.

It really does bring to mind a trip to Disney World. The House of Mouse sells magic and fantasy up front with an utterly ruthless business model in the back. They will bend over backwards to accommodate your every desire and make your visit as memorable as possible. And you will pay greatly for the privilege, and spend more time in line than experiencing the thing you are queued up for, and wear you and your family out enjoying the magic. There is an equation of joy versus cost, divided by emotions and multiplied by priors that will tell what you enjoyment level of such an experience will be. But however your merriment math comes out, you better get yours out of the experience, because Disney is going to get theirs. I mean it as a compliment; to sell magical experience while maintaining an ironclad business model that outside of pandemic closures prints money like a mint on a cocaine binge — and to do it decade after decade going from strength to strength — is monumentally impressive. But that respect for what it is doesn’t override my wallet when I go, and all you can do is hope the experience makes the cost worthwhile. Which is Disney’s plan all along. All hail our Mouse overlords.

Though scaled down from the magnum opus of wistful consumerism that is just outside Orlando, that same nagging mix of reality overriding what otherwise should be enjoyable is what makes The Cheesecake Factory such a drudgery. The machinery, the factory part, of Overton’s palace of eating just wears. The long lines that — despite the chains many other innovations — still arm you with a buzzer/pager and leave you to roam on your own like a pet dog on an electric fence as your wait your turn with a pressing, hangry mass of your fellow humans. The menu that makes Margaret Mitchell seem concise and to the point, yet really does come as close to “all things for all people” as is culinarily possible in the temporal realm. The wait staff, clothed in all white, tie-bedecked, and always polite, contrast with the great flip-flop clad mosaic of the masses they serve with impressive if hurried efforts. Portion sizes that cause the seven deadly sins to grow to eight with gluttony now counting twice and carryout bags that should require a weigh station check before allowing them in motor vehicles. The inevitable CVS-lite bill that is going to be closer to a fine dining number than the finer-than-fast casual chain it is. And that is before you get a cheesecake or two from the bakery counter that teased you during your long wait beforehand on your way out the door.

Which, funny enough, actually came from a factory. Either California or North Carolina, depending on your location, crank out the Cheesecake Factory’s namesake baked good for wider distribution. Which brings me back to my curmudgeonly complaint about the Cheesecake Factory that we started with. Above all the crowds, and fuss, and efforts, and bill to enjoy it all my loathing of the whole experience is multiplied by the fact the one thing I really think might be worth all that ruckus — the cheesecake — I can get almost anywhere else.

“Ah!” will come the cry from those who, like Drake, love it at the Cheesecake and don’t want any drama or personal introspection to interrupt their experience. The same cry from the folks who obsess over Disney. Who insist that I should just conform, and stand in line, and like it because everyone else does. “You can’t get the experience anywhere else!”

Yes, I know. Thank God. I hate going to The Cheesecake Factory. Loathe it. Dislike it entirely. Your appeals to logic, emotional platitudes, and personal anecdotes do not sway me.

You don’t have to worry about me fighting with you at the Cheesecake Factory. You won’t find me there. I pray.