For the first part of my life, my favorite restaurant was The Cheesecake Factory. With its gaudy beige decor, oversized plates of cream-laden food, and vast assortment of its namesake specialty, there was truly nothing not to love. My grandma took a no holds barred approach when we’d spend time together. Affectionately dubbed “Grandma Rules,” she’d let me order whatever my sinewy little body craved, including once, a dinner plate of whipped cream. She’d often bring me to The Cheesecake Factory and watch me take down slurp after slurp of slick fettucini alfredo, followed by a full slice of OREO® Cheesecake (topped with whipped cream obviously). In college, my roommate and I would save up and treat ourselves to a night off from dining hall slop and sneak to Boston’s Prudential Center, where we’d wander around, Cheesecake Factory buzzer in hand, awaiting our booth in the vibey, bustling, labyrinthian restaurant. Having only recently left the nest, we navigated the conflicting sensations of No-Parents-No-Rules-flavored freedom and Nothing-Tastes-As-Good-As-Skinny-Feels-tainted self-consciousness, settling on sharing a small-human-sized option from the “SKINNYLICIOUS®” section of the menu and a slice of cheesecake each. It’s called balance, ever heard of it?!
It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped foot inside a Cheesecake Factory, having moved to the Bay Area to become indoctrinated with a certain way of eating that finds just about everything about the chain problematic. And while this isn’t meant to be a diatribe against The Cheesecake Factory (Invite me! I’ll go! Let’s go! Please can we go?) I realized that just like what The Cheesecake Factory calls “Italian food” is definitely not Italian food (read “Chicken Reisling: Chicken Breast, Mushrooms, Bacon, Onions and Garlic in a White Wine Riesling Cream Sauce with Buttered Parmesan Pasta”), their cheesecake (crusted with OREO®, swirled with SNICKERS®, layered with CINNABON® icing, etc.) is not the end-all-be-all of cheesecake. It’s their version.
Enter, Basque Cheesecake, the demure, sultry, cultured cousin, which needs no trademarked candy affiliations nor chain restaurant endorsements. In fact, this silky, fluffy cheesecake, which melts in your mouth like edible velvet has zero pomp and circumstance. It doesn’t look like much, but it is in fact a showstopper. At Thanksgiving this year, I overheard someone say “who do I have to have sex with to have some of that cheesecake?” Because this is the cheesecake you pine for, that you dream about, that you’d do anything to get your hands on.
In fact, there’s quite a bit of lore around Basque Cheesecake. In San Francisco, you’re lucky if you can score one of Charles Chen’s BASUKU Cheesecakes, sold at a few high-end restaurants or shipped overnight for a cool $115. There’s the Breadbelly version, made with Mount Tam cheese from Cowgirl Creamery and served with sweet crackers to scoop the rich cheesecake onto.
Invented in the 1960s at La Viña Bar in Saint Sebastian, Spain, this is a crustless cheesecake with a deeply caramelized (some call it burnt) top and a light, fluffy inside. When removed from the oven, it’ll be puffed up like a jiggly souffle and cracked on top, but once cool it’ll sink down to be slightly concave.
The dirty secret is that for all the mythology surrounding Basque Cheesecake, it is impossibly simple to make. With few ingredients, no special equipment, and instructions that are essentially mix-dump-bake, you can put one together in less time it takes to get a table for two at your local Cheesecake Factory. It’s not necessarily any less indulgent than its American relative, but definitely more sophisticated and arguably better.
This is the perfect dessert to bring to a holiday party since it cools completely in the pan and can be easily transported. If you’re hosting, it’s a no-brainer because you’ll make it ahead of time and forget about dessert until it’s time to dig in. Heck, it would even make a memorable birthday cake! Or if you’re like 18-year-old me looking for a weekday treat, just call on “Grandma Rules” and bake away.
Ingredients
2 pounds. cream cheese, room temperature
1½ cups sugar
6 large eggs
2 cups heavy cream
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
⅓ cup all-purpose flour
Directions
Preheat oven to 400°. Line a 10-inch pan with parchment paper. Fold the crinkly bits flat against the pan as best as you can. (note: a 9-inch will work too, you’ll just have leftover batter to bake in a ramekin)
Beat the cream cheese and sugar in the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment on medium-low speed until well combined, about 2 minutes.
Increase the speed slightly and add the eggs one at a time, waiting until one is incorporated before adding the next.
Reduce the speed slightly and add the cream, salt, and vanilla until combined.
Sift flour over the batter using a fine-mesh sieve and beat on low speed until incorporated.
Pour batter into the parchment-lined pan, place the pan on a baking sheet, and bake for 60 minutes. The top should be dark brown, cracked, and puffed up.
Carefully remove from the oven and set the pan on a drying rack until cool. The puffed-up top will become concave as it cools. Enjoy at room temperature. If saving for the next day, store it in the fridge and then set it on a counter to come to room temperature for a couple of hours before you’re ready to eat it.