The carnivore's favorite dessert

After a T-bone or porterhouse, cheesecake hits the spot

By Lisa Zwirn, Globe Correspondent  |  December 7, 2005

Desserts are often classified as comforting or decadent, but one confection has managed to straddle the two categories, appealing as both homey and the ultimate splurge -- cheesecake.

If a cheesecake appears at a gathering, instantly you'll hear oohs and aahs, then guests recalling every great cheesecake they ever ate, and invariably the discussion about texture: whether they prefer creamy and thick (called New York style) or light and airy, plus the type of crust, flavors, and toppings.

Not everyone is a fan, however. Some diners find the dessert far too rich, cloying even, or unpleasantly tangy. But with the proliferation of steakhouses here, cheesecake is on firm footing as the traditional dessert. That pairing remains a mystery to some pastry chefs. After all, many diners have just tucked into a big plate of beef and side dishes. But that's what they seem to want: lots of meat followed by a hefty dessert. Old-style delicatessens see the same phenomenon. Diners think nothing of chasing a thick pastrami sandwich with a generous wedge of cheesecake.

So, despite its high fat and outrageous calorie count (one thick slice can be 800 calories), the cake -- usually made from cream cheese, eggs, heavy cream, sour cream, and butter -- has survived low-fat diets and other belt-tightening measures. It persists despite the temptations of flourless and molten chocolate cakes. Cheesecake might struggle to rival creme brulee, but it outsells mousses and souffles and has outlived flashier confections such as baked Alaska and crepes Suzette.

One baker who sells loads of them, even as wedding cakes, thinks she knows why. ''Perhaps people justify eating it after a big meal because they're already committed to splurging," says Judy Rosenberg of Rosie's Bakery.

More objectively, cheesecake's longevity may be attributed to Americans' claiming the dessert as their own. The development of cream cheese, and specifically Philadelphia Brand Cream Cheese in 1880, made the confection accessible to home cooks. And while cheesecakes may be large and impressive, they're actually quite easy to make (see facing page).

At Boston's Smith & Wollensky, one-third of the diners who order dessert want cheesecake, second only to chocolate cake, says pastry chef Katie de Freitas. The restaurant chain purchases its cakes from S & S Cheesecake in Bronx, N.Y.

Airy confections don't seem to appeal to steak-satisfied diners. Molly Hanson, executive pastry chef of Grill 23 & Bar and Excelsior, has prepared many versions of cheesecake over the years, from the thicker New York style to softer, mousse-like confections. Lighter desserts on Grill 23's menu ''sink like a rock," she says.

The New York style originated in the 1920s, when the city's delicatessens and other establishments showcased that type of cheesecake. But the dessert isn't modern. Ancient Greeks baked fresh cheese sweetened with honey. For centuries afterward, cheese and pastry was a popular combination all over Europe. Immigrants who carried their customs and recipes to America brought the cakes with them.

Today, some bakers think that mastering cheesecake is a right of passage. ''When I first started baking, I made it all the time," says Oleana pastry chef Maura Kilpatrick, who still bakes them for friends and special occasions. But not at the restaurant, where Arabic and Mediterranean fare is on the menu. ''It's not something that matches our cuisine."

For others, the unadorned, creamy base inspires creativity. Henrietta's Table offers roasted pumpkin and apple crumb cheesecakes in the fall, and this time of year it makes eggnog cheesecake, a holiday favorite. Pastry chef Dan Angelopolus considers the dessert ''a classic -- rich, creamy, and very homey feeling."

The slices at the Cheesecake Factory locations, which churn out more than 30 varieties, are Paul Bunyan-size, made with white chocolate and raspberry, apples and caramel, Key limes, or Oreos. Only the most ambitious eat the whole half-pound serving.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Il Capriccio's lemon ricotta tart, made by pastry chef Jackie Boisse. ''It's classic Italian," says chef and co-owner Richard Barron. ''It's not the dense, creamy New York style that people know," he says, so waiters at the Waltham restaurant often have to explain that. In fact, he says, ''it's much more reasonable to finish a meal with than a monstrous chunk of heavy cheesecake."

Try telling that to someone who's just polished off a steak.