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| - WARNING: CHEESECAKE FACTORY DOES NOT TAKE RESERVATIONS, SO PREPARE TO WAIT AT THEIR MERCY. On a late December 2013 night at Boca Park Cheesecake Factory, we were welcomed by shrieking toddlers (the kind of piercing, high-decibel sound that raises blood-pressure among the most minimally sentient humans) and boys big enough to know better who were treating the waiting area like a playground and endangering anyone who enters the place. There ought to have been some professional supervision to protect the other customers from those rowdy rascals. Our dinner companions chose to wait the forty minutes for a table--but outside, so that we could avoid the wanton pandemonium inside the restaurant. We had one good experience at this location a few months ago, thus figured that it was worth the wait. IT WAS NOT.
Our waiter was pleasant enough, but we had to constantly ask him for water-refills and he did not offer freshly-ground pepper to me for the infinitesimally small sirloin steak "culotte", though he did so for my sister's Caesar salad. Spotty at best was the waiter's service, and after we finished our entrees, the fellow waited a full hour before presenting us with the dessert menu. The bread basket held something white, and I inquired whether or not it was sourdough, with which I have been familiar all my life. The waiter said "yes". Upon tasting it, one could not detect a single sour note, and this eatery-chain is based in California, where sourdough bread is ubiquitous! I was disgusted by the formerly frozen, inadequately cooked "French fries" that came with my pee-wee steak, and its two substandard onion rings. There was a paper cup on the plate that contained ketchup, of all things. Had the waiter returned, I would have asked for a suitable condiment (give the dish a French name, and you had better include Dijon mustard, not the risible, flavor-masking ketchup). The fries were "immangeable", to use a derogatory French word that means "inedible". And at around twenty-five bucks, a microscopic, pathetically thin steak is an insult to anyone with a sense of proportion. There was one high note on the table: an appetizer called Buffalo Blasters. Without them, I may have gone hungry--oh, the irony in a place with one of the longest menus in creation.
My husband had the usually fail-safe dish, fettuccine Alfredo. He perceived that the noodles were old or reheated. I noticed that the "sauce" was too thin to adhere to the pasta, and that the dish had been inappropriately infused with raw garlic, a vile act which constitutes sabotage. We detest the stinking tuber, and would never order such a thing knowingly. It's a crime to call a dish "Fettuccine Alfredo", which NEVER had garlic in it, and turn the unsuspecting customer into this week's Garlic Clown, who has people running helter-skelter from his reeking person. An honest name for the concoction would be, "Noodles in Raw Garlic Soup with a Hint of Cheese". You cannot bastardize a recipe this way! Poor Chef Alfredo of Rome--his recipe has become a clown show in a bowl.
http://www.food.com/recipe/alfredos-of-romes-original-fettuccine-alfredo-187391
A slice of chocolate mousse layer-cake was dry, heavy and seemed days-old. My cappuccino was lukewarm upon arrival. The only positive thing about the evening at Cheesecake Factory of Boca Park was the company at our table. I submit mostly five-star reviews here at Yelp; because I don't like to shoot at ambulances, I refrain from offering negative reports. However, when a huge chain restaurant serves factory-food at boutique prices, I am duty-bound to say so. And when one looks longingly at a Jack in the Box sign on the drive home after dinner, something is very wrong.
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