This is the first of a series of quickie undercover inspections brought to you by Commumission, The People’s Intermission. Escorted by Comrade Drew Peterson, I was safe from the prying eyes of the KGB. Pretending to be patrons who had a prior reservation, we entered the premises unnoticed and infiltrated all aspects of the eatery. From stealing bread to checking under tables to interrogating employees, we did everything imaginable in less than 10 minutes — except order food.

THE NAME: The Cheesecake Factory

THE COORDINATES: 375 University Avenue, Palo Alto, CA 94301

THE SEATING CAPACITY: If you want to go to the Factory for dinner next week, you should have made the reservation 10 years ago (9 years before the restaurant opened in Palo Alto). Be prepared to huddle with your comrades in the lines that snake outside the building and down the street. While you are waiting to nourish your empty belly, read the list of rations that the Factory produces.

THE FACILITIES: The standardization of the Factory’s restrooms is almost shockingly opulent compared to the communal outhouses and dirt holes many laborers are used to. For the females, four lavatory stalls (two of which facilitate the handicapped and larger patrons) yield white porcelain toilets with automatic flushing mechanisms. Ranging from 6’ x 3.5’ to 9’ x 4’ in size, they can easily accommodate all your clandestine needs (that’s right, there’s enough space to hook up with even the tallest Soviet basketball player). A soft spotlight shines directly above each toilet. For increased efficiency, the shower-like sink spigots (also motion-sensitive) yield just the right amount of water. A full-length mirror allows you to spruce your matted hair up — make sure to impress the Party officials. For the males, the Factory felt two urinals were enough to facilitate the efficient dispensation of bodily fluids.

THE CLEANLINESS: Pretending that I had forgotten something important in an abandoned booth that had not yet been cleared, I quickly checked under the table for gum and secret KGB documents. Surprisingly, I found nothing, which means only one thing — laborers who fail to meet Factory standards are forced to scrape away gum wads and informants after work.

THE FACTORY: Although it advertises itself as “The Cheesecake Factory,” any signs of industrialization are cleverly hidden by excessive marble tiling and whimsical airbrushed murals. If your footwear lacks traction and you end up slipping, the KGB has the right to shoot you. We were forced to sneak into the employee / personnel only area, where the Factory’s minions quickly and efficiently ran plates to and fro from the dining area to the kitchen. The stainless steel and clockwork machinery lies behind the façade of terra cotta colored walls and soft art-deco lighting. An army of beige and black wicker chairs beckon weary peasants to sit and enjoy their rations. If possible, opt for the leather-covered bench seats and booths, which provide more privacy, lest someone find out about your plans to overthrow the government.

THE LABOR: Clad in the standard uniform of crisp white shirts and white pants, the Factory laborers are generally attractive and attentive. We were surprised at their enthusiasm and desire to please, as it was past 1900 hours (that’s 7 p.m. for you nomenklatura). Their smiles do not hint at the suffering they endure daily — just look at the grimy leather and torn lining of their once-white shoes. The speed at which they serve orders and fill water glasses is astonishingly efficient or astonishingly sluggish, depending on the crowd. Upon our request for a writing utensil, the labor coordinator obediently offered her own.

THE NOMENKLATURA (The Elite): If you have gained membership into the higher Party class of blue collar workers who can afford The Factory’s rations, push your wheelbarrow full of rubles to the head of the line. On this night, The Factory attracted primarily Asian couples of Chinese descent. Comrades of Red China feel welcome in the equality that the Factory offers them. Particularly oppressed laborers who want to temporarily forget their woes enjoy being waited on by equally oppressed Factory workers. Intellectual rebels pretend that they do not support the capitalism that marks this company’s franchise.

MANIFESTO: During many years of hard work building upon their vision of cheesecake for the common man, Oscar and Evelyn Overton truly did achieve “The American Dream.” According to their story, the “early years were extremely lean and sometimes very difficult. Evelyn and Oscar often worked 18-hour days.” However, their capitalist son David opened up the first Cheesecake Factory restaurant in an unusual location — Beverly Hills.

THE RATIONS: The shiny list of rations we received ran on for four pages of alcoholic beverages before beginning to mention solids. A little disturbing was the presence of “Dry Sack” label cognac, “Wet” brand gin and the subcategory “Super-creamy Drinks.” The regime is fond of utilizing quotation marks to describe ambiguous hybridized foods such as the Hawaiian fish “burger,” Cajun chicken “Littles” and the Jumbo “chicken chop.” This further confirmed that The Factory is nothing like it seemed. We could find no consistency in the menu except in its assurance of large portions and its massive attempt to equally cover all patrons’ palates.

The Factory realizes that their cuisine attracts many small Asian day laborers, and tailors their portion size for equal distribution among parties. One helping of the “Mile High Meatloaf” (dinner can easily feed a family of five. For those who are strapped for rubles, take care to ask for extra rations of the complimentary white and brown bread — tuck them into your pockets to stave off hunger pains tomorrow.

For the lactose-intolerant, 35 variations of cheesecake are offered by the Factory.

PROPAGANDA: Capitalist goods such as diamond bracelets, cruise ships and Bebe brand clothing (modeled by European waifs) are featured on alternating pages of the Factory menu. Oddly enough, the Factory regime allowed capitalist Americans to advertise in their publication — “Harry and Hannah Herrington: All American Teddy Bears” (limited edition) embark on “The American Adventure,” which seems to consist of wearing denim overalls, white sneakers and patriotic colors. While walking, as much as stuffed animals are capable of, on freshly trimmed grass. With the American flag waving softly in the background. The advertisement reads “Travel along with brother and sister twins Harry and Hannah Herrington, on their adventures around the world.” As a Commumission comrade who hasn’t been paid since last June, I can’t afford that adventure.

Other kernels of propaganda litter the menu in unexpected places. “The Navajo” sandwich is offered daily, on “warm fry bread stuffed with grilled chicken, avocado, lettuce, tomato, red onion and mayonnaise, served with fries” for 995 rubles. Native Americans hunted buffalo, not overpriced sandwiches. The Factory also tries to appeal to those with yellow fever, serving up “Bang-Bang chicken and shrimp” over steamed rice for 1595 rubles. Is this something Ho Chi Minh might order? The subliminal message here may be “Kill Bill.” An attempt to fuse races together with “Chino-Latino Steak” seems almost racist. However, Communism IS all about homogeny.

When we asked the front desk for nutritional facts, they feigned ignorance. When asked what the “Steak Diane” (1895 rubles) was, the laborers brought their manager over. “Who is she, and what did you do with her?” we demanded. “The people deserve to know!”

As they pulled back their jackets to reveal sleek pistols, Comrade Peterson and I decided we didn’t really need to know who Diane was. We bolted for the exit, ready to return to our prior meager existence.