Basque Cheesecake was not on my list the afternoon I first walked into La Viña. I had come for pintxos and a small glass of txakoli, drawn in by the tiled bar and the light spilling through the front window of that little place in the Parte Vieja of San Sebastián.
The man behind the counter caught me looking at a wedge of something dark and slumped on a plate near the register. He raised his eyebrows and cut me a slice. Tarta, he said, and pointed at the stool nearest the door.
A Slice at La Viña in San Sebastián
I ate it standing, then sitting, then standing again because I wanted a second slice. The top was almost black in places. Underneath, the middle was cool and loose and tasted more like custard than cake.
He watched me eat, half-smiling. When I asked him in poor Spanish how it was made, he shrugged and mimed a whisk, then held up five fingers. Five ingredients.
This is a modern dish, not an old one. Santiago Rivera created it in 1988, in the same little bar his parents had opened in 1959, blasting cream cheese and eggs and cream in a very hot oven until the top scorched and the center stayed molten. He has always shared the recipe freely, hand-written on scraps to anyone who asks.
He has also always said the top is caramelized, not burnt. The word burnt is a foreigner’s word.
It was not designed to be famous. Rivera sold it quietly by the slice for decades, alongside anchovies and Iberian ham and small skewers of tortilla, before food media in the mid-2010s picked it up and Bon Appétit named it flavor of the year. Now every city has one. Not all of them get it right.
The Paper Bag at the Mercado de la Bretxa
A few days later I was at the Mercado de la Bretxa, poking around for jamón and a jar of piparras to smuggle back to LA. The woman running a small dairy stand at the back caught me photographing her cream cheese and asked what I wanted it for. I said the word tarta and she laughed loud enough to turn heads.
She pulled a brown paper bag off her stack, uncapped a pen with her teeth, and scribbled out her version in shaky Spanish. Four blocks of queso crema, a cup and a quarter of azúcar, five huevos, two cups of nata, three spoons of harina, salt, very hot oven. That was the whole recipe.
I flew home the next week with the paper bag folded inside my passport.
What I Used
- Four 8 oz blocks of full-fat Philadelphia cream cheese, sat out for two hours until soft enough to dent with a spoon
- A cup and a quarter of granulated sugar
- Five large eggs, also at true room temperature
- Two cups of heavy cream, at least 35 percent fat
- Three tablespoons of all-purpose flour, sifted so it does not clump
- A quarter teaspoon of fine sea salt
- Two large sheets of parchment, crumpled under the tap and wrung out so they lie flat in the pan
- My 9 inch springform with the slightly wonky clasp, sat on a rimmed sheet pan to catch drips
Making Basque Cheesecake at Home
The first time I baked one in my own kitchen the top was not dark enough. Not even close. So I went hotter, and then hotter still.
The whole thing behaves like a small, slightly stressful puzzle. The batter itself is simple, five ingredients plus salt. Where home cooks tend to slip is the temperature of the ingredients, the way you mix, and the moment you pull it out of the oven.
Cold cream cheese guarantees lumps that will not strain out. A stand mixer turns the batter into a soufflé, which you do not want. And if the cake looks fully set when you take it out, it is already overbaked, and the interior loses the pull that makes the dish worth making.
I made this one on a Sunday afternoon, the June marine layer still hanging low over the Westside, the kitchen too warm from the 425 degree oven and my old dog snoring under the table. I whisk everything by hand, slow circles, no speed.
The trick I have learned. Strain the batter through a fine mesh sieve straight into the parchment-lined pan. It catches the small bits of cream cheese that never quite melt in and gives you a completely smooth top when it bakes.
Rivera does not strain his. I do, and I almost stopped doing it. I am glad I did not.
I get the Philadelphia at the Ralphs on Wilshire because they always have four blocks on the shelf. I tried it with the whipped tub style once. Do not.
Into the top third of the oven for around 50 minutes. The top goes from pale to gold to bronze to something close to black at the edges. Pull it while the center still moves like a water bed.
A Note on Variations
I have played with this a little over the years. A tablespoon of good vanilla stirred into the cream is fine, though the original does not use it. Blue cheese swapped for a quarter of the Philadelphia gives you a savory version I once served with figs and honey, and it was worth doing.
I do not add lemon zest anymore. It fights with the caramelized top and pulls the whole thing sideways.
Serving It the Way Rivera Does
Cool it in the pan for at least two hours before you touch it. The burnt Basque cheesecake, as most of the world now calls it though nobody in Donostia would, is meant to be eaten at room temperature. Fridge-cold slices are not the same cake.
Rivera pours a small glass of Pedro Ximenez sherry alongside it at the bar. I usually go with an espresso. A splash of red wine works too, if the afternoon has drifted that way.
Cold leftovers, eaten standing at the counter the next morning. Somehow better than the original slice. Every time I bake it I am half in my apartment and half back at La Viña, waiting for the man behind the bar to raise his eyebrows across the counter.
Basque Cheesecake
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Pull the cream cheese, eggs, and heavy cream out of the fridge at least 2 hours before starting. Everything must be at true room temperature or the batter will be lumpy.
- Position an oven rack in the upper third of the oven and preheat to 425 F. Set a rimmed baking sheet on the rack below to catch drips.
- Crumple 2 large sheets of parchment paper under running water, then wring them out. Line the 9 inch springform pan with the damp parchment in a cross pattern, pressing it into the corners and letting at least 2 inches stand up above the rim of the pan.
- In a large bowl, add the softened cream cheese, sugar, and salt. Whisk by hand in slow, steady circles until completely smooth with no visible lumps, about 2 minutes. Do not beat vigorously.
- Add the eggs one at a time, whisking gently after each just until incorporated. Keep the motion slow to avoid whipping air into the batter.
- Pour in the heavy cream in a steady stream while whisking gently until the batter is smooth, glossy, and pourable.
- Sprinkle the sifted flour evenly over the surface and whisk gently until fully dissolved with no streaks.
- Pour the batter through a fine mesh sieve directly into the parchment-lined pan to catch any lumps of cream cheese.
- Place the pan on the upper rack and bake at 425 F for 45 to 55 minutes. The top should be deeply mahogany, almost black at the edges, the sides puffed and set, and the center should still wobble dramatically when the pan is nudged.
- Remove the cheesecake from the oven and let it cool in the pan on a rack for at least 2 hours. It will sink and settle as it cools, which is exactly right.
- Once fully at room temperature, release the springform ring and gently peel the parchment down away from the sides. Slide the cake onto a serving plate, leaving the parchment underneath.
- Slice with a sharp knife wiped clean between cuts. Serve at room temperature so the center stays creamy and custard-like.