Up until the room service cart was trundled into our room at Boston’s Fairmont Copley Plaza a few years ago, my then six-year-old’s only exposure to Boston Cream had been the filling of a chain-store donut.
And despite my having gone to school in the area, I too only knew of Boston Cream in this way until the waiter whisked away the silver dome to reveal an impossibly tall and flamboyant slice of Boston Cream Pie, which my daughter and I shared to the last bite (my younger daughter, alas, had fallen asleep five minutes before the food arrived).