I have a confession to make. I love steak. And steakhouses. I love them both more than I should. In fact, steakhouses are my second favorite form of food (after French bistros), and I could pretty much eat in one every night of the week if my cardiologist, my wife and my waistline didn’t stop me. Continue reading “Memorializing Steakhouses”
I am a lover of beef, but I believe it does great harm to my wit. – William Shakespeare
(SW’s dry-aged strip sirloin)
How do you judge a steakhouse?
Is it the quality of the beef? How well they age it? Cook it?
The variety of the side dishes?
(Tortilla Sacramonte at Bazaar Meat)
Or is it all about the wine list to you?
(ELV’s usual wine choice with prime meat)
I’ve got basically two “bucket lists” I’ve been trying to check off: bang off the Top Ten on the ELV list (I’ll need to find a Three Stooges-esqe way of eating at Guy Savoy and the Robuchon Duo, dropping that much $dosh$ is not in the equation), and the lofty, near Sisyphean task of trying every steakhouse in town, truly a Guinness Book/Ripley’s Believe It or Not worthy feat .
Imagine my luck, then, when I can do two at the same time! CUT gets the #1 spot in the paperback guide that John, Max, and Al put together, partly because the top ten are in alphabetic order. Or rather, entirely because of that… I’ve only been to three of The Ten (and Marche was more of a brunch), but I can see the crowning jewel of Puck’s Vegas menagerie busting the top five. And of course, how necessary is a steakhouse in a list of Vegas restaurants?
Imagine my luck again! It was Carnevale! Not specifically relevant, but I just really like clowns, so there were a bunch of these harlequins milling around outside, completely silent and miming.
As much as I would have liked to continue that surreal air of whatever sick stuff those wacky Rothschilds get up to, the inside of CUT actually played down that feel of exclusivity and pomp.
I know I’m a sucker for that kind of stuff, I mean I’d be thrilled drinking Napoleon’s wine out of Charlemagne’s skull in a Merovingian castle, but I can appreciate it as a power move to forego that. Comfortable, modern, not TOO loud, and I could see how people would dig some old Stones hit as they dig on their rib eye. I suppose that’s the one real thing I felt was off kilter though, the music. It does fit their Beverly Hills location as “the” spot for wheeling and dealing and all that degeneracy media stuff.