Peter Luger's Steakhouse

I recently celebrated my birthday, and the thing I was looking forward to most about the big 2-5 was the dinner. Tom made reservations at Peter Luger's Steakhouse. The name was always tossed around, and raved about (including from my coworker who talked excitedly about everything from the service to the sides), but I had never actually researched its whereabouts. However, I did have their number stored on my cellphone for the past few years because I once got a call from them asking to confirm my reservation for 8. Wrong number. But I saved it for the off-chance that someday, someone might talk to me about making a reservation and I could impress them by saying "oh, let me make one right now, as Peter and I are like this" and I'd cross my fingers and people might think "Wow, she is so cool!". Of course, this has never happened, probably will never happen; Tom made the rez without me.

Because my birthday falls on St Patrick's Day, it is annoying to try to reserve any bar or restaurant. And according to one experiment in which someone tried to make a reservation for 2, 8pm, at some of Brooklyn's most sought-after restaurants, Peter Lugers was the only one that didn't have any available that night (which could be any night). But luckily, Tom had found one for 5:45 and another for 9:45. We opted for 5:45 so we'd still have the rest of the day to recuperate.

Sadly, we have been notorious for doing things last minute, and we rushed to Brooklyn from the UWS, and from his apt, rushed to the restaurant, thus making me forget to bring my purse and... my camera. I cannot show the size of the amazing porterhouse for 2, nor the creamed spinach, french fries, or more importantly the slice of bacon that could pass for a steak.

Instead, I will have to describe it: A basket of onion rolls and sea salt and fennel seed rolls were brought out with a gravy boat of Peter Luger's own steak sauce and 2 large pats of butter for each of us (yikes, how could they think we'd eat that much butter with our bread?). I ordered slice of bacon which I guess they consider an appetizer because it was brought out before the rest of the food. It was about the length of your average bacon slice, but it was cut thick (about a 1/2")and 3" wide and came in at $3. Totally worth it. The creamed spinach was actually too buttery for me and I had only a spoonful or two during dinner. The french fries were extra crispy and hot, but we could've easily ordered it for 1, instead of 2 as we barely made a dent in it. The Porterhouse for 2 is not a cheap eat ringing in at $85. Then again, it was the most tender, buttery, rare and largest steak I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Our waiter served it on a trivet so that the oil and presumably butter (which I'll just refer to as "sauce") made a little pool on one side of the place and using two big silver spoons, served each of us a huge slice of steak on our plates, drizzled a bit of the sauce on the meat and left. I grabbed my fork and knife.

The first bite was as if I were laying in a field of soft green grass on a 65°F Spring's day, with the sun warming me from above and butterflies dancing around my cheek, feeding me a steak while getting a massage from [insert someone very attractive]. As we made our way through the steak, I knew that I was getting full because I noticed I was chewing it more and more. The 20th bite was not as good as the first, but I could still appreciate it. Actually, I was amazed the waiter pointed out we had left a piece left; I thought it was part of the bone.

According to Tom (and the subsequent research I did), the steaks are dry-aged for over 21 days in their very own dry-aging boxes which means... it grows mold on them (which they cut off, of course). Ack. But hey, if it results in tender meat, then by all means, mold away. I love cheese which is moldy so what do I have to really complain about?

I felt like I had to be rolled out of there after we were done eating. The waiter put the bone into a doggie bag along with the french fries and spinach. Tom didn't let me gnaw on the bone when we got home. Alas, but all in all, a fantastic meal to a fantastic birthday.