The modern, expensive steakhouse isn’t really known for being hip or on the cutting edge of culinary trends. They are generally predictable, having a typical assortment of raw bar selections, a la carte sides with (perhaps) a (mildly) unique approach towards spinach or potato, classic cocktails, large and fanciful selections of fish like turbot or dover sole, and of course, beef. Expensive beef. Prime beef. Aged beef. He-Man cuts of beef for two. Now that the trade ban on Japanese beef has been lifted, genuine Kobe beef (and the not as genuine domestic Wagyu) graces menus for those willing to pay the price. It’s almost become a contest to see who can outdo the size, luxury, and overall beefiness (90 days? we age for 120 days! Guaranteed to smell like the best blue cheese or the worst crotch.)
It’s expensive, we order crunchy salads the size of cannonballs, inhale cream cut with spinach, chomp on tree sized asparagus, and readily plow through twenty ounces of prime beef, per person.
The decor is usually old-school and the servers are slightly formal, quick and experienced, and a good one will check to make sure the $50-$150 steak is cooked exactly to the “warm red center” specification they clarified when one requests medium rare.
Classic up-scale steakhouse night is an event and the excess is part of the appeal. It’s the pre-planned belt loosing evening where I will be having a soup (vichyssoise is a favorite of mine) AND the table side Caesar AND the tomahawk ribeye.
The predictability of the experience, along with the price, creates expectations. But that’s fine, I enjoy that on occasion. I’m sure there are people that feel that way about Hal’s, because it checks the boxes on much of what I describe above. At least, apparently for some people.
I hated it.
What a ridiculous scene!
Where to begin with that which I loathe?
It’s impossible to get a drink on a Saturday night. Or a good cocktail ever. It’s impossible to get out of the way of the servers, without basically sitting on someone’s lap at the bar seats or tables, where yes indeed that guy is smoking a pipe. It’s impossible get away from loud screeching of dreadful women or the crackling crooning of the guy in the corner on the cheesy electric piano. I heard more than one person suggest their group hit Johnny’s Hideaway after dinner.
Service is brisk and overly familiar, in a unfamiliar way. “You won’t be splitting the checks, will you?”, they may ask. Yes, our table of numerous couples with varied drink and food orders would appreciate that. In the modern era of technology and $150 per person robberies, just do our table this solid.
But first, did you hear my order? It may actually help if you look my direction while you stand next to me and frantically scribble, or acknowledge anything we say before rushing away to fetch more drinks to throw at us hastily.
The food was no more redeeming than the environment. A crunchy shellacking of Blue Point oysters was impressively bad. How does every single one have crunchy bits inside of it?
The Hal’s chopped salad is more reminiscent of a cole slaw than the large, decadent crunchy salads one loves to indulge in at a steakhouse. But at $14 with tax and tip its the cheapest thing I had that evening.
Sides can be ordered a la carte along with the creamed spinach one gets with any steak, but regardless they are all afterthoughts, buffet versions of steakhouse vegetables slopped out by the hectic open kitchen near the bar.
My steak, “Hal’s Ribeye”, was cooked just fine, but I’d be more impressed with a thicker cut of beef, with 100% less butter, so you know, I can taste the beef. A recent Outlaw ribeye at Longhorn’s was more appealing. Nice excessive use of parsley for decoration, though.
I’d long heard from many that Hal’s is “the best steak in town” and after seeing the scene on a busy Saturday evening, I realize some people must feel that way, and that’s fair. Not everyone sees eye to eye, and I prefer an early warning sign that not everyone needs to be friends in this world.