Steak at Stake: Ruth's Chris Versus Peter Luger

Yeah right.

Is there even a competition here? I think we all assume that Peter Luger Steak House (the century-old, highly revered, and much heralded dry-aged steak restaurant) would blow any chain restaurant competition out of the water. Plus, Bon Appetit magazine lovingly appointed Peter Luger as "the best" steak in the U.S.

But you'll be surprised at my findings at which restaurant really takes the cake, or should I say, "steak."

"Are you ready for a steak throwdown?"

First up is Ruth's Chris Steak House in San Francisco, California.

There is a bustling city street in San Francisco lined with great steakhouses: (1) Harris' (where they serve pretty delicious steak and potatoes au gratin and obtain their beef supply from the Harris Ranch arm of their business), (2) House of Prime Rib, and (3) Ruth's Chris Steak House. All three steak houses are within less than a city block's distance away from each other on Van Ness Street in San Francisco. Since the beau and I were trying to eat in that area, we agreed to dine at Ruth's Chris, the only steakhouse participating in the Dine About Town prix-fixe program. (This year, the beau convinced me to give the monthly Dine About Town promotion in San Francisco a go one more time. Despite my reluctance and bad experiences with Dine About Town in the past, I agreed.)

Included within the Ruth's Chris $35.00 prix-fixe Dine About Town meal was a simple salad of iceberg, romaine, and baby lettuces with halved grape tomatoes, garlic croutons, and slices of red onion rings. Since our evening was all about the meat, we quickly wolfed down this salad and its light vinaigrette dressing without much fanfare or any real attention. It was a generic salad, nothing more, nor nothing less.


Additionally, the Ruth's Chris prix-fixe meal came with a choice of sides, either (1) a windswept casserole dish of mashed potatoes topped with delicate pools of melted butter and garnished with minced Italian parsley or (2) milky creamed spinach, chopped, strained, and saturated with heavy full-fat cream. We ordered both. While the sides were hearty and filling, they were merely supporting co-stars to the main celebrities of the evening, the dense cuts of dry-aged beef.


For the main course, the beau and I split two types of steak: (1) ribeye, which, according to the menu, is "[a]n outstanding example of USDA Prime at its best. Well marbled for peak flavor, deliciously juicy," and (2) the petite filet mignon, which the menu described as the "[m]ost tender cut of midwestern corn-fed beef."

The ribeye came with showered with a sprinkling of chopped herbs and a melted lake of foamy butter, cascading down the surface and into crevices of the medium-rare meat. Within the seared exterior of the ribeye lay huge canyons filled with rivers of crimson jus. The slick and glistening cut of ribeye meat was bursting with juices and possessed a hearty, nutty flavor. The ribeye was definitely the highlight of the protein-packed evening.


Oddly, I found the filet mignon to actually be a little tougher and more resistant than the ribeye. I could definitely feel the strength of the meat grains against my steak knife and my teeth. Despite the firm, dense texture, the filet was full-bodied in beefy protein flavor. The filet was delicately surrounded by what looked like moat of emulsified butter heated under a broiler until browned and bubbly. Ah, butter. The perfect dipping sauce for steak!


We ended our meal at Ruth's Chris with two desserts, the first being a New Orleans-style bread pudding with a whiskey sauce. A powerful yet sweet whiskey and vanilla fragrance permeated the condensed milk and absorbent bread pudding mattress. The saturated pudding was (1) interspersed with plumped raisins, (2) flavored with grounded aromatic spices of cinnamon and nutmeg, and (3) blanketed with a mahogany-colored caramelized crust.


We also shared a key lime pie, which was sinfully as rich and decadent as a cheesecake, but also light and refreshing. The pie was complimented with an awakening and invigorating bite of brisk lime zest and tart lime juice.


Now, onto the competitor! How do the steak and sides at Peter Luger in Brooklyn compare to that of a (gasp), upscale chain steak restaurant? According to many of my New York friends, you haven't lived until you've dined at least once at Peter Luger. Therefore, I had high expectations for Peter Luger from the moment I walked in, despite its non-pretentious German beerhaus decor.

First off, our lofty expectations of Peter Luger were only reinforced when we tried the baked goods inside Peter Luger's tabletop bread basket. Inside the complimentary basket o' carbs sat a diverse offering of onion rye bread and seasoned crackers encrusted with sesame seeds and sizeable salt crystals. The breads and peppery crackers were intriguingly and lip-smackingly delicious, for they were packed with multi-dimensional flavors from the potent rye seeds and the liberal salt seasoning.

A tiny taste of Peter Luger's famed steak sauce further increased the hype. The steak sauce tasted like a chunky combination of Worcestershire sauce, crushed tomatoes, molasses, and grated horseradish. The sauce was so sweet, it bordered on cloying, but had a bright, tangy, and palate-refreshing bite. Simply summarized, that sauce was hella good, and delivered a swift punch of deliciousness to my tongue.


The sauce and bread though, only whetted our appetite for the main attraction, the steak.


After apprehensively staring at their barebones menu, we finally decided to order after a good half an hour. We settled on the (1) prime rib and (2) porterhouse steak, both medium-rare and both dry-aged in the classic Peter Luger fashion.

Based on my understanding, the process of dry-aging beef produces the most supple of results. Wikipedia states that there are two steps to the process of dry-aging beef: "First, moisture is evaporated from the muscle. This creates a greater concentration of beef flavor and taste. Second, the beef's natural enzymes break down the connective tissue in the muscle, which leads to more tender beef."

Upon being served, I immediately noticed a blackened outer layer of carcinogenic char encrusting the steaks, which was a little bit of a turnoff for me. Also, unlike other steak restaurants, Peter Luger's steaks come out pre-cut into large fish stick-sized hunks, with the accompanying bone. The only beef I have with pre-cut meat (pun intended), is that Peter Luger deprives you of the joy of piercing into steak and watching the liquid jus spill forth. Also, I felt that the servers left a little too much meat on the bone, and the orientation of the bone wasn't conducive for removing the remaining meat without making a scene and gnawing and chewing the meat off with my teeth like a cavewoman.


As for the taste? It was heavenly. The beef definitely lived up to its dry-aged claims. The texture of the steaks were lusciously buttery. Through the dry-aging process, it was clear to my tastebuds that the beef flavor had concentrated and evolved into a complex meaty explosion of flavors, ranging from earthy to "wow." The steak at Peter Luger was supple and creamy, yet firm and rich, almost like a silken pate or meat pudding with a slippery, juicy finish. There was a soft nuttiness, and I could clearly taste a strong beef flavor, which was dissimilar from my previous experience of eating kobe beef. (If that kobe beef had been dry-aged, I would have been on that steak like a fly.)


The bone held together the remnants of sinew and jiggly beef fat that tenderly clung on like ornaments on a Christmas tree.


Along with our steaks, we also ordered two sides: (1) Luger's special German fried potatoes and (2) creamed spinach. As for the fried potatoes, I implore you, don't expect anything life-changing. Basically, these potatoes are the equivalent of chunky breakfast potatoes that you can get at your local diner. Overpriced? Yes. Only decent? Yes.


Lastly, and actually, least appealing, was the mushy, slimy excuse for creamed spinach. It was overseasoned with nutmeg and pulverized into a sloppy goop akin to baby food or liquefied paste. The free chocolate coins that the server handed out with the bill couldn't even redeem this disaster.


To its demerit, Peter Luger really failed on its disappointing sides. The lackluster sides were a mere afterthought, and seriously overpriced.

Nonetheless, in the battle for superior steaks, as expected, Peter Luger won this round, for juicy and succulent dry-aged steaks. However, Ruth's Chris came out a worthy contender with its delicious ribeye steak, and its affordable prix-fixe option which included salad, sides, and a dessert for $35.00.

Hail to the Halal Cart on 53rd and 6th

In the last post, I told you about the beau's brother ("BB," for short). In this post, I am going to tell you about the BB's wife ("BBW"), a New York Native, who introduced to an eatery I will never forget, the legendary Halal Cart on 53rd and 6th. But I should preface my post with a warning: there will always be a line of eager patrons excitedly entwined around the street vendor, but the lengthy wait is more than worth it.


Orders from the Halal Cart are packaged in a wrinkled/pleated aluminum takeout pan, and covered with a cardboard disc with a shiny heat-resistant backing. Inside, after your fingers pry open the aluminum ruching, you will find a bit of Halal heaven on earth.

As for my meal, BBW ordered for all of us. She ordered the "mix" combo, which came with spiced long grain rice, chunks of chicken meat, notable gyro meat, pillowy pita bread, and scrappy squares of iceberg lettuce. The two stellar standouts from the entire combo, were the rice and the lamb. The moist, succulent gyro-fied lamb came in delicious flakes, adeptly carved by knives that sweepingly crisscrossed against the grain of the lamb while it was suspended on the vertical spit. The lamb contained the ideal proportion of gyro spices. The rice was also well-cooked, with each distinct grain the perfect shade of red and perfect flavor of Middle Eastern spices.


My takeout tin of food also came with two plastic containers of sauce, (1) a mysteriously palatable "white sauce" that no one knows the ingredients for, nor ventures to guess at, and (2) an assasinating "hot sauce." The deliciously addictive "white sauce" tastes like a mild ranch dressing, with the same salad dressing consistency. The "white sauce" provides a classic cooling sensation to the meal (just as a yogurty tzatziki sauce would).


As for the "hot sauce". . . Well, that is another matter, entirely. While I love spicy foods, the Halal Cart's "hot sauce" tastes like hell. By "hell," I don't mean bad, I mean, eyeball-scorchingly evil, like Satan handmade that stuff with all of the sinister, fiery peppers he could get his hands on. One bite and your eyes will water furiously, like gushing waterfalls, and your frightened tongue will recoil so far into your head, you can feel it lodge into your neck. Basically, just imagine those old Looney Tunes cartoons, where Wiley Coyote would accidentally eat some hot peppers, and spew fire from his mouth while his bloodshot eyeballs bulged out several feet from his face. You will feel the sting from the hot sauce for several minutes, before the numbing, tingly pain abates. Legend has it, that the Halal Cart used to incorporate the hot sauce into the meal, but too many people complained (because they "couldn't handle the truth.")

If you are in the Theater District of Manhattan, and are looking for a bite to eat, I would definitely visit the Halal Cart on 53rd and 6th. It is worth the wait, and more.

Start Spreading the News

I just returned from a relaxing holiday vacation to the East Coast, cannot wait to get back to blogging about my travels and meals! I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season, and rang in the New Year the right way!

Originally, the beau and I were planning to spend the holidays exclusively in the Washington D.C. area, but at the last minute, we decided to take an inpromptu day trip to New York City. Our first and most important stop in the State of New York, was in Flushing, New York, to Joe’s Shanghai Restaurant for the beau’s favorite shao loeng baos, or small pork dumplings, steamed in bamboo baskets lined with napa cabbage. When I had visited Joe’s Shanghai back in 2005, I remember eating large dumplings, but this time around, the dainty pork-filled dumplings were perky and bite-sized, unlike the oversized and baggy cousins I previously consumed. However, the signature soup within the shao loeng baos was still thick and dense with savory pork flavor, and not as light and brothy as other shao loeng baos I have had in California.


But my shao loeng bao experience is not the main point of this terrific story.

That blustery day, the chilly NYC wind was especially unforgiving as it whipped our numbed, raw, and chapped noses and cheeks. Thus, soon after we ate, we randomly dove for shelter through a swinging door papered with flyers and followed steps underground into a crowded, fluorescently lit underground mall for an amazing discovery. Tucked underneath the unkempt streets of New York's Chinese enclave, was a swap meet-like amalgamation of vendors selling fantastic items, such as unlabeled DVDs of blockbuster movies for $1 dollar, and Coach, Gucci, and Versace look-alike items labeled as "Goach," "Cucci," and "Versacce." Best of all, we unearthed a bounty of small food vendors that sold mismatched plastic or Styrofoam bowls abundant with hearty noodle soups and handmade dumplings.


We saw several food stalls where the food was being prepared in plastic pastel-colored Chinatown buckets, and knew we had arrived at a special place, where the food had to be good.


Unfortunately, there was no additional room in our stomachs because of our earlier visit to Joe’s Shanghai, but now we know where to go eat when we return to NYC. I hope these pictures give you an idea of this underground mall--I had to "start spreading the news" about this wonderful New York place.

Shao Loeng Baos at Joe's Shanghai

I have been trying not to become a restaurant review blog--since my Dad owns a restaurant, and my undivided loyalty belongs to him--but I love talking about food, and I love sharing my experiences. Thus, to be fair, each time I blog about a restaurant, I try to discuss the good and the bad.

One of the restaurants that I want to share about, is Joe's Shanghai in New York. My friends on the East Coast claim that this place makes "the best shao loeng baos" outside of the city of Shanghai itself. I was deprived as a kid when it comes to shao loeng baos, but I'd like to think that I know a good shao loeng bao: one bite and hot juices come bursting forth all over your chin and freshly laundered white shirt. (For some reason, I am channeling thoughts of Gushers Fruit Snacks or that Chiclets-like gum from the Eighties with the liquid center. Chewels. Remember those?)

My friend ordered several plastic containers full of coeng ching tsai (ong tsai in Cantonese) and the tasty shao loeng baos (also known as "soup buns" in white man's tongue) for our eating pleasure.

As I saw my friend (native of the East Coast) greedily snatching up the buns like they were $100 dollar bills flying in the street, I was a little more cautious of the hot, mouth-burning explosions to come. Plus, those buns had lots of built-up expectations riding on their spiral-pleated shoulders. I grabbed a dumpling with my disposable chopsticks, and the steaming little pouch hovered precariously over my open mouth before making its final landing. Three, two, one. . .

Gasp! There was brown gravy inside shao loeng bao! Thick and heavy brown gravy! It wasn't the clear brothy juice that I was used to!

After the stinging shock of disappointment wore off and my vision was restored to normal, I reached for another soup bun in the rapidly emptying container, just to make sure that last one wasn't an anomaly. Another bite confirmed that the dumpling innards indeed contained gravy.

As our meal came to an end, it was funny to see how I experienced dissatisfaction while my friend experienced absolute euphoria.

Eating the legendary dumplings at Joe's Shanghai definitely taught me a valuable lesson. Even if I grew up on the Panda Express version of shao loeng baos, my friend's and my own diametrically opposing reactions illustrated that different life experiences with food really can yield different results.

Growing Up on Gefilte Fish

Jewish sandwiches have a special place in my heart. It was always a treat when my Dad would make his magnificently delicious sauerkraut and sardine sandwiches. I also loved spooning out jellied aspic and baseball-sized gefilte fish cakes from towering, screw-lipped glass jars onto thin slices of bread.

That's why my visit to Katz's in New York merits particular mention. Katz's is the "delicatessen of all delicatessens," and has etched its way into pop culture--and my heart. You might remember Katz's from the infamous scene in When Harry Met Sally. Or you might also remember it from the wonderful PBS Show Sandwiches That You Will Like.

After spending a long and humid day in Central Park, Katz's was the ultimate destination to satisfy my rumbling stomach. My companion and I ordered pastrami on rye and a Reuben sandwich with "the works."

The pastrami sandwich was busting at the seams with thick-layered slices of pastrami. I ordered it without mayonnaise or anything else that might interfere with my overall delicatessen experience. The rich, smoky flavor of the pastrami was enough to make it an amazing stand-alone sandwich.

However, I must admit, I did have some problems with the Reuben. The lightly toasted rye bread, the coarsely shredded sauerkraut, and the caramelized swiss cheese were perfect, but the corned beef gave me some problems. It was too tough, and I was surprised by the weird, almost-gamey flavor of the pickling spices.

Their pickles tasted like Claussen's brand, but had an authentic aftertaste of being freshly brined. The thick-cut french fries were crisp on the outside, and hot, fluffy, and creamy on the inside.

Finally, no visit to New York would be complete without gulping down a "chocklity" egg creme. However, the best part of the evening was the "New York" label on my Diet Pepsi. How come the sodas in California aren't labeled similarly?

Ultimately, the message on my cola served as a subtle reminder that the evening I spent at Katz's was a quintessential New York experience.